[Urban] Must be fucked to death (complete) - 10-12

Episode 20 begins:

Overnight, Mom's hair turned completely white!

I smelled the scent of death.

Mom said, "Come here! I have something bad to tell you."

I took off my down jacket.

A-Biao barked wildly at me, trembling all over.

It was the first time I'd seen fear in a guard's eyes.

I was also confused: What the hell is he barking at? Could it be that I'm carrying evil spirits?

I accidentally touched my lower abdomen and felt the lump below my navel, and I couldn't help but gasp.

Er-Guai lured A-Biao away.

I said, "Mom, please tell me."

Mom said, "The amulet you got for me."

I said, "Huh?"

Mom said, "It was perfectly fine, but suddenly it broke."

I asked, "What happened?"

Mom said, "I didn't bump it or touch it. I only found it when Er-Guai was combing my hair. Look, isn't the crack eerily bad?"

As she spoke, Mom took her right foot out of her slipper, lifted her leg, pointed her toes, and pointed to show me.

Following Mom's bare foot, I saw the remains of the amulet lying on the dressing table, the cracks were indeed neat!

It split in a cross shape in the middle, breaking into four small, evenly sized pieces.

The breaks were remarkably clean, as if laser-cut.

I looked at Erguai.

He calmly said to me, "Yes, brother, just now I saw that amulet with a cross-shaped crack in the very center slowly moving. I even heard a cracking sound."

I was puzzled: how come some people are so calm when talking about creepy things?

I looked at him, recalling what the old immortal had told me last night.

Erguai's extraordinary calmness was indeed unlike that of an ordinary person.

I knew something was wrong, but I forced a calm expression and said to my mother, "Good thing, good thing, it has warded off evil for you."

My mother asked, "What kind of evil did it ward off? Who wanted to harm me? Why would they want to harm me?"

I quickly changed my tune, saying, "Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe the material is old. Don't be nervous."

My mother asked, "Then what about my hair?"

I was speechless. I lit an incense stick, respectfully bowed to the five directions, then placed the incense in the incense burner and knelt down to kowtow again.

I looked up and saw that the incense had only burned halfway down, yet half of it had already gone out.

I banged it again! I looked up again

, and the incense was completely extinguished. I lit it again, and it went out again. This stick of incense just wouldn't go down. An ominous premonition crawled through my entire body. It felt like forty-four cabbage worms were simultaneously crawling on my back. That broken amulet wasn't something I had "invited." I felt guilty, so I put a warm coat on my mother, took her out, and drove straight to the ◇◇ Temple (the name of the temple is omitted. —a8 note) to consult a fortune teller. I told the Taoist priest about the strange things that had happened in my family. The priest advised us to pay attention to upholding righteousness and suppressing evil, and said that evil never prevails over good in this world, so we shouldn't panic. I got an amulet and put it on my mother on the spot. My mother's neck felt very hot. My mother asked softly, "Why are your hands so cold?" I replied, "I didn't eat breakfast, I'm starving." My mother asked, "Why didn't you eat breakfast again?" I said, "Shh... let's not talk about such mundane things." Then I asked for some yellow paper talismans, left them as alms, and set off home. After returning home, Erguai said that having too many shoes at home was bad, as it attracted evil spirits. I quickly gathered a large pile of old, rarely worn shoes and told him to throw them downstairs. He didn't return for a long time. I went into the secret room and turned on the monitor. I saw Erguai standing on the stairs, holding my mother's old shoes, affectionately sniffing the lingering foot odor in the shoe, reluctant to part with them. As long as he wasn't aggressive, I would let him stay. I pasted the talismans in the designated places and examined them carefully. The characters on the talismans were so strange! I didn't recognize a single one. My mother and I stood in front of the talismans, cautiously guessing: Is the talisman's head the "敕" (chì) radical? Is that the "雷" (léi) radical? Is the talisman's core for warding off evil spirits and protecting the house? ... Erguai was picking vegetables and cooking nearby, completely indifferent, expressionless, unmoved by anything. Could he really be the incarnation of Yazi, the second son of the dragon? Whatever the reason, I hope these will protect Mom. Just as we were chatting about the talismans, we heard a loud cracking sound! The three of us turned to look at the sound. There, on the wall, was my old, dirty bowl, which had exploded in the middle. It cracked quite neatly! It split in a cross shape, breaking into four evenly sized pieces, which fell down. I felt my head throbbing, throbbing like a giant pumpkin. The pieces of the bowl landed on the TV directly below. I quickly grabbed the remote to try and turn it on. The TV didn't light up. I pressed it again. Still no light. I pressed and pressed and pressed and pressed. The TV remained black. I went over and bent down to check the wiring. The connections were all normal. The power strip was plugged in, and the little red light on it was on. Suddenly, I heard my mother scream behind me! Even someone as quiet as Erguai let out a chilling scream. I quickly turned around and saw Erguai covering my mother's face, staring intently at the TV screen. I stood up and looked at the screen; my head and face went numb! I saw a white cross on the black screen that was gradually expanding, dividing the screen into four neat, evenly sized black sections. Two large Chinese characters were flashing on the background: "淫" (yin, meaning lust) and "死" (si, meaning death). Lust and death? Death and lust? Instinctively, I jumped to my mother and Erguai's side and hugged them tightly. The three of us stared at the TV, mouths agape. My life felt like it was being manipulated by a mysterious, irresistible force. I felt a sinister atmosphere. I panicked. I tried to turn off the TV with the remote. I couldn't. Trembling, I went back and unplugged the TV. The strange image on the screen disappeared. I put the TV face down on the TV stand (thankfully it's an LCD), told Mom not to watch TV for the next couple of days, and instructed Erguai to take the broken pieces of the old pot downstairs, burn them to ashes, and bury them. Mom tried to sound calm and said, "We haven't done anything wrong, so we're not afraid of ghosts, right?" I said, "Yes, yes." Mom asked me, "You haven't done anything wrong, have you?"

I was even more composed than Zhong Ping, the swimming coach in the "Frozen Lake Corpse Case," and smiled, saying, "No, no. Could I do anything wrong? We couldn't."

Mom said, "That's good."

I said to Erguai, "Let's eat."

The food was served, and it was quite plentiful.

Mom said, "I'm really hungry. Wow! There's dried shrimp and winter melon! I want to eat!"

I said, "Don't even think about it."

Mom asked, "What did you say?"

While mixing the medical barium sulfate with warm water, I said to her, "Just eat this."

When Mom saw the barium meal, which looked like milk, her face instantly turned red.

Erguai asked me stupidly, "Brother, what kind of meal is that?"

I said, "This is a special nutritious meal prepared for my mother."

Erguai said, "Oh."

Erguai took a spoon and fed my mother the barium meal.

I asked my mom, "Mom, how does it taste?"

Mom said, "Have you ever eaten lime? It tastes like that."

I said, "Who eats lime?"

Mom said, "Anyway, it's not very tasty, and it's really unpleasant to drink."

I said, "They say it's a little sweet and sour."

Mom frowned and said, "How about you have half a bowl?"

I said, "I'll try to bear with it! This is already made to taste like fruit!"

Mom said, "It feels like there are grains in it. It hurts my throat." (拉: pronounced lá, meaning to cut or hurt. —a8 note.)

After the meal, Erguai washed the dishes and put them away in the kitchen.

I took Mom to the bathroom for a water enema.

Mom asked, "What are you doing?"

I said, "Get rid of bad luck and cleanse the intestines."

When the water came out, it was dark brown and very cloudy.

After Mom finished emptying the stool, I poured in a second bottle of warm water. This time I added some glycerin to soften any remaining stool.

This time, the liquid that came out of Mom's stool was almost clear water.

After Mom finished defecating, she let out two small farts and a small amount of mucus, but nothing else came out.

I reached into Mom's anus and scooped up some anal mucus with my fingers.

The mucus was pale yellow, translucent, semi-dehydrated, and jelly-like, indicating that Mom's large intestine had been emptied.

I mixed flour, warm water, medical barium sulfate, and a quick-setting agent to make a sticky paste, which I injected into Mom's rectum, about four or five pounds in total.

As I poured it in, I wondered: Where could that little slut have gone after I left the museum last night? Who did the injury to her face?

After I finished, I helped Mom into the bedroom and put her to bed.

I said, "Get a good night's sleep. There'll be a good show when I get back."

I put on my coat and said I was going to check at the company.

I went straight to Old K's Coffee.

The injury to that little slut's face, it must have been him!

He likes to torture people.

His veins are boiling with pure domestic SM blood.

In his eyes, women are not human.

I wouldn't be surprised if he did something outrageous.

He hated all women.

"Ding-dong!"

I burst through the antique-style doors of Old K's Coffee.

There was a small bell behind the door.

The waitress smiled and greeted me politely, "You've arrived? Still a small Irish espresso?"

I shoved her aside, glaring at her, and strode towards the manager's office.

My fists were clenched tightly. My fingers were almost broken.

My hands were ice-cold. My heart was pounding! :q I pushed open the door.

The manager's office was filled with smoke, making it hard to open my eyes.

Old K was chatting and laughing with two uniformed detectives.

The two detectives' smiles vanished, and they sat on the sofa, staring at this blue-faced man with a murderous look.

I grabbed Old K, arm in arm, dragged him out of the manager's office, pulled him straight to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

Seeing my expression, Old K asked me stupidly, "What's wrong? What's up?"

I kicked open the small wooden partition door, made sure no one was inside, turned around, grabbed his sweater collar, and slammed him against the wall.

Old K asked, "What's going on? Got a drink?"

I desperately lowered my voice and said, "How can you be such a beast?! I didn't say anything when you insulted my girl. But how can you be so heartless?!"

Old K looked at me calmly and asked, "What are you talking about?"

I slapped him hard across the face, sparks flying like a chainsaw: "Are you even human?! You won't be satisfied until you kill her, will you?!"

Old K covered his confused face and asked, puzzled, "What happened to that little slut? Why would I kill her?"

I was furious and said, "You've already done it, why are you playing the coward?"

I've always hated treacherous and ruthless two-faced people. I'm convinced he's the one who harmed that little slut.

Back in my heyday, I used ruthless methods to get by.

But today, I held back and didn't go too far with him.

I couldn't hit him again.

First, he was still my childhood friend of over twenty years.

Second, he was weak and easily hurt, a seasoned "strategist."

(Strategist: a local slang term referring to a pretty boy who only comes up with bad ideas but never actually fights. —a8 note.)

Old K said, seemingly wronged, "What are you yelling about? What did I do? I just used connections the other day."

I asked, "What did you do with her last night?"

Old K replied, "I didn't have time to deal with her. I went to Xinhang last night to buy some goods. What happened? Did your girl run away?"

I stared at him, panting.

He seemed to be telling the truth.

But who knew?

This guy was known for his cunning, easily fooled by two lie detector tests.

He said calmly, "Have you finished peeing? I'm talking about something over there."

I said, "After the three of us were done, did you see her?"

I had already given him enough leeway with this question.

I wanted to test his honesty.

He calmly said, "Yes, I've seen her. What's wrong with you today?"

I asked, "Where did you two go?"

He said, "I took her back to my hometown."

I asked, "Back to your hometown? For what?"

Old K said, "She said she wanted to go back to her hometown to see her dad. She said she begged you not to take her back, so I did it for her. Stop talking nonsense! Reimburse me for the gas!"

I was stunned!

When did that little slut ever tell me I could take her back to my hometown?

When did I ever say I wouldn't take her back?

I asked, "Where is her hometown?"

Old K said, "Zhouying Town, Qikeshu Village, Shimen Gully." (Place names are fictitious. —a8 note.)

I asked, "Who lives in her hometown?"

Old K said, "Who knows?"

I asked, "Didn't you go there? How come you don't know?"

Old K said, "Damn! You're still asking! We were halfway there when heavy snow blocked the mountain pass. She said she wanted to find work, so I brought her back here."

His expression remained natural, his facial muscles remained relaxed, and there was no visible change in his complexion.

It seems he really didn't do it?

Did I wrong him?

I'll believe him for now.

I patted him on the shoulder and, as we walked out of the restroom, said apologetically, "Let's have a drink tonight. I'll set up a table, and we can have a good chat."

He said, "Tonight isn't an option."

I said, "Oh ho ho? See? Are you being a jerk or am I being a jerk again?"

He said, "Neither of us are being a jerk. I really have something going on, I can't get away. How about tomorrow?"

I said, "No."

He said, "I have a date tonight, it's all arranged. Or you can wait for me until after 11 pm.

" I said, "Okay, I'll wait." "

After leaving the restroom, Old K offered to buy me coffee while he went to attend to his business.

I said I wouldn't disturb him, I had other things to do and had to leave.

Old K laughed and said, 'No way! No matter how urgent your trip, you have to finish your coffee before you go.'

He instructed the waiter to bring me coffee and then slipped into the manager's office.

The hot coffee was served, burning my mouth and my heart. I sipped it slowly.

Actually, I really wanted to rush to Shimen Gou, Qikeshu Village, Zhouying Town right then and there.

But then I thought of Heizhuangtun.

Before Heizhuangtun, I was obsessed with knowing the truth.

After Heizhuangtun, I became indifferent to the so-called 'truth.'

I was a little tired.

Why should I know the so-called 'truth'?

Did I really want to know those 'truths'?

Besides, is the so-called 'truth' really the 'truth'?

I was so tired.

I was too lazy to move.

I was too lazy to know.

I just thought: even if what that little slut told me was all lies, So what? How many truths have I ever told her?

Where is true affection in this world?

A fake phoenix and a fake dragon. A charade, all pretense. Fine.

Just then, a roar of engines filled the air outside.

Looking up, I saw over a dozen heavy motorcycles screeching to a halt outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, like ravenous monsters panting for prey.

They slammed off their engines, and a large group of men, like stars surrounding the moon, escorted a girl inside.

That girl was none other than my little slut. The

men had bizarre hairstyles—long ones with sagging buttocks, short ones bald, their jeans smeared with various paints and mud.

It was clear at a glance: a bunch of artistic, rebellious youths.

My little slut saw me, nodded reservedly, and didn't say a word.

The group, swaggering and domineering, took their seats, ordering drinks.

A waiter went over and quietly told them they didn't serve alcoholic beverages.

A short, fat man said, "It's okay, we brought our own." "

As they spoke, the henchmen pulled out bottles of liquor from their coat pockets and slammed them onto the table.

The waiter said, 'Excuse me, we don't allow drinks brought in from outside here.' The

henchmen suddenly brandished machetes and daggers, slamming them on the table. It all happened in an instant.

The waiter shuddered.

Customers at the next table, seeing the danger, ducked and quickly slipped away.

The short, fat man lit a cigarette, frowned, and said softly, 'Call your boss out.'

The waiter went into the manager's office.

A moment later, Old K and two detectives came out. Seeing the group of men, Old K and the detectives smiled broadly and bowed, 'Gentlemen, welcome, welcome! Why didn't you give us a heads-up before coming here today?'

The short, fat man said coldly, 'What a joke! Why would I give a heads-up when I'm at home?'

Old K bowed repeatedly, agreeing, 'You're right, you're right. I was just trying to make some preparations beforehand.'" "

I was puzzled. Who is my brother Old K? Even though he's a strategist, he's a big shot in the local underworld. Why is he being so subservient to that short, fat guy?

The detective was handing cigarettes and exchanging pleasantries with those thugs, all relaxed and joking around, like they were old acquaintances.

I was taking pictures with that fat guy, my eyes like knives.

Old K saw something was wrong and quickly came over to me, sat opposite me, blocked my view with his body, and whispered, 'Shall I take you home first?'

I said, 'No need. This bastard brought my girl with him. What's his background?'

Old K whispered, 'We can't afford to mess with this guy. He's been laundering money here. And to put it another way, that slut isn't your girl anymore. How about I take you home first?'

I said, 'You go ahead with your business. I'm leaving now. I won't cause trouble.' " "

Old K, while attending to the waiters and serving the guests, nervously watched me.

I glanced sideways at the short, fat guy.

Everyone was staring at him.

Under the spotlight, the short, fat guy said smugly, 'I never told you, I once disappeared for three months.'

The little slut smiled and asked curiously, 'Disappeared? Where did you disappear to?'

The short, fat guy said seriously, 'I can't remember. I don't know. I really don't know. Later, after I came back, my artistic vision underwent a qualitative leap, and I started studying nude photography.'

The little slut and the others gazed at him with admiration, asking this and that.

I almost threw up. I really almost threw up.

This kind of girl-catching trick is too old-fashioned, isn't it?

But believe it or not, it actually works.

Foreign tricks or old tricks, as long as they work, they're good tricks.

At this moment, I heard the little slut excitedly ask the short, fat 'art master,' 'Can I be your model?'

The short, fat guy looked at her with apparent disdain and said, 'You know, not just any girl can be my model.'" "

The little slut asked, 'What kind do you need? Tell me, do you like fat or thin?'

The short, fat man said, 'It can't be generalized. Fat models have a voluptuous beauty. Thin models have a bony beauty. As long as the emotions are fully mobilized, good works can be produced.'

I couldn't stand it anymore. I got up and walked outside.

As I passed the little slut, she glanced at me slightly.

I asked her, 'Where are you sleeping tonight?'

She said, 'Haven't decided yet. I don't know. You go ahead and do your thing.'

I smiled and went out.

After leaving Old K's Cafe, I walked with my head down on the snow.

Where did the little slut go after I left the museum last night?

Let's rule out Old K for now. Who could have done this?

I mentally checked everyone: My enemies? Business rivals?

What enemies did she have before?

What enemies did she have after moving to the city?

The supermarket security guard? Still harassing her? That's possible, but it's too much of a coincidence, isn't it?

Could it be that her father followed her into the city? Seeing her so depraved, he was so angry that he beat her? That makes sense, but that would be even more coincidental…

Erguai? That doesn't make sense. What was the motive?

Whoever it is, once I find out, I won't let them off easily.

I'm almost going crazy, thinking everyone is suspicious.

Realizing I've fallen into that kind of axe-throwing state again, I quickly pulled myself back.

After thinking it over and over, I still think Old K is the most suspicious.

I'll interrogate him properly tonight.

Calmly asking myself: What if it turns out Old K did it?

Should I turn against him?

Is it worth it?

If word gets out, will I still be able to live with myself?

Breaking news! A8 broke up with his childhood friend of over twenty years for a country girl! The girl from the countryside is just A8's roommate!

To put it bluntly,

my relationship with that little slut was never normal from the start.

She's my roommate, and should only be my roommate; in reality, she doesn't even deserve to be my roommate. We're not a good match.

No desires, no strength. Whatever. Let go.

It's too cold.

Completely cold.

I walked into a roadside dairy shop and casually ordered a cup of hot milk to warm myself up.

The saleswoman was a young girl; after giving me the milk, she immediately focused on watching TV. The TV was rebroadcasting *The Secret History of Xiaozhuang*.

Dorgon held Da Yu'er's hand in surprise and said, "Yu'er? It's you? I wish I could see you every day and night, every second!..."

The saleswoman was moved to tears, as if Dorgon was holding her hand.

There were no other customers in the shop besides me, only an older woman sipping yogurt.

I took my milk, sat by the window to drink it, and felt the older woman next to me staring at me.

A greedy, bluish glint shone in her eyes. You wouldn't see that kind of light unless you'd been starving for three or six months.

I turned my head directly to meet her gaze. She was an old hag, older than my mother.

I nodded to her, and she immediately became arrogant, bringing over her yogurt and sitting next to me.

Everyone is lonely.

She was lonely. I was lonely too.

Let's chat. We chatted idly.

The old hag introduced herself as a middle school teacher.

I said I worked in real estate.

Her features were very delicate; thirty years ago she would have been quite beautiful, probably much more so than the current Xu Kejun. (Don't take it personally! I didn't name names! – a8 note.)

I noticed her left hand was constantly twitching slightly under the table, roughly between her thighs.

I asked, "Is your pussy itchy?"

She said, "Yeah, that's right..."

I asked, "When was your last orgasm?"

She said, "It's been many days..."

I asked, "How did you reach that point?"

She said, "My husband touched me."

I asked, "Where did he touch you?"

She said, "My breasts... my breasts..."

I asked, "Oh? So your breasts are the most sensitive part of your body?"

She said, "Yeah... that's right..."

I asked, "Why doesn't he penetrate you?"

She said, "He has special circumstances... he's not good... he can't..."

I asked, "Oh, so he uses his hand?" She

said, "Yes..."

I asked, "Then you use your hand too?" Let him go?

The old woman said: "Well, very little." He doesn't need me to let him go. He seems to have run out of semen a long time ago..."

I asked: "Your married life consists of mutual masturbation? " The old cunt said:

"Yeah...yes..."

I asked: "How many years have you been masturbating each other? " The old woman said : "It's

been more than twenty years.

I asked: "It has been more than 20 years, and he hasn't fucked you ?" The old woman said: "No." I asked: "He just masturbated you?" " The old cunt said: "Well, yes..." I asked: "If he masturbates you, you can reach orgasm? The old woman whispered to me: "Well, yes... oh, I feel so excited when you are interrogating me like this!" " I asked her to sit next to me. She obeyed. I held her with my right hand. She was trembling all over, trembling slightly, and her upper body was slightly tilted toward me. My right hand went down her waist and butt into her pants and crotch, and I easily touched her anus. She was shocked, and then she obviously leaned forward on the table and raised her buttocks, allowing me to touch her anus more conveniently. Her anus was soft and loose. My fingers slid in easily. I knew her backdoor was already fully aroused, or perhaps it was frequently penetrated. I made a gurgling sound as I fingered her anus. The old woman whispered, "Mmm...so good..." I gently touched her while asking, "Does your lover touch your back when he masturbates you?" The old woman said, "Mmm, sometimes..." I asked, "Has he ever used a big, thick sausage to masturbate you?" The old woman said, "Mmm, no...no..." I asked, "Has he ever used a big sausage to penetrate your vagina?" The old woman said, "Oh...sometimes..." My fingers continued to probe into her anus, already two knuckles inside. I asked, "Then has he ever used a big sausage to penetrate your back?" The old woman said, "Oh...no...oh, so good! You're making me feel so good!" Her face was searching for my mouth. She found it. We touched. We kissed. Her face was burning hot! Like the face of an Ironman triathlon champion. The salesgirl was still intently watching the passionate love story of Dorgon and Dayuer on TV. I heard Dorgon choke out, "...Yu'er, I've missed you so much, so much...I've waited so long...so long..." My left hand slipped under Teacher Xu's pants and underwear from the front, my middle finger digging hard into her vagina. This middle-aged woman's vagina was hot, burning hot, and the opening was sticky and wet, full of the mucus secreted after she was aroused. As soon as my finger entered her vagina, she trembled all over.

Occasionally, pedestrians would walk past the large glass window. Some would glance inside.

I asked, "Teacher Xu, have you ever masturbated?"

The old woman, breathless, replied, "Um...yes..."

I said, "Teacher Xu, come down and help me spread your legs, I'll rub your clitoris!"

She obediently lowered her right hand, slipped it into her underwear, and aided me in rubbing her own clitoris.

My left middle finger ravaged her vagina, while my right middle finger ran wild in her rectum. I vigorously masturbated both her front and back orifices, attacking Teacher Xu from both ends, the rhythm getting faster and faster.

I asked, "Is Teacher Xu a slut?"

She nodded and said, "Um...yes...oh, it feels so good..."

I asked, "Teacher Xu, are you almost there?"

Teacher Xu moaned softly, calling out, "Yes. Oh~~it's so itchy~my nipples are itchy...my nipples...my breasts..."

I remembered that this slut's trigger was her nipples.

My left hand slipped inside her sweater, unhooked her bra, and viciously grabbed her sagging breasts.

They were heavy, like large papayas, warm and full.

I smelled her sweat.

I pinched her nipples.

They were already quite hard.

I squeezed harder, pinching her nipples more forcefully.

Ms. Xu straightened her body, her moans growing louder, clearly unable to bear it any longer.

This middle-aged woman was shamelessly moaning, being masturbated by a strange young man in this empty dairy shop on a late afternoon.

I stepped on her feet, my right hand roughly masturbating her anus, my left hand cruelly kneading her slightly loose breasts.

Desire quickly overwhelmed me!

Her body tensed, silent, frozen for three or four seconds, then she exhaled, a deep breath. Her body then relaxed.

She had orgasmed.

I deliberately asked, "What's wrong, Teacher Xu?"

She trembled and said, "I'm dead! ~~~~~"

At this point, she was delirious, her body slumped down, completely unresponsive.

My left hand left her large breasts and slipped back under her panties to play with her genitals.

She was so horny! She left a large, sticky mess of secretions on my hand.

It might have been vaginal fluid, leukorrhea, arousal fluid, or even urine from incontinence.

I took my hand out and smelled it. So horny! I almost choked!

I put my fingers under her nose.

Her old cunt lowered its head and sniffed, its face flushed.

She exclaimed, "Oh, you made me feel so good. Actually, the most important thing in life is finding climax. Don't you think?"

I said, "Me too. Find it, seize it, enjoy it, even though it only lasts two or three seconds each time, shorter than the time it takes to reel in a fish!"

She said, "It's kind of boring, isn't it?"

I said, "I think boredom is the true meaning of life. In a boring life, if you get even a little bit of extra stimulation and satisfaction, that's good enough."

She said, "That's right, that's right. How can I contact you in the future?"

I wrote my ex-wife's number on her wrist and said, "Just say you're looking for A8."

The old woman said, "Huh? Why does that sound like Dad?"

I said, "You can say you're looking for Dad too."

The old woman said... "Oh! So, Qin Shou from 'Big Breasts' originally planned to register that...that..."

I said, "Stop! You're smart if you can guess some things, but you're an idiot if you say them out loud."

The old woman touched my face, looked at me affectionately, and said, "You know what? I've always wanted a son my whole life. But I don't have one."

I said calmly, "Oh. I don't have a sister. I wouldn't mind having one, even if she's older."

The old woman's face was still flushed. She stared at me, stunned for a long time, before saying, "I'm already fifty-one, and you're taking advantage of me?!"

I stood up and said without room for argument, "Give me your phone number!"

On TV, Dorgon looked down at everyone in the hall and said, "If you're going to establish someone, establish Fulin!"

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when I got back to my mother's place. The room was already quite dark.

Erguai was hunched over in the dimly lit corner of the room, cleaning the hard-to-reach spot behind the sofa.

I said, "Turn on the light. We have electricity."

Erguai got up, turned on the floor lamp, and wiped the lampshade.

The room became much brighter.

The house looked clean.

Someone at least wipes it down every day, so it's tidy.

I must say, Erguai is quite diligent.

Having such a hardworking person in the house really saves me a lot of trouble.

I went into the kitchen, turned on the small water heater, washed my hands, and warmed them up.

I gently pushed open the bedroom door.

Mom was taking a nap.

I went into the bedroom and gently closed the door (it wasn't locked. Please note this detail~~).

I put on my white coat, went to the bedside, and stripped Mom naked, leaving her only in her cotton socks. (To prevent Mom's feet from getting cold. Cold enters through the feet.)

Mom woke up and said, "I dreamt of a big snake that crawled into my blankets and even into my clothes."

I said, "Oh, that's good. Dreaming of a big snake is a very auspicious sign."

Mom asked, "Really? Is something wrong at work?"

I said, "Nothing."

I pressed Mom down on the bed to check her.

Mom asked, "Uncle, are you going to do something indecent again? In broad daylight..."

I said, "Listen to the doctor. Don't move around."

Mom obediently said, "Okay." Her

voice was soft and pleasant.

Mom's voice is naturally as delicate as a young girl's.

Coupled with her gentle nature and low emotional intelligence, I always feel like I'm spoiling her and indulging her.

She depends on me in everything, speaks softly, is a bit silly, and is like a little girl herself.

It's a very strange mismatch.

I like to spoil her and indulge her, treating her like an older brother or uncle.

I can predict what she's going to think about.

I wonder if any of you have had this experience.

It's very mysterious, as if I can almost control her brain activity.

It's very satisfying.

(Compared to that little vixen, I almost never know what her next move will be.)

Occasionally, my mother can also "reverse" back to her social role as a mother, nagging me condescendingly, such as strongly urging me to marry that little vixen.

Whenever this happens, I feel particularly uncomfortable, and I get really annoyed.

My mother's mind is confused.

My mind is confused too.

Everything is fucking confused.

All love is confused.

What's confused is this world.

What's confused is the lonely heart of modern people in chaos.

Actually, today I was mainly worried about what other symptoms my mother might have.

I carefully examined her.

Her face was normal.

Her eyelids, eyeballs, nose, and mouth were normal. Her breasts were soft and smooth, and there were no abnormalities.

Her stomach was smooth and soft, and there were no abnormalities.

Her thighs and calves were normal.

My mother's pubic hair had grown back, and it was a bit rough to the touch.

I noticed that this time the pubic hair was grayish-white, with three parts gray and seven parts white. This made my mother look very old.

I didn't like it.

I guessed my mother wouldn't like it either.

So I got some warm water and a razor and carefully shaved it clean.

Her hairless vulva, like a schoolgirl, like an innocent girl, made my mother look even more like a little girl.

If you only looked at that pink vulva, she looked like a first-year junior high school girl.

Her shaved mons pubis was wet, and there was a concave slit in the middle below, with sticky labia minora squeezed out from the center of the slit.

The light ochre flesh bulging in the slit was slightly wrinkled, like a half-dried, half-wet apricot.

I forcefully pried open my mother's vulva, separating the two almond-shaped labia minora, and checked the urethra and vaginal opening, finding nothing abnormal.

I finally felt a little relieved.

My mother's vulva was covered with a clear, arousing fluid.

Inside the vulva were some moist, pale pink folds of flesh, glistening under the light.

I picked my mother up, and we both gazed into the large mirror.

In the mirror, there were two white-haired figures. A white-haired man in a white coat was embracing a white-haired woman.

Two people with full heads of silver hair, embracing each other, facing the impartial baptism of the mirror together.

In a daze, it felt as if the silver hair had bridged the generation gap between us.

Our apparent ages suddenly seemed closer.

We seemed to have become of the same generation.

I hugged my mother, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, and softly said, "Xi'er."

My mother playfully responded, "Dad, what is it?"

I sang, "Other girls have flowers to wear, but Daddy doesn't have enough money to buy them. So I bought a two-foot red ribbon to put on my Xi'er! Hey hey hey hey~ Put it on, put it on~"

In the mirror, a white-haired man was tying a bright silk headscarf around the neck of the White-haired Girl.

I had bought this for my mother specifically when I went to Buenos Aires to discuss financing years ago; the colors were quite pure and wild.

I used this large floral headscarf to completely wrap my mother from her hairline to the back of her neck, covering all her white hair, not a single strand showing.

After it was wrapped, we both looked carefully in the mirror.

My mother was so surprised she couldn't speak.

I said, "Xi'er, you look ten years younger."

Mom asked, "Now I look like your older sister, or maybe your younger sister?"

I said sternly, "Daughter, don't be so disrespectful! What will the neighbors think if they hear this?"

Mom, with an old-fashioned look, said, "Oh, okay. I won't say anything like that again, Dad."

I kissed Mom's hair in front of the mirror while simultaneously pinching her light brown nipple.

The nipple quickly became erect, standing proudly like Jiang Jie (a character from a Chinese folktale).

I pinched Mom's large nipple with my left hand and took out a few coarse pig bristles with my right.

Mom saw this and asked in horror, "How could you be so heartless? How could you be so heartless as to use this on Mom?"

I thought for a moment and put down the pig bristles. I'll save the pig bristles for the "magic rabbit." (See later chapters of Magic Rabbit's "I Did Something I Extremely Regret.")

Mom said gently, "Dad, I feel it. It's going down. It's so uncomfortable!" (Here, "feeling it" specifically refers to needing to poop. —a8 note.)

I got up, lifted the large cotton cover on the gynecological examination bed, and then a sudden idea struck me. I quickly opened my camera bag, took out the DV camera, power cord, signal cable, and set up the tripod.

Mom watched me do this, knowing that another "live broadcast" was about to begin. "Live

broadcasting" has been one of our games in recent years, but because setting up and tidying up all the equipment is quite troublesome, we haven't played it much lately.

Today, I suddenly thought of it.

I opened my laptop and connected the DV signal cable.

Mom asked softly, "Is it still a live stream today?"

I fixed the DV camera on the tripod and said, "Yes."

Mom asked, "How many people will watch today?"

I turned on the camera light and said, "The data usage will be huge, the server will probably crash again."

I made Mom get up, half-lying on the gynecological examination bed, legs wide apart, feet tucked into stirrups and tightly bound with belts.

Mom lay naked on the gynecological examination bed, her open thighs facing the DV camera, her face burning red, mortified.

Her smelly, big cunt was exposed.

Her cunt was wet, pinkish in color. Exquisite and sensitive.

I said to the camera, "As you can all see, the subject has been stimulated by the previous enema procedure. Her vulva is hot and swollen, her vagina is obviously wet, expelling mucus, and she is sexually aroused. Please look below her vaginal opening; there hangs the clear, sticky liquid she just expelled. What consequences will the next rectal game bring her?"

My fingers were smacking against Mom's wet, sticky cunt.

As I played with her, I commented to the camera, "Look at this! This slut is so wet!"

Mom whispered, "You're so naughty..."

Mom's genitals and anus were completely exposed to the camera lens.

Her flushed face, her signs of excitement, the stringy secretions from her eager cunt—all were recorded by the DV.

I squeezed some glycerin cream onto my fingertip and used it to lubricate Mom's anus. I

told her to take a deep breath, relax, relax.

Mom took a deep breath and relaxed her anus slightly.

I pressed my finger slightly downwards towards her anus while simultaneously pushing it in.

Mom's anus immediately contracted.

I said, "Take a deep breath, relax, relax."

Mom took another deep breath and relaxed her anus again.

My finger slowly moved in and out of Mom's warm anus.

I pulled my finger out. My finger

was clean; the glycerin cream was gone, and there was no feces.

I squeezed some more glycerin cream onto my fingertip and used it to lubricate Mom's anus again.

I said, "Take a deep breath, relax, relax."

Mom breathed slightly.

This time it was easier to enter.

After thoroughly lubricating my mother's anus, I went to the kitchen and saw Erguai preparing dinner.

I said, "How about some pine nut and corn? We have pine nuts and frozen corn kernels in the fridge."

Erguai said, "Okay."

I grabbed a freshly opened 1000ml bottle of salad oil, went back to the bedroom, and closed the door.

I inserted a stool ball with an anal tube into the salad oil bottle, expelled the air, lubricated the tube, and then inserted it into my mother's lubricated anus. I then slowly squeezed the stool ball.

200 ml of salad oil was poured into my mother

's rectum. The friction and stimulation of the anal tube against her anus made her vagina wet again. Her smooth labia and beautiful vulva blossomed like a flower before the DV camera.

My mother's anus was already aroused, soft, lubricated, and slightly open.

I sincerely exclaimed, "Mom, your buttocks are so beautiful. Your anus is so cute!"

My mother asked, "What naughty thing have you done now?"

My mother began to wriggle restlessly.

I replied, "This is a global live stream. Go ahead and poop in front of them. Come on, make a mess of the floor. It's okay."

Holding the microphone, I calmly addressed the camera, "Dear viewers, dear enemates, welcome back to the online live stream 'Mature Women Purge to Death.' Last time we broadcasted beer bladder filling, and the response was quite strong. By the way, let's also condemn the noobs who watched and left! Today, let's witness another excretory organ of mature women—the anus."

My mother couldn't figure out the truth either.

Only I knew that I hadn't actually connected the USB cable, and I hadn't even been online.

Why would I upload to this show with so many noobs? Why would I raise so many maggots?!

I spread my mother's legs apart, positioning her buttocks facing the DV camera. My mother couldn't hold back any longer, and her anus opened wide. Her intestines were thoroughly lubricated, and she finally, embarrassingly, defecated. A

white, round piece of excrement slowly emerged.

The thick, white excrement snaked out slowly, its rough surface rubbing against the delicate anal sphincter muscles around my mother's anus.

The moisture had been fully absorbed, and several large, hard lumps appeared on the surface, resembling over a hundred chestnuts from Huairou stuck together.

I said, "Mom, keep going! Let it out, let it all out!"

Mom breathed heavily, her lower abdomen heaving.

The white stool continued to emerge, endlessly, now reaching thirty centimeters in length.

This long, grayish-white, eerie thing slowly emerged from Mom's anus, as if it were alive.

As the white snake emerged, it rubbed fiercely against the anal sphincter muscles around Mom's anus, causing her to tremble slightly.

I immediately reached down and caught the smooth, grayish-white "snake."

I gently cradled this strange white stool in my hands, like holding a super national treasure.

By now, this "snake" was a meter long and four centimeters in diameter, tapering towards the end, about the thickness of a thumb, still warm from Mom's rectum, and felt warm in my hand.

I handled it carefully, not wanting to break this national treasure from my grasp. I wanted to see just how long this national treasure could possibly be.

(Maybe I'll send it to Luo Xiyue's "Treasure Appraisal" program in a couple of days?)

I said to the camera, "As you can see, the white contents excreted by the subject are a meter long, with a maximum diameter of over four centimeters."

Mom said, "Stop talking. You're disgusting!"

I calmly said, "For a man who understands a woman's heart, a beautiful woman's feces are always the best aphrodisiac."

The white thing is so thick.

Mom's pink anus was viciously dilated. I could see the blood vessels under the exposed anal mucosa.

A terrible white demon was born, covered in transparent mucus. (The salad oil from earlier plus the colon oil mentioned in "The Love Potion"; p)

One foot.

Another foot.

Mom was still straining.

This pale snake was still crawling outwards.

Mom's anus was forced open. It was violently stretched open.

I gently rubbed Mom's clitoris.

Mom groaned, and fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

Mom's anus twitched.

I rubbed Mom's stomach.

Mom was very shy, tilted her head back, and kissed my face.

I stared ahead at the DV camera flashing its little red light.

I knew it was filming, recording, but not live streaming.

My mother and I were both pounding faster than usual.

After fifteen minutes of smooth gliding, the large, seemingly half-cooked, pale dough was finally expelled.

It emitted a faint, pleasant stench. I admired the warm, white devil in my hands.

My mother's buttocks were facing the camera.

Her buttocks were round, and her anus was sticky with a yellowish, sticky, odorless white paste.

I deliberately didn't wipe it off.

Carefully, I held the complete, grayish-white snake that my mother had just expelled with both hands, approached the DV camera, and displayed it to the world's perverts.

I said to the DV camera, "This white poop resembles semi-dry concrete. Only a few bits of fecal residue are visible in the concrete. Everyone can guess what I'm going to do to this white poop in a bit?"

My mother whispered, "You're..."

I said, "The subject's large intestine has now been emptied, and the end of the digestive tract is basically clean. It can be used for anal sex or dissection. Assessment complete."

Actually, this was all just a game, designed to intensify my mother's heartbeat and pleasure.

Looking back, my mother's face was already quite red.

I unfolded several sheets of the Beijing Evening News, laying them one after another on the floor.

Then, little by little, I unfolded this smooth, warm, snake-shaped white object and laid it flat on the newspapers, making it lie as straight as possible.

This large white snake had just been coiled inside my mother's warm intestines. Now, being "delivered," its "body temperature" was dropping.

I measured it with a tape measure.

Total length: 143 centimeters.

The last six or seven centimeters were a little soft; the water in them hadn't yet been fully absorbed by the intestines.

I said to the camera, "As you can see, the subject expelled a trail of white, undigested matter that stands out from the crowd. Now we'll further clean the lower part of the subject's gastrointestinal tract."

Mom asked, "Huh? Clean it again?"

I squeezed out some glycerin cream, applied it to my fingers, and then squeezed out some more, applying it to Mom

's anus. I used the glycerin to lubricate Mom's anus.

After lubrication, I inserted my fingers into Mom's rectum, spreading the glycerin evenly on the inner wall.

After thorough lubrication, my fingers began to provoke Mom's swollen clitoris.

Every time I touched her clitoris, Mom shuddered.

Mom was like a hypersensitive musical instrument; the slightest movement made her make a sound.

My right hand dug into her vagina, pinching and squeezing.

My left hand gently massaged her slippery anus, which was covered in the white, creamy substance.

I didn't feel disgusted; instead, I felt a strange excitement.

Strangely enough, I didn't mind my fingers getting covered in the contents of Mom's intestines. (Those who find this disturbing, please page down!)

To me, nothing on Mom's body was dirty.

I wasn't used to it at first, but after serving them for so many years, it's become a habit.

What's dirty about it? Just wash your hands afterwards, isn't that enough?

Isn't every newborn baby raised by their mother, hand in hand, with every drop of urine and feces?

While feces and urine are indeed a bit disgusting, this disgust somehow stimulates both my mother and me.

This might be a special conditioned reflex formed from long-term close care under special circumstances.

On another level, I sometimes want to "dirty" my mother, to humiliate and shame her with this filth and grime, making her wish she were dead.

I must admit, I'm a completely wicked devil.

She seems to enjoy this game of humiliation.

Perhaps we should both "die of lust"? :q I said, "Let's test the sensitivity of this cunt now."

I began gently rubbing my mother's labia and clitoris.

My mother was naked there, unable to move, being watched by countless imaginary thugs.

My slippery fingers slid in and out of my mother's anus.

My mother's chrysanthemum contracted and relaxed.

My fingers easily slid in, violating my mother's anus.

My mother gasped.

The highly lubricated anal cannula was inserted into my mother's anus again.

As I squeezed the red rubber ball of poop forcefully, warm water gushed into my mother's rectum.

I vigorously massaged her lower abdomen.

The warm water softened any remaining bits of dough that might be stuck in her intestines.

Three thousand milliliters of warm water had already been injected.

I continued to pour water in and massage her abdomen until my mother's breathing became rapid and her groin began to tremble.

My mother said urgently, "Hurry, hurry, I can't take it anymore!"

I knew my mother's intestines had reached their limit.

My mother's belly swelled up, she was covered in sweat, and her expression was one of great pain.

All games must be played in moderation. It's important

to find the right balance.

A ruptured colon wouldn't be fun.

I had my mother sit on a large, round, transparent glass fish tank and continued to massage her swollen lower abdomen.

My mother began to defecate.

I clearly observed her excrement.

My mother's anus opened, and a torrential downpour came; clear water gushed out of her intestines, swirling rapidly in the fish tank.

In the swirling clear water, only a small clump of grayish-white remnant dough struggled alone in the vast flood, a veritable Noah's Ark.

Mom, limp and weak, rested her head on my shoulder and whispered, "Do you think Erguai can hear us?"

I kissed her cheek and said, "Of course he can. He's right here at the door, masturbating to your naked, slutty look."

Mom trembled, stimulated by the scene. The next torrent crashed down.

Three kilograms of water rushed down.

After emptying herself, I said, "Lift your buttocks, let everyone admire your dewy, big buttocks."

Mom lifted her buttocks.

Her anus was loose, soft, and light pink, revealing the dark red anal flesh deep inside. A little glycerin ointment clung to the anal opening, slowly closing.

Her buttocks were covered in splattered, clean dew.

I didn't wipe it off; instead, I injected 300 milliliters of lubricant into her anus.

Then I took Mom's special medical silicone rod and easily inserted it, proceeding through the rectum, sigmoid colon, and large intestine.

This silicone dildo was 3.5 centimeters in diameter and 80 centimeters long, flexible and soft. With just a little force, it slid in about 50 centimeters.

I moved the dildo in and out.

My mother experienced the pleasure of the dildo rubbing against her intestines; it was very stimulating.

I whispered in her ear, "I didn't lock the bedroom door. That means Erguai could push it open anytime and see you in this ugly, filthy state."

This precarious reality further intensified the stimulation to my mother's brain.

My mother moaned softly, her mouth open, her face flushed as she looked at me...

She didn't exert any effort or care; she was simply enjoying herself.

I roughly pulled off the socks my mother was wearing, smelling the pungent, odor emanating from the soles, especially the toes and the balls of her feet where the odor was most concentrated.

I was very familiar with this smell; every time I smelled it, I would get an erection.

Although I didn't quite understand the "connection" mechanism behind this conditioned reflex.

I said, "Mmm...smelly socks! Smelly feet!"

Mom got even more excited and asked, "What about your pussy?"

While masturbating Mom, I said, "Your pussy smells even worse."

Mom let out an excited "Oh!"

I continued, "Let me smell it! Mmm!! What a beautiful, hot, horny pussy!"

I could clearly feel the amount of sticky fluid flowing onto my hands increase instantly, and it was warm.

I took two clips and clipped them onto Mom's breasts.

The two clips were very strong.

Mom's breathing became heavy, and she kept panting.

I said to the camera, "Classmates, listen to this, doesn't this panting sound just like a female dog in heat?"

Mom's breathing became even heavier.

Mom said, "I need to pee." (niào suī)

Mom's bladder was full.

I said, "You little slut, you little bitch in heat, Daddy should catheterize you."

Mom's body stiffened, turning into a reverse arch, seemingly enjoying the pleasure brought by this humiliation.

I pinched Mom's soft cheeks and forced her to look at the camera.

Humiliation mingled with a racing heart, yet it also filled Mom with excitement and anticipation.

I took a piece of medical IV tubing, squeezed it—it was quite flexible, and the diameter was suitable; it could replace a catheter.

I took a knife and cut it at a 60-degree angle, then used a lighter to singe the edges of the tubing (slightly heating and melting them) to remove the sharp edges and protect Mom's urethral mucosa.

I squeezed the IV tubing and smoothly inserted it into Mom's urethra.

The tubing entered a relatively narrow bottleneck.

I pushed a little harder. The tubing passed through.

The tubing entered the bladder, and the hot urine that had been held back for so long flowed out automatically, dripping into the metal bucket I had prepared. (The metal bucket was intentionally chosen here; the exaggerated sound effect was meant to be dramatic.)

I forcefully parted Mom's labia, allowing the DV camera to record as clearly as possible.

This is precious footage. Years later, when we watch it again, it will surely bring back fond memories.

Mom had urinated enough, and I slowly pulled the IV tubing out of her urethra.

The tubing was covered in a lot of mucus.

Mom's urethral opening was red and swollen.

Some pale yellow residual urine spurted out. Under the pressure of the congested and swollen urethral walls, the urine stream darted left and right, eventually becoming a diffuse, spurting stream.

I took a mask I'd bought during the SARS outbreak and placed it over my mother's vulva to catch her warm urine.

Once she had finally finished, I turned around, holding the urine-soaked mask, and carefully put it on her face.

The slightly yellow, urine-soaked mask fit snugly over her mouth and nose.

I then carefully wiped her anus and the area around it clean with soft toilet paper.

I inserted my hard cock into my mother's cunt, gently thrusting, savoring the pleasure of incest between mother and son.

My mother moaned inside her mask.

I pulled my hard cock out of her cunt and thrust it into her warm rectum.

After a few dozen thrusts, I pulled my hard cock out of her warm rectum again and thrust it into her cunt.

I asked my mother, "Does your pee smell good?"

My mother nodded and replied, "Smells...smells..."

I asked my mother, "Are you horny? "

My mother nodded as if hypnotized and replied, "Horny...I'm horny..."

I threw the pee-soaked mask into the corner and began to fuck her roughly.

My mother kissed me, looked at me, and whispered, "Don't you want to take your clothes off?"

I said cruelly, "Cold. No."

Actually, I didn't want my mother to see my "dog testicles" on my lower abdomen and get anxious.

The phone rang. I answered it; it was my mother's childhood friend, Aunt Chen.

I plugged in the earphone and put it in my mother's ear.

My mother was chatting idly with someone over there.

It was nothing more than trivial matters between women.

I stood beside my mother, rubbing her breasts and masturbating while recalling that 51-year-old, complete stranger, slut from the dairy shop that afternoon, replaying her soft moans: "Mmm. Oh...it's so itchy...it's itchy inside...snap...breasts..."

I thought about the large, sticky, warm, sticky secretions from that old slut's vagina on my hands.

I imagined my left middle finger ravaging her vagina, my right middle finger running wild in her rectum, both hands fiercely masturbating her from both ends, attacking that old slut from both sides...

A pale blue lightning bolt shot from my feet straight to the back of my head.

My spinal cord was struck by this lightning, burning and numb.

I jolted, and hot, thick semen shot hard onto my mother's face.

I gently massaged along the direction of my mother's facial muscles, using the semen as massage cream.

Semen is the essence of men, more nutritious than milk, and without any chemical additives. I firmly believe that facial ejaculation combined with massage can make skin elastic and youthful.

At this moment, my whole body was soft and extremely relaxed; my knees felt like the semen I had ejaculated, liquefying.

But I forced myself to stay alert and continued giving my mother a "facial."

My mother tilted her head back, eyes closed, enjoying the moment, chatting on the phone with her girlfriend. Her facial muscles and entire body were completely relaxed, a faint smile of happiness radiating from her face.

It was the unique relaxation of a woman at home after an orgasm.

It was the unique expression of a vulgar middle-aged housewife after extreme satisfaction.

Finally, the call ended. I hung up the phone.

I hugged my mother and tucked her in.

In my arms, my mother softly asked, "Do you think we're being very immoral?"

I said, "Yes."

My mother kissed my armpit.

Mom kissed me while asking, "What should we do then?"

I said, "Well, it's like this. First, we're already like this, there's basically no solution right now. Second, we haven't hurt anyone, and we're not affecting anyone. Let's just keep 'losing'."

Mom said, "Oh," and her tone returned to that of the little girl who accidentally broke the glass vase.

I said, "Some people die in orgasm, some are reborn in orgasm."

Mom asked, "Then do you want Mom to die in orgasm or live in orgasm?"

I said, "I want you to be in ecstasy in orgasm, crying out to heaven and earth not to let you die, crying out to earth not to let you live."

Mom said, "You're so naughty."

I pressed my face against Mom's.

Both of our faces were very hot. It was really hard to tell whose was hotter. Maybe we should both go to the fever clinic...

Mom's face smelled of my semen.

I thought my own semen smelled pretty good.

I tugged at Mom's hair a couple of times, then realized I'd used too much force, so I changed to gently scratching her hair.

Mom's breathing became even, and she stopped talking.

I knew the middle-aged woman was tired and had fallen asleep.

I lay there with my eyes open, recalling the broken cross on the amulet, the broken cross on the old gourd, the strange cross on the TV that morning, and those two flashing Chinese characters: "淫死" (yin si, meaning "death from lust") and "死淫" (

si yin, meaning "death from lust"). What did they mean? Staring at the ceiling, I asked myself: Does evil come from lust? Is lust the same as lewdness? Have I been too rampant with lust these past few years, causing strange things to happen in my family and bringing retribution upon myself?

Just then, I heard Erguai politely knocking on the bedroom door and softly saying, "Big brother, Auntie, dinner is ready."

I said, "Okay. Just a moment. Coming."

I wiped the sweat from my mother's forehead with a Kleenex and said, "Get up, get up."

After I packed up the tripod, lights, and camera, my mother didn't get up to get dressed; instead, she continued to snore softly in bed.

Suddenly, a warm feeling, like a 78-degree breeze, welled up in my heart and spread throughout the bedroom.

My heart was gently touched.

I felt I had to cherish my mother. Life is so short!

Her decades have been so difficult!

Especially these past few days, I've had a bad feeling; I realized something bad was going to happen in my life.

I need to take good care of Mom while I can.

I went out of the bedroom and quietly told Erguai to eat first.

Erguai hesitated for a moment and said, "Oh no, I'll wait for you. I'll go downstairs to walk the dog first."

I said okay.

I went back to the bedroom, and Mom was still fast asleep.

I sat on the white pure wool rug by the bed and rubbed Mom's thighs through the blankets.

I rubbed and rubbed, more than a hundred times, and finally couldn't resist the drowsiness and closed my eyes...

Suddenly, someone's stomach rumbled! Mom and I woke up at the same time.

We opened our eyes and smiled at each other.

It was dark outside, the room was dark, and I couldn't tell what time it was.

I looked at the clock; it was already past nine o'clock at night.

Mom asked, "Why are you sleeping on the rug?"

I said, "I didn't want to disturb your sleep."

Mom said, "Oh, I really fell asleep. You're so tiring, you naughty thing."

I helped Mom get up, get dressed, and put on her socks.

Mom asked, "How many people clicked on that video this afternoon?"

I casually replied, "Over 600,000, more than 100 kilograms of semen sprayed for you. I estimate you also ruined over 30,000 virgin boys."

Mom said, "Nonsense! Where?"

I said, "At least." ; P Erguai had already returned from walking the dog.

After helping Mom wash up, we went to the restaurant and the three of us had dinner together.

At 11 p.m., Lao K called. We arranged to meet at a restaurant.

After hanging up, I said, "Mom, I'm going out to talk about something."

Mom said worriedly, "It's already 11 p.m. What is it? Can't we talk about it tomorrow?"

I told her to get some rest and not to worry.

My mother told me, "It's getting colder. Wear more layers when you go out."

I said, "Okay."

I went into the restaurant. He arrived quickly.

When I saw he had come by taxi, I smiled and praised him, saying, "You're so good."

He said he hadn't seen my car and also praised me, saying, "Good."

We were both there to drink to our hearts' content, so neither of us had moved our cars.

The wine was poured, and the pickled radish peel and spicy crayfish were served.

I said, "We've been friends for over twenty years. Twenty years, gone in a flash!"

Old K said, "Yeah, right? That's damn fast. Look at your hair, it's so white it's creepy!"

What's a childhood friend? Someone who always brings up the most sensitive topics. They know each other better than meat stewed with cabbage, with no secrets left.

I continued my topic: "Back in the day, we were always having a good time, remember?"

Old K said, "I remember! How could I not? In the blink of an eye, we're both old hags now, all white-haired."

Hey! He's not done yet.

I said, "I don't think I'm old at all. Time is the cruelest thing."

Old K said, "Time is the fairest! Back in the day, none of us old folks were old enough to be like you." Ca

n't we bring that back?

Can't we talk about anything besides my gray hair?

We reminisced about some classic battles, checked the results, but it was all completely off-topic.

I said, "The battle at Panjiagang, a small victory against a large enemy force, we had fifty men, the enemy had one hundred and twenty, plus a lot of workers, remember?"

Old K said, "No, I remember we had thirty men, and they had seventy."

I said, "Oh well! It was pretty brutal, we took down six of their men."

Old K said, "No, no. They took down six of our men."

Is it because it's been so long?

Are our memories fading?

Or is there a communication barrier between us?

After a few of us left, he started to get to the point. (“A few left”: refers to drinking several large gulps or cups of baijiu, or several large glasses of beer. —a8 note.)

He asked, “Hey, what happened to her? You haven’t told me anything.”

I said, “Last night I had a falling out with her. Later I saw she was injured, and when I asked her who did it, she wouldn’t say.” (Fall out of love = falling out. —a8 note.)

He said, “Damn! So you suspect me?!”

I said, “What I mean is, if you like her, just take her, take her to your place, do whatever you want with her.”

He said, “Bullshit! I would like her?! At most, I’d just play around with her. You think I would ‘take her’? Have you been doing well lately?”

My heart sank. How could I sit at the same table drinking with this bastard?

I tried to remain calm and said, “Actually, she’s quite pitiful. She’s been like this since she was little…”

He interrupted me, “She’s a complete liar, emotionally inverted, hypersexual, depersonalized, and has primary persecution complex. You should know what that’s called, right?”

Did he need to remind me? Of course I knew.

Yes, that little slut has mild schizophrenia, a case of nymphomaniac. Nymphomania, also known as female lewdness or, colloquially, "flower-obsessed," is very difficult to treat clinically.

Her mental activity is uncoordinated, and her thoughts are sometimes disorganized and fragmented.

I kept hoping: what if I could "pull back" a marginal soul? Wouldn't that be a miracle?

I said, "She said you told her you had ten million in savings."

Old K spat out half a mouthful of wine and said, "Ten million? If I had ten million, I'd be a bastard! If I had ten million, would I be acting like a grandson all day?!"

I said, "How much wealth you have is none of my business."

Old K said, "That day she insisted on asking me how much money I had, and I said I had about a million."

Old K always gives ten different numbers when discussing this topic. I didn't care.

Why should I care how much savings he had?

I said, "She complains that I've never told her how much money I have."

Old K said, "Girls these days are so direct. You have to get used to it."

I said, "She also said you said you'd support her child?"

Old K's eyes almost popped out: "She has a child?! How old is he? A Chinese version of Luo Jinshun?"

I observed him while smoking.

Was he still playing dumb? Where did he intend to play me?

Or, perhaps the little slut wasn't pregnant at all? Was she just a hopeless, habitually lying country bumpkin? Making a mess of things with her constant lies?

He kept pressing, "Hey, I'm asking you! How old is her child?"

I pressed for the truth of that night.

Old K gave different versions of events. Each version didn't make sense.

I realized I would never know what happened that night.

Everyone's perspective was different, everyone's interests were different at each moment of description.

Everyone chose to say what was most advantageous to themselves.

I found that language is the most inadequate thing.

So, where did the little slut go that night? For me, it's an unfillable void.

As we drank, he glanced at my lower abdomen, grinning mischievously, and said, "Look at you! One girl ran off and you're already like this?"

I looked down; right below my navel, in the middle, my sweater was being pushed up high by something round, even higher than this morning.

Remembering my strange ailment, I couldn't bring myself to tell my buddy.

Annoyed, I grabbed my glass, frowned, and downed another drink!

First, I'd enjoy myself. Everything else could wait until tomorrow!

As the saying goes, the more you drink, the stronger the bond becomes.

In our drunken revelry, we walked arm in arm through the deserted midnight streets, sang vulgar songs, and our friendship seemed to have returned to its pre-crisis harmony.

Could it really be restored?

I started rambling: "Take me somewhere tomorrow."

He asked, "Where?"

I said, "Shimen Gou, Qikeshu Village, Zhouying Town."

He said, "I'm not going. I advise you not to go either. Our cars are fine. They can't handle that awful road!"

Headache. My head was throbbing.

I said goodbye to Old K and went back to my apartment alone. The little slut was already back, sleeping naked on the bed.

I took a shower, threw myself on the bed, and passed out.

In the darkness, I heard my mother softly say, "Come on, give Mommy your hand..."

I reached out my hand. My mother took it, leading it to her warm belly, and with her other hand, she lifted the elastic band of her panties and pushed it inside.

I felt a hot, wet vulva. I wondered: How did Mommy get hands?

I heard my mother softly say to me, "Touch my vulva..."

a wrinkled, wet vulva.

Layers of pleasure washed over me, rippling the surface of a still pond.

My wicked hands mischievously played with my mother's vulva.

She gasped with excitement.

After her climax, I, who had been busy all day without a moment's rest, pressed my advantage.

She came again.

As I wiped her sweat, she whispered, "Son, I'm leaving, leaving you."

Confused, I asked, "Where are you going? When will you be back?"

She drifted towards the window, saying, "Mommy is going to a very, very far place. When will I be back? I don't even know if I'll ever come back. Take care."

I tried to grab her hand, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold on!

She drifted further and further away, almost out the window.

I had to confess! I had to say it!

In a daze, I leaned forward to kiss her, her cheeks and lips, panting, and blurted out, "Mommy, I love you so much!"

Suddenly I woke up, startled, to find myself leaning forward to kiss her face and lips.

It was all a dream. What a sweet dream!

I only heard the little slut say "Ugh!" before irritably pushing me away and going back to sleep.

Was she really not awake?

The next morning, I woke up, lit a cigarette, and waited for the little slut to wake up naturally.

She finally woke up.

I asked, "Where did you go after leaving the museum?"

She said nervously, "I...I got lost. I walked and walked, went around and around, but I was lost and couldn't find my way back here."

I asked, "Weren't there any taxis?"

She said, "No."

I asked, "Wasn't there anyone you could ask for directions?"

She said, "No."

I asked, "And then what happened?"

She said, "Then I fell and tripped, and I don't remember anything after that. Then, as dawn approached, I came to my senses and found my way back here."

I said, "Think carefully, where did you go? Who did you meet?"

She lowered her head, hesitated for a long time, and said, "I don't want to say."

I said, "This is the last time I'll ask you, where did you go? Who did you meet?"

She lowered her head, thought for a moment, and said, "Don't force me, okay? I'll tell you when I'm ready."

06-01
21: A strange wind rises, clouds fly.

I said, "This is the last time I'll ask you, where did you go? Who did you meet?"

She lowered her head, thought for a moment, and said, "Don't force me, okay? I'll tell you when I want to."

The swelling on her face had gone down a bit, but the cut, redness, and bruises were still quite noticeable.

I stubbed out my cigarette and grabbed her neck with my cold hands, saying, "The tenant was in danger, set the house on fire, and the landlord didn't even ask. That landlord is a complete idiot."

Her gaze was deep as she looked at me and said, "Why do you want to know so much?"

I pressed on, "What's so hard to say?"

She said, "I really don't want to say. Can we talk about something else?"

I said, "Are you lost in a maze or did you run into a bad guy?"

She said, "I'll tell you tonight."

I got up and put on my coat. She asked, "Where are you going?"

I said, "To my mother's."

As soon as I entered, my mother said, "I dreamt about you last night! I dreamt that I had an arm again, and that I was leaving."

I asked, "Where did you dreamt you were going?"

My mother said, "Who knows? It seemed to be a pretty far place, but I didn't take anything with me, not even my clothes or wallet. Isn't that strange?"

I've gotten used to talking to my mother about death. Death is a black subway train heading towards you; everyone is destined to face it, it's just a matter of time.

I said, "It's not strange. It means you've accumulated a lot of good karma, and the Jade Emperor has sent it back to you."

My mother smiled calmly and said, "Look at what you're saying. I'm not going to die!"

I leaned down and grabbed my mother's soft breasts, whispering in her ear, "Yes, my mother still had to be teased by her son before she died..." My

mother's lips curled up very slightly, suppressing a laugh, and she whispered, "Go ahead and laugh..."

Erguai went to buy groceries. I pulled my mother into the bedroom, got her onto the bed, and stripped off her pants and underwear. I spread her thighs and vulva, and carefully cleaned her entire vulva with a pure white cotton swab dipped in alcohol.

My mother's waist was slightly plump. Time is merciless. (Whenever I see

phrases like "my mother's beautiful figure..." or "my mother's jade legs, hands, and feet..." I skip them. I don't know why they don't attract me.)

My mother asked softly, "What are you doing? What naughty idea are you plotting now?"

I took out a black dilator shaped like a penis, about 30 millimeters in diameter. I applied glycerin to lubricate it thoroughly, and then inserted it into my mother's urethra.

I gently tickled my mother's clitoris. The clitoris quickly became coated with my mother's secretions.

My mother slowly twisted her waist on the sheets, as the last trace of socialization. Socialization requires us to know shame. Brainwashing makes us realize "this is wrong." But our bodies tell us "this feels so good." How can this contradiction between socialization and lust be reconciled? How much of my mother's prostitution-like nature is concealed by the radiance of motherhood?

After a series of games, I took out the dilator. My mother's urethra was as loose as a baby's mouth.

I put a condom (35 millimeters in diameter) on a clean carrot and inserted it into her soft urethra.

My mother panted and thrust her hips upwards, looking very uneasy.

I kissed her cheek and whispered, "Is the old bitch in heat?"

My mother softly replied, "Mmm! Come kiss me~~ Come kiss Mommy! This old slut is in heat..."

I kissed her hot face while gently rubbing her swollen clitoris.

My mother breathed heavily in my arms, but after a while, she frankly said, "No... I can't go on..."

I began to calmly set the scene: "One day, a woman came to a military camp to wait for her husband, but he didn't come for a long time, so she started masturbating. A large group of thirsty young soldiers stood by and watched..."

My mother breathed hotly and gradually got into it, moaning, "Mmm...! Oh!"

This "Mmm...! Oh!" seemed to encourage me to continue.

I said, "The thirsty young soldiers inside are coming up to you, pinching your nipples and clitoris."

Mom said, "Hmm! Are their dicks all big?"

I said, "Big! Mom will know once she touches them... The sergeant's big, long dick is already inside Mom's soft pussy."

I continued to say bold things like I was crazy. It was obvious that Mom's tender clitoris was undergoing a storm.

Mom moaned shamelessly.

I cruelly and roughly pinched Mom's tender clitoris, while whispering lewd "bad things" in Mom's ear.

Mom cried out in orgasm. I only remember Mom violently shaking her head at the peak of the orgasm.

Mom's climax ended, the game was over. I pulled the carrot out of Mom's wet urethra.

*Splash! Splash!* Mom lost control of her bladder. Hot urine gushed out. You've all seen a tap turned on, right?

After Mom finished urinating, I carefully examined her urethra.

It was pitifully open, quite loose, the opening about twenty millimeters in diameter. I could clearly see the moist, pink inner walls of the urethra.

I masturbated Mom's clitoris, gently caressing her urethra.

That night, I returned to my apartment and faced her.

I said, "It's dark. Go on."

She said, "I ran into...someone...who might not be human..."

I said, "Who might not be human? What do you mean 'who might' not be human? What is it?"

She said, "I really don't want to think about that."

I said, "Give me your keys now, grab your clothes and get out of here."

She said pitifully, "Don't kick me out! I have nowhere to go!"

I said, "That night, after I left the museum..."

She said, "After you left, I wandered around the museum alone, looking for the Green Snake. I walked and walked, and when I got tired, I leaned against the radiator by the window. Then I heard a noise outside the window. I thought you had come back to pick me up, so I turned to look out the window. And what I saw! Oh my god, I'm going numb all over now, I need a drink!"

She poured herself a glass of wine, took a sip, then another.

I stared at her.

She said, "I saw a dark shadow jumping around on the snow outside the window and downstairs. It was jumping in and out of the big iron railing, each time jumping three or four meters high, and it seemed so easy."

I knew that the iron railings around the museum were about three and a half meters high.

I said, "Was he practicing jumping in the snow all by himself in the middle of the night?"

She said, "Yes. I thought you had put some weird cotton monkey in there to amuse me. But when I looked closely, it didn't seem human. So I looked out through the glass."

I said, "Tell me what you saw."

She said, "Then, suddenly! That thing just suddenly darted in front of me. I'm on the third floor. It was right there by the window, facing me through the glass. It was almost human-shaped, with a dark face, no features, and no neck. Plus, it was late at night, there were no lights, and it was snowing heavily, so I couldn't see very clearly."

I admit I was a little creeped out at the time, my face and the back of my head felt hot and numb.

I tried to remain calm and asked in a low voice, "You didn't yell for help? There's a security guard on the first floor."

She said, "Yell? I couldn't make a sound at all. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't budge. Have you ever had nightmares at night when you're so scared you can't even scream?"

I said, "Stop talking nonsense, hurry up and tell me, what happened next?"

She took another sip of her drink and said, "Can we turn on the lights and talk about this?"

I could feel her body trembling slightly.

I was also a little creeped out, but I calmly said, "Talking about this in the dark is nice, it's quite romantic. Hurry up!"

She said, "I just trembled and froze there, separated from that thing by a pane of glass."

Frankly speaking, every time I heard her mention "that thing," I felt a chill run down my spine. Times

have changed, things have changed, but every time I think of those three words, my palms go numb.

I feigned nonchalance and pressed, "And then! And then!"

She took another sip of her drink and said, "Then, suddenly I felt someone hug me. I shuddered! But at the time, I genuinely thought it was you coming back to play a joke on me. I turned around, and it wasn't you behind me! It was another thing. It was hugging me! I smelled a strong, pungent stench, like a giant python tightly constricting you, its mouth wide open, spewing out the stench of a rotting corpse from underground. That stench was like the scene of ten thousand live fish being slaughtered."

All words were false; only the terror that grew from the depths of my heart in the dead of night was real! I can hardly describe the panic I felt at that moment or the numbness and tingling in my cheeks.

I grabbed the bottle and took a sip. It wasn't even any kind of alcohol; the taste was sour, pungent, and fishy. Damn, that's not good.

My hands and feet were cold, and I pressed her for an answer: "And then! And then!"

She said, "Then I suddenly went limp! Suddenly I felt something cold crawl into my vagina from behind. I don't know if it was a finger or something, but it was covered in sticky fluid and slippery.

I didn't have the strength to resist. I'm sorry..."

I was having trouble breathing. I urged her, "And then!"

She said, "Then that wet, cold thing went in and started fucking me hard. I was terrified.

Slowly, I felt so good... and then I even had an orgasm... don't scold me..."

I asked, "Was that thing outside the window watching you being fucked to orgasm by its accomplices?"

She said, "It just kept lying outside the glass. It didn't have any facial features, I don't know if it could see me..."

I asked, "Slut, how did you get the injuries on your face?"

She said, "Then that thing grabbed my head and kept banging it against the corner of the display stand. You know, I secretly crave being tortured, I don't understand why. Anyway, at the time I felt really good, really willing to be tortured like that. Later I slowly let go, I thought, dying like that would be good too. I guess Liu Hulan herself thought the same thing when she was lying under the guillotine, right?"

I remembered what the old immortal said about the Heavenly Court brewing to "recall" the little slut. Could it be that they've already secretly sent "people"

? If they really sent "people," why keep her around? Do you know how many brothers this slut has ruined?!

I said, "Then!"

She said, "Then I kept bobbing my head against the corner of the display stand like a kowtowing worm, and then I lost consciousness. Then I woke up, and all those things were gone. It was almost dawn, so I jumped out of the museum and came back to you."

I said, "Then why did you lie and say you were haunted?"

She said, "Would you feel really better knowing the truth?"

I was stunned, immediately wondering if her story about her and her father was also fabricated.

My brain short-circuited, and a chill ran down my spine. I quickly downed another big gulp of liquor to bolster my courage.

No luck. Even drinking didn't work. I simply turned on the light and cautiously scanned every corner of the apartment.

Nothing unusual.

I could feel her fear, a deep, visceral fear. There's so much we can't see, so much we don't know in this world. Damn it! What's wrong with my life lately?!

My mom's legs suddenly stretched out six meters, my belly bulged with a dog-like shape, the mysteriously shattered amulet, the old gourd,

the TV , and now a faceless ghost in a cotton-padded coat...

Ghosts exist! They really do. At that moment, all I could think about was: cut the Gordian knot and kick her out! I was fed up!

We got into bed and crawled under the covers.

I lit a cigarette, propped my left arm up behind my head, held the cigarette in my right hand, and plotted how to get rid of her.

She lazily got up, kissed my armpit naked, then lay on my chest, watching me smoke, and said admiringly, "You know what? You look so mature when you smoke. I like it."

I was already fed up with her, I was sick of her flirtatious ways, but those words still touched me.

My ex-wife objected to my smoking. For several years, after meals, she and I would each smoke alone, hunched over, in the courtyard of our apartment complex. Don't laugh at me, but this was one of the main reasons we divorced.

Now, in the blue morning light, I impulsively embrace her, but deep down I remind myself: this is the last time we'll be so naked and honest in our embrace. Tomorrow morning, I'll definitely kick her out!

Under the same roof, two desperate ants, naked and huddled together for warmth, lie under the covers, only their heads sticking out, chatting softly, watching the snowflakes slowly fall outside the window. I suddenly realize I've almost never had a late-night heart-to-heart talk with my ex-wife.

The little vixen gently takes the cigarette from my fingers, takes a puff, savoring the smoke, and exhales.

I don't know what I was thinking, but I subconsciously started humming:

"Will I really leave you this time? Will I stop crying this time? Will I never look back this time? Walking down that long, endless road."

She handed me the cigarette and casually continued singing the second verse:

"Will I really leave you this time? Have my tears dried up and stopped flowing? Has my promise come true? When love runs deep, one is lonely..."

Her pitch was pretty good. It seemed she liked the song too.

I took a drag of my cigarette, exhaled, and handed it back to her. She took it and sang along with me: "

How many times has loneliness struggled in my heart? Just to hold back my departing steps. How many times have I held back my tears? Just to tell myself I don't care..." She

even sang two parts.

I haven't known this little vixen for very long, but we seem to have a deep connection.

We both fell into deep thought and stopped singing.

The song abruptly ended, the lingering sound drifting to every corner of the apartment, finally being absorbed by the walls.

I froze, my heart churning like boiling Laba porridge.

My ex-wife didn't like to sing. She never sang. She never drank either.

From before the divorce to after, I always hoped that one day I could share a cigarette, a bottle of wine, and sing the same song with a woman.

I searched and searched for a sex partner, but couldn't find one who was suitable in every way.

A female smoking buddy didn't like karaoke, a karaoke lover didn't smoke, and the one I finally found who liked karaoke

and could smoke couldn't tolerate my drinking.

Life is so helpless.

Now, the girl in my arms is sharing a cigarette and a bottle of wine with me, we were just singing the same song in perfect harmony, we had a wild, unrestrained climax, and yet I'm secretly plotting how to kick her out. How could I be so despicable?

She lost her mother at a young age, her father raped her and then abandoned her. She worked so hard to come to the city to sell bananas—was it easy for such a young woman?

The poor girl, her young heart in turmoil, hadn't yet found order, hadn't yet found true love, and someone appeared to me in a dream, saying she was a green snake, inherently lewd.

She was indeed lewd; so young, so naive, yet Heaven was brewing a plan to "recall" her…

If I kicked her away, where would she go?

Why not keep her and gamble, see if I could move Heaven with true love? (Like I did to my mother in my past life?)

The fleeting detail of her sharing a cigarette, a bottle of wine, a song with me influenced my decision.

Looking back calmly at my decision, I realized that people's choices at crucial moments are often swayed by chance external forces. This is precious; it shows my conscience isn't dead. But

a dead conscience is also pathetic. The world is treacherous. Cold reality repeatedly taught me a lesson about my naivety, yet I followed my feelings.

The consequences of this incident once again proved that following one's feelings is foolish. "Chance external forces" are likely mirages, and unfortunately, this has been proven multiple times.

I stubbed out my cigarette and held her in my arms.

I touched her genitals. She was sticky and hot down there. I smelled my fingers; there was a faint, raw, fishy smell.

I inserted the silicone snake into her vagina and then touched her anus.

She said, "He always says I'm 'dirty' and 'bad girl' while playing with my vagina."

I asked, "How do you feel? Do you like it?"

She said, "Hmm, it's hard to say. His masturbation makes me feel good, excites me, and also makes me feel really 'dirty.' Sometimes when I touch my own vagina, he holds me, and sometimes he says I'm 'slutty.' I get excited and orgasm while fucking my own dirty little vagina. Sometimes he makes me spread my buttocks and he licks my anus. Sometimes after we're done, he says I'm a good-for-nothing, only thinking about getting fucked by men, and that I'm a useless scumbag."

I continued touching her anus and casually asked, "So, do you think you're a slut?"

She said, "Yes, I am. Do you especially like hearing women say that?"

I ignored her and instead teasingly tickled her clitoris. She was panting heavily.

I flipped her over, knelt behind her, spread her buttocks, and licked her anus while simultaneously shaking the silicone snake tail protruding from her vagina.

Her anus smelled slightly, loose and soft. I licked her anal sphincter.

She twisted her waist and mumbled, "What do you think... what would happen if I put a live eel inside?"

The snake tail was already covered in the arousal fluid secreted from her vagina.

I asked, "Where? Front or back?"

She groaned like a sigh and said, "At the same time... oh, Daddy, you're fucking me so good!"

I licked her clitoris.

She said, "Ah! Ahhh... Oh!"

I gently sucked and nibbled at her sensitive little clitoris. Her body began to thrust powerfully. I heard the "slap slap" sound of a live fish coming ashore.

The slut was getting excited!

The live fish groaned and whimpered pitifully, like a car accident survivor in the emergency room.

After being brought to orgasm by me, the live fish's body relaxed, completely falling apart.

I held her. She fell asleep peacefully in my arms.

I looked at the glass window. Outside the window, the snow fell even harder.

A black night bird perched on the air conditioner compressor outside my window, its eyes blinking, giving me a strange smile before suddenly flapping its wings and flying away.

I heard a train whistle twenty kilometers away…

In the middle of the night, I woke up to find her touching my "dog's egg" below my navel. She blinked her pretty eyes and asked, "Hey, what's this?"

I whispered in her ear, "I've developed, and my second cock is sticking out."

She exclaimed in surprise, "Really? Then I'm going to have so much fun!"

She touched my real cock, then touched my second cock. The second cock was even harder than the real one.

I asked coldly, "Are you messing around with those artists again?"

She said, "What do you mean messing around? I've made money!"

She rummaged through her wallet, took out three hundred-yuan bills, and handed them to me.

I asked, "What do you mean?"

She said, "I'll give you everything, including the rent and food expenses for these past few days. Is that enough?"

I said, "How did you earn that?"

She said, "After you left yesterday afternoon, they took me to their place for an audition. I earned three hundred yuan just from the audition! They said it will be more in the future."

I said indifferently, "You're really great."

She said, "Yeah, I think I'm pretty great too. Three hundred! I'm so happy!"

I said, "Don't give it to me. Keep it. This is your hard-earned money."

She said, "No way! You can't refuse! I live in a house, of course I have to pay! Besides, I can earn more later~"

I said, "Even if we have money, we can't show off."

She said, "Yes, don't worry, even if I had three thousand yuan, I would still pretend to be poor. I have to be frugal, right?"

I said, "That's right, that's right. Hey, do you know them? What kind of people are the inner gang?"

She said, "I think they are good people."

I said, "Good people? Can artists... " "Are there any good people left? Haven't you heard that even hooligans become artists?"

She asked, "What about artists?"

I made up an excuse, speaking in a cold, Ma Sanli-esque tone, "Don't you know artists all run restaurants? One by one they've gone into business, who still has the heart for art?"

She asked, "Oh, really? What about businessmen?"

I said, "Businessmen? Those who haven't been executed are probably on the run, and those who haven't are probably buying art to launder money."

She asked, "What about those on the run?"

I said, "The hooligans on the run think the title of 'hooligan' is too shabby, so they desperately degenerate, and in the end they all become artists."

She laughed, her eyes crinkling, quite pretty.

She said, "But those bandits are all pretty loyal. Oh, all those big motorcycles of theirs..."

I interrupted her, asking, "Who's the bandit?"

She said, "The guy who does nude photography."

I said, "Oh."

She said, "He's got some ideas."

I said, "Oh."

She said, "They all seem to like me."

I said, "Really? How did you meet?"

She said, "The other day a talent scout approached me..."

I asked, "Did you sleep with the bandit?"

Her face suddenly contorted, and she retorted, "Are you my dad? My dad isn't as nagging as you! Never-ending."

Her split personality and aggressiveness disgusted me.

I hate all self-righteous women. I hate all women who despise men.

I got up, lit a cigarette, and sat shirtless on the edge of the bed, smoking. I don't like drawing the curtains. I saw outside the window, under the streetlights, the snow falling silently.

Two people together are like two hedgehogs lying in bed. Both covered in thorns, and both acting like masochists. When they act like masochists, they hug each other. When they hug each other, one of them is bound to get hurt.

What to do? Can't I just not hug her? Hmm?

The little slut lay behind me, silently watching me smoke. She should know I was in a bad mood. But she just wouldn't say a word of comfort.

When country girls get stubborn, let me tell you, they're even more stubborn than city girls!

I gave her my back. I knew she couldn't possibly fall asleep. I knew she also knew I couldn't sleep in this mood either. I knew she also knew we were at an impasse.

I just didn't want to talk. Finally, the little slut broke the silence.

She got up, limply resting on my shoulder, her warm lips kissing my shoulder.

Between kisses, she whispered, "Daddy, do you want to fuck me?"

How much longer am I supposed to be her dad's surrogate?

She sat behind me, her hands softly reaching around from behind, her fingertips gently touching my penis. Her fingers were beautifully shaped, her nails were also quite nice.

As I was watching, I suddenly heard her ask in surprise, "You're still soft?"

I asked back, "Looks like you've been touching a lot of hard ones these past few days?"

She asked me, "Yeah, that's right, I'm a little slut..."

I crawled under the covers and rubbed her smooth back.

I said, "Is it fun having a bunch of strange men snapping photos of you with their DSLRs?"

She said, "Yeah, it's pretty exciting. I told them my sister has leukemia. Men are so easy to fool."

I looked at the marks on her face and said, "Tell Bandit tomorrow to take a set of photos of him torturing a pregnant woman."

She excitedly said, "Bandit really said that, he wants me to be a model and play a martyr! He even said my strength is that I'm very real, not pretentious at all."

I said, "Yeah, you should just be yourself, bring out all your sex appeal, add some fetish

, hogtie, gag, choke, tickling, extrememe

, and I guarantee you'll become an overnight sensation."

She said, "Deep down, I like being ravaged and abused. I don't know why. I just like it, I like the feeling of being tightly bound, I like being fucked by a lot of strange men." "

I remarked with a sigh, 'That's why Carl Weter insists that success depends entirely on early development of potential. Teaching is more important than talent.'

She asked, confused, 'What's with the Carl Weter thing? What does that mean?'

She struggled to understand even a slight twist of the code. With that kind of intelligence, how can she possibly be a struggling artist in Beijing?'"

I had to resort to plain language: "Actually, everyone is born a wonderful slut, it's just that some are born into families that value education, and some are born into families that neglect it. You're lucky, born into a rural teacher's family. Your father knows that men like sluts, so when you were eleven, your father trained you, developing all your potential for slutry, and it's become second nature to you. That's why you're so popular now. Your father is an outstanding educator."

This time she understood, and after savoring the memory, she whispered, "So that's how it is!"

I said, "You're destined to become an extraordinary person, someone useful to society."

She smiled excitedly and asked, "Really?"

I said, "Really. Actually, a woman's life should be lived like this: without regretting wasted years, without shame for a life of mediocrity, and when she dies, she can say: I didn't miss any man."

She said, "Dad, you're so eloquent!"

When a rogue meets Forrest Gump, it's hard to tell who's more foolish, who's fooling whom.

I asked, "You feel restless if you don't get fucked every day, right?"

She said, "Yes! How does Daddy want to fuck me

so horny later?" Can Daddy really make his daughter's brain explode from fucking? Or has this idiot reached a level of masterful skill, feigning ignorance towards me?

She clutched her stomach, looking pained.

I asked, "What's wrong?" She said,

"My stomach hurts."

I rubbed her stomach with my warm, dry hands. She said,

"Daddy, I need to poop..."

I encouraged her, "Go ahead, poop it all out."

She said, "Let me get up!"

I put a pillowcase under her buttocks and said, "Poop here."

She pooped on the bed, groaning, her two fleshy legs twisting and turning as if riding a bicycle.

Warm, soft poop splattered from her anus, like jam. Her anus was filthy yet adorably ugly. I liked it.

She was silently shedding tears. I kissed her soft nipples and soft navel.

She said, "Mmm! Fuck me! Daddy, fuck me! Fuck my pussy!"

I pulled out the silicone snake and shoved my cock into her slippery, hot cunt.

Once inside, I didn't move. No matter how much she urged or begged me, I wouldn't budge.

My plan was to toy with her in every way possible, kicking her out of my apartment just as she was about to climax. I wanted to utterly humiliate her.

I started urinating inside her. She sensed my plot and immediately began to moan. Hot urine flowed from her cunt, onto the bed. Neither of us cared.

Only after I finished urinating did I begin to fuck her.

I gripped her ass tightly and fucked her weak body like a madman. Her soft, white flesh trembled wildly under the rough thrusting, like a leaf falling in a storm.

She moaned, "Mmm! Daddy, fuck me! Harder! Daddy, fuck my stinky!"

I pulled my cock out and shoved it into her sticky anus. Her whole body tensed visibly, reaching an even higher level of excitement. Her slutty behavior further stimulated me. I pounded my hard cock into her anus, pressing against the warm, throbbing intestinal fossa at the bend of her sigmoid colon.

Her stench was hot and steamy, enveloping me, stimulating me, tormenting me. It was a truly fleshy stench.

I let myself drown in the vortex of pleasure.

She moaned excitedly, "Oh, good~ Daddy, fuck me! Fuck my ass! Fuck me to death!"

She trembled all over, her ass twitched, screaming as she reached orgasm.

I joined her, roaring as I ejaculated my hot semen into her rectum, still covered in feces.

With the violent ejaculation, I felt dizzy, lightheaded, and gradually lost consciousness.

This is the high many people crave, isn't it? Smoking, bungee jumping, paragliding, racing cars—all lead to the same end.

I regained consciousness, moaning as I realized I was in my apartment, had just finished fucking this little slut, and that she was naked beside me, using toilet paper to clean the semen and feces off my cock.

I said, "Good girl, sweetie, quickly cover yourself with the blanket. Don't get cold."

She cleaned me up, removed the filthy pillowcase from under my buttocks, and went to take a shower.

I was already delirious and quickly fell asleep. In my daze, I felt the bed shaking slightly.

I opened my eyes and saw the little slut next to me, her fleshy legs raised high, using a candle to fuck her asshole.

She looked at me and said, "Daddy, can you help me?"

The candle was thick and smooth.

I said, "I forgot to ask where your hometown is?"

She said, "Shimen Gou, Qikeshu Village, Zhouying Town."

Really? Or is this a conspiracy?

I asked, "Didn't you tell me your dad ran away?"

She said, "Yes, that's right. It's been many years. He ran away when I was twelve, and I've never seen him since."

I asked, "Then why did you ask Old K to take you back to your hometown to see your dad?"

She said in shock, "He's lying! I never said that!"

I asked, "Did he take you back?"

She said, "No! Don't believe what Brother Wei said. I found that his words don't match up. Is he an idiot or a cunning thief?"

I felt like I was trapped in a quagmire of intrigue. Who is telling the truth? Whom should I believe?

Why did I have to go through this intrigue?

I hate days filled with lies. I'm tired.

I asked, "So you were at Old K's coffee shop that day?"

She said, "Yes."

I asked, "Then whose semen was in your vagina when you came back that day? " She said,

"Don't be angry when I tell you. "

I said, "Tell me quickly. I'm not angry."

She said, "It was Brother Wei... he did it to me... he forced me..."

She licked the head of the silicone snake.

I said, "Suck it!"

She opened her mouth and took the snake head into her mouth.

I said, "Deeper!"

She tilted her upper body, sticking her head over the edge of the bed, her delicate neck arching back forcefully, her head drooping, her throat parallel to the bed.

She opened her mouth wide and forcefully inserted the translucent snake into her esophagus.

Her breathing became rapid, her chest began to heave, her breasts swaying like tofu.

While I was fucking her, I gripped the snake and thrust it forcefully into the lower part of her esophagus.

Her nostrils flared like a horse's, her face turned blue, her chest heaving violently, a clear gag reflex.

Would she vomit? Who cares! Let her vomit. Vomiting is more satisfying.

I forcefully used the snake to fuck her mouth, esophagus, and esophagus.

Suddenly, something sprayed from her nostrils. I quickly pulled the snake out, turned her over, and made her mouth face out of the bed.

A large amount of stomach contents violently gushed from her mouth, spraying onto the floor beside the bed.

The stomach contents were mostly yellow and sour. The chyme was mixed with bits of food of varying sizes, along with a lot of sticky gastric juices and bile.

The snake in my hand was slippery, covered in her vomit.

She lay limp on the bed, her stomach still twitching, but there was nothing left to vomit.

I fucked her from behind, then aimed the snake at her anus and inserted it. Her vomit acted as lubricant, and it went in easily.

She groaned miserably. The snake had burrowed in a foot. The snake's brutality on her intestines further irritated her digestive tract. She lay on the edge of the bed and vomited up some more residual gastric juices and bile.

I said, "You little slut! Dirty cunt! Fuck me from behind!"

She struggled to thrust her body backward, cooperating with me as I fucked her two hot, white orifices.

The next morning, after waking up, I asked the little vixen, "Which park have you been to?"

She said, "None. Never been."

My heart sank. I asked, "What about when you were little?"

She replied calmly, "Never been when I was little either."

I asked, "Don't your parents have time to play with you?"

She said, "They have plenty of time. But no money."

I said, "Get dressed. I'll take you to a park today."

She was overjoyed, dressed neatly, and skipped and hopped, clinging to my arm as we left the apartment building.

On the street, a string of wedding cars slowly drove by. A convertible, a camera car, and a wedding procession behind.

She muttered to herself, "Look how happy that bride is... I envy her so much! When can I be like her?"

I said, "That day will come, and you'll be even more beautiful than her."

She said, "Really? I always feel like I'll never be."

She stared at the wedding cars, and I looked at her. Yes. Will she ever have that day?

A rare sunny day, but even drier and colder. Warmth after the wind, cold after the snow. Her face was red from the cold, and sunlight shimmered slightly around the ends of her hair. A strand of hair was swept onto her eyelashes by the harsh, cold wind.

She squinted slightly and tucked the hair behind her ear.

The harsh wind teased her again, tossing the hair across her cheek and between her lips.

She stared intently at the long line of wedding cars, ignoring the hair.

We entered the park. Suddenly, she said, "I've been here before!"

I said, "No, you haven't."

She said unequivocally, "I've been here! I'm sure I've been here! There's a hexagonal pavilion at the end of this winding road, if you turn left, right?"

I said, "Yes. But you just said you've never been to any of these parks. Your parents don't have money."

She hesitated, her face full of confusion, "Yes, that's right. But I really feel like I've been here before."

I said slowly, "This park has a history of over 260 years, it's not surprising that you've been here in a past life."

The lake was frozen over. Heavy snow covered the entire ice surface. There wasn't a single person on it.

She said, "It looks like a big quilt."

I said, "It's such a pity there isn't a single footprint on this big quilt."

She said, "What do you mean?"

I said, "Come on! Let's go and ruin this big quilt!"

I pulled her over the iron railing and onto the ice. She trembled, her legs bent, clutching my clothes, refusing to walk towards the center of the lake.

I said, "It's okay, as long as our combined weight doesn't exceed 240 pounds, the ice won't crack. Look, I weigh 130 pounds, you weigh 100 pounds, and with our coats, pants, and shoes combined..."

She believed me, her eyes widened, and she was even more afraid to go any further.

I laughed and pushed her down. She was terrified, her face turned pale, her hands trembled, and she lay sprawled on the ice, too scared to move.

I said, "I was just kidding, this lake freezes into two-meter-thick ice every winter."

I ran around her, skating and sliding. After watching for a while and realizing there was really no danger, she stood up and tried to ski, skate, and have a snowball fight with me.

Soon, her face regained its color and her smile returned. She ran and skated with me, panting heavily.

We rolled around happily on the snowy lake, not thinking about anything, like two little rascals.

We were covered from head to toe in snow, our clothes and pants were covered in snow, even our shoes were filled with melted snow and ice water.

I even grabbed her ankles and spun her around, faster and faster, until I hurled her out, watching her scream as she drifted sideways across the ice.

This was a game she'd missed, a game she'd been deprived of in her childhood.

I suddenly said, "Let me tell you the truth, with global warming these past few years, this lake ice cracks several times every winter. Many people have drowned or frozen to death, becoming water ghosts. I heard that if a water ghost pulls a living person down with it, it can be resurrected and brought ashore."

She listened quietly, her eyes wide, the blush and smile fading from her face.

I dug through the snow on the ice beside my feet and said, "Hey, look! Look! There's a green face down there! It's a woman!

Run! Her eyes are open!"

Then I took off running towards the shore. She didn't bother to check my so-called green face, only chasing after me relentlessly, as if whoever reached the shore last would surely die.

Taking advantage of her good mood, I suggested, "How about I take you for a full medical checkup?"

She flatly refused, saying, "No, no."

I asked, "Why?"

She said, "I'm perfectly healthy. I don't go to the hospital."

I said, "You still have to go when necessary..."

She interrupted me, saying, "I don't want to go! I just won't go! Hospitals are unclean and unlucky."

This girl doesn't have much time left. I wanted to be good to her.

I wanted to be shameless. She was shameless, I was shameless, everyone was shameless.

If people aren't shameless, I won't be shameless; if people are shameless, I'll be even more shameless.

Who dares to say that "love" isn't "shamelessness"?!?!

I put my arm around her waist and we strolled leisurely along the lake.

She looked at the pure white snow in the distance and began to softly sing, "Why can't I find / an innocent rose?"

I replied, "Why are the princes I meet never quite princes?"

She continued singing, "I don't expect him to have glass slippers and a white horse / I'm surprised that sweet words can

turn into lies."

I know this song well! I sang the second verse: "Why does the bluebird of happiness fly so high? Why can apples and hugs both be poison?"

She sang: "I never thought that having him would be so terribly lonely, I suddenly remembered the doll that used to keep me company."

We sang together: "I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to grow up, because when I grow up, the world will have no flowers; I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to grow up, I'd rather be stupid and silly forever. I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to grow up, because when I grow up, I'll lose him. The one

I love so much, the one who loves me so much, has become unlike him..."

I cupped her slightly cool face in my hands and gazed at her. This girl has had enough bad luck.

She said: "What? Did the big scoundrel have a change of heart?"

I said: "The big scoundrel wants to be nice to you."

She suddenly blinked and asked me: "How much money do you actually have?"

In an instant, all my goodwill towards her vanished. She's still so unbearably vulgar! Is this girl really my destiny?

I said: "Well, not too much, just enough for us to live on for three months. If there are any special needs..."

She interrupted me and asked bluntly: "Are you always wary of me?"

I looked her up and down. Do I have an obligation to trust her? Why should I trust her?

She smiled and said, "Alright, look how scared you are! Did you think I'd extort you into buying a house or a car?"

In the middle of the night, I woke up in my apartment, cuddling the little slut, watching the security camera footage together. My mother appeared on the screen. I saw my mother having sex with Erguai.

Erguai's movements were gentle. My mother told Erguai to slap her. Erguai couldn't bear it, only symbolically slapping her lightly.

My mother moaned, saying, "Harder! Harder!"

Erguai started to increase the force. I lit a cigarette, watched the screen, and dialed my mother's number.

The landline rang on the screen. I saw my mother and Erguai both shudder and stop.

Erguai hesitated for a moment, withdrew his huge penis, walked to the landline, picked up the receiver, and answered the phone: "Hello?" He

was sweating profusely, panting heavily, making no attempt to hide it. I saw sticky fluid and red menstrual blood on his penis. My mother's menstrual blood.

Why are all women sluts?

My mother was being fucked.

While I was fucking that little slut, I told Erguai on the phone, "Fuck her! Fuck her hard!"

The little slut watched the monitor while being fucked.

She woke up to find it was another dream. The little slut was fast asleep next to me.

Did Erguai and my mom have something going on? I had no idea. The truth was mostly hidden beneath the surface, the darkness.

The next day I went to my mom's. As soon as I entered, I noticed the yellow paper talisman on the wall was crooked, tilted clockwise.

I straightened it, and a chill ran down my spine. How wonderful it would be to feel that chill in the sweltering summer heat!

I touched my mom's urethra with my fingers, while simultaneously pinching and playing with her swollen clitoris.

At that moment, my mom's clitoris wasn't particularly large, about the size of a swollen raisin.

My mom moaned, "Fuck me...fuck Mom! Fuck Mom's urethra! Fuck Mom! Mom wants it~"

I increased the pressure of my finger on my mom's urethra. Some hot urine started flowing out of my mother's urethra along my finger.

I don't know why, but I like women who are incontinent, whether they're urinating or defecating, I just like it.

At this moment, my mother's clitoris had swelled further, the size of a plump peanut.

I gradually increased the pressure, ravaging my mother's clitoris.

At this moment, my mother's urethra was quite loose, like a new bride's soft, wet vagina, wide open. I turned my mother's body over, making her bend over on the bed.

I laboriously thrust my hard penis into my mother's urethra. It was hot and slippery inside.

While I was thrusting into my mother's urethra, I masturbated her anus. My mother swayed her heavy, fleshy buttocks, grunting like a pig. I pinched her soft nipples and sucked on her bare toes.

My mother looked at her naked reflection in the mirror. The apartment was filled with her slightly smelly musky scent.

I pushed my penis into her rotten vagina, pounding hard into her supple cervix. The cervix was very supple, like a baby's tightly clenched fist. There was a lot of sticky secretion coming from the cervix. I fucked her hysterically, as if there was no tomorrow. I poked my finger in my mother's mouth. My mother sucked on my finger, scrutinizing me from behind her half-open eyelids.

Suddenly, I felt like my mother was Cleopatra watching the gladiatorial games from above.

I didn't ejaculate, but I was tired. Tired, I fell asleep.

In my dream, I dreamt of a scene I had repeatedly dreamt of when I was a teenager: a little boy urgently needed to urinate, looking for a toilet, unable to find one, finally finding a public toilet, and quickly running inside.

At this moment, I had become that little boy.

Looking up, I saw a spacious and bright toilet, with a row of squat toilets on the left, more than twenty, all clearly visible, and a woman with an indistinct face, exposing her large white buttocks, squatting to defecate. I was excited. I felt the woman smelling my hair, touching my shoulders, touching between my legs, touching my testicles, touching my penis. My penis grew into a big, hard penis. The woman kissed my face. It felt incredibly comfortable and warm, and suddenly I realized that the woman was my mother. My lower body convulsed violently.

I woke up that morning to find a large, sticky puddle of fluid in my underwear.

My mother was already up. I told her, "Mom, I had a wet dream." (Back then, housing conditions were limited.

It was a one-bedroom apartment. My father was often away, working at an office in another city. My mother and I shared a bed.) To this day, I don't

know if my mother actually touched me that night…

My mother calmly said, "Oh? Not bedwetting?"

I knew immediately: I hadn't wet the bed, I had a wet dream.

A little hurt, I shouted, "It's not bedwetting! It's a wet dream!"

My mother said, "Give it to me, let Mom

smell it." I took off my heavy underwear, soaked with semen, and held it under my mother's nose for her to smell.

I still remember what my mother looked like that morning. She smelled it again and again with rapt attention, looking up at me as she did so.

I stood beside her, trying my best to convince her that I hadn't wet the bed, that I had a wet dream.

Mom sniffed repeatedly, as if afraid of making a mistake. Finally, when my arm was tired from holding it up, she said, "Hmm, my son has grown up."

Her expression and tone were strange as she said this.

I said, "Okay, I'm going to wash up."

Mom looked at me reluctantly, finally saying, "Alright..."

Later, when I had another nocturnal emission, Mom would look at the wet sheets in the morning and say, "You did this again, didn't you?"

I felt incredibly embarrassed.

Mom's expression seemed both happy and worried. Then, when I had another nocturnal emission, Mom told me to smear the cool semen on her face, saying it would beautify her skin. I did as she said...

When I woke up, I first looked at the yellow paper talisman I had straightened. It was clearly crooked again! I straightened it again, then went to the bathroom to pee. After flushing, I looked up and saw a woman in the mirror, wearing a white dress, with disheveled hair, a pale face, and large, lifeless black eyes staring intently at me, as if she had many things to say to me.

I yelled and turned around quickly, but there was no woman in a white dress with black eyes behind me. I looked in the mirror, but there was no woman with black eyes in the mirror either.

My mother asked from the bedroom, "What's wrong, son?"

I went back to the bedroom and said to my mother, "Mom, nothing."

Just then, a strange wind suddenly blew in from outside the window. The strange wind rose, and the clouds flew!

My mother calmly said, "Son, you scared me to death..."

As my mother was talking to me, her voice suddenly changed, becoming that of a completely different person. She was talking about other people's affairs, sometimes in a falsetto voice and sometimes in her real voice. It was quite frightening, as if a hermaphrodite with a split personality was taking turns speaking: "You guys don't care about me! Your third brother is a real scoundrel! My body is oozing pus and he still makes me farm!"

I knew that my mother had been possessed again.

I stormed into the kitchen, grabbed Zhang Xiaoquan's meat cleaver, and ran back to the bedroom, yelling at my incessantly nagging mother, "Get out of here! I'll fuck your grandpa! If you come near me again, I'll chop you up and use you to make dumplings!"

Suddenly, the bedroom fell silent, and my mother's voice and eyes returned to normal. She looked up at me, puzzled, and asked, "Son, why are you holding that big cleaver at me?"

At eleven o'clock that night, I returned to my apartment, exhausted, to find my little slut making me coffee. The background music was the gentle Debussy. The little slut writhed in front of me and started taking off her clothes. I grabbed her neck, made her get dressed, and came out with me.

She asked, "What for?"

I said, "Come with me. Don't ask. You'll know when we get there."

We went out into the raging snow, pulling her along with all my might (otherwise, the raging northwest wind would have blown her to Fujian). I know she was off the ground many times...

The streets were deserted. When we got to the pharmacy, I smashed open the 24-hour emergency window.

The pharmacy attendant in the white coat was a young man, about 1.8 meters tall, in his early twenties, fair-skinned, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes darting over the young slut.

I said, "Two bottles of glycerin, please."

The young man said, "Okay, sixteen yuan a bottle, thirty-two in total."

He handed over the goods and took the money, his eyes still scanning the young slut. The young slut's hips began to sway, her eyes flashing. I knew, this cunt was about to itch again.

While the young man was giving me my change, I whispered to the young slut, "What do you think of him?"

The little bitch sighed softly, "Oh my god, he's so handsome!"

I left the pharmacy with the glycerin, and after walking about three hundred meters, I suddenly pushed her down onto the snow, limbs on the ground.

I pulled out my swollen penis and fucked her in the thick snow.

As I fucked her, I slapped her cold ass repeatedly, cursing, "You slut! You rotten cunt! I'll teach you to be a slut!!"

Her body trembled violently, half from the extreme cold, half from excitement.

Her ass and waist twisted like a bitch in heat. More than two hundred goosebumps rose on her buttocks.

During her orgasm, her urine turned the white snow below yellow. In my eyes, her naked body, reddened by the cold, was pitifully beautiful.

Beside me, on the snow, lay a dozen thick icicles. I picked one up and inserted it into her anus.

She shuddered, her hot intestines gripping the thick icicle, and groaned, "Dad, you're such a pervert!"

I said, "That's right, Dad is a big pervert."

She said painfully, "Dad, you've made me want to poop again, what should I do?"

I said, "Easy. Poop here!"

She squatted naked on the white snow, trying to relax her anus. The icicle melted quickly inside her anus.

I lit a cigarette and strolled slowly around her. I cruelly scrutinized her, this young, aroused beast.

The beast needed to poop; her vagina and anus twitched involuntarily. I pushed her down and, taking advantage of the situation, fucked her sideways.

She moaned contentedly, "Mmm...fuck me! Ouch...fuck me! Ouch, I can't take it anymore, Daddy, I really need to poop!"

While fucking her hot vagina, I said, "Poop! You slut! Poop it all out for Daddy!"

She strained. The icicles melted into ice water, mixing with the feces in her rectum to form wet, runny stool, which gurgled and gushed out of her anus.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Hot, runny stool emerged from her anus, steaming.

She was fucked so hard her mouth was open, her dark eyes rolled upwards, spraying grayish-brown runny stool onto the snow during her orgasm.

An empty taxi slowly drove up, scraping the curb. I looked at the driver. The driver looked at me, then slowly drove away.

I took the little slut back to the apartment. After showering, we both crawled into bed.

I touched her cold thighs. She clamped my hand tightly between her thighs. My hand pressed against her vulva.

She said, "Doing it on the snow was so exciting. You know? Getting fucked by you is the happiest time of my life."

I said coldly, "You mean getting fucked is the happiest thing for you, right?"

She said, "What are you talking about? I'm talking about getting fucked by you..."

I interrupted her, "Old K's dick is bigger than mine. Didn't you keep thinking about him after we finished?"

She said, "Am I that kind of person?"

I said, "You are. You think you're not a big shot, but you are."

She asked, "Are you angry with me?"

I said, "What are you talking about? You don't deserve to make me angry. Is your grandma still alive?"

She said, "No. Grandma died when I was six."

I touched her smooth, young body and gazed deeply into her eyes. I wondered if I could use true feelings to subdue her and tame her fickle, raging lust.

I said, "The world is a dangerous place. You have to be careful and cautious in everything you do."

She asked, "Are you trying to send me away?"

I said, "No. You can come back anytime you want. I just want to be good to you, really."

The feeling of love is wonderful. Love is about being shameless. Finding someone you can be shameless with and letting loose is the intoxicating illusion that "love" brings.

She asked, "Why are you so good to me?"

I said, "I want to know if I can bring you good luck."

She kissed my lips slowly and deeply, her body swaying softly like a lamprey.

Her soft little hand slipped into my pants and touched my semi-erect penis.

I asked, "After your father left home, who else did you sleep with?"

She said, "Well, a few..."

I said, "Can you tell me?"

She gently touched my penis, feeling my warm erection, and asked, "Why? You can get hard after hearing me talk about these things, right?"

I know there's a branch of clinical psychotherapy that believes that recalling and talking about things you don't want to recall or talk about can help you get out of the shadows. Besides, I was genuinely curious and really wanted to know more details.

I said to her, "Yes, I'm excited to hear you say all this. If you'd like to share with me, you can tell me."

She said, "Okay, but you have to tell me your story first."

I said, "Sure. What is it?"

She asked, "Why doesn't your mother have arms?"

I said, "When I was little, I was flying a kite, and it got stuck in a jujube tree. My mother tried to poke it with a pole. That pole had gotten wet from the rain the day before. As a result, the pole touched a high-voltage power line."

She looked pained and asked, "It

must have hurt terribly, right?" I said, "It's a miracle she survived."

She asked, "Why haven't I seen your father?"

I casually replied, "He's a salesman, very busy, and often stationed out of town."

She asked, "So you took care of your mother after that?"

I said, "Of course, even lambs know to kneel to suckle, let alone humans! You also..." "Do you help your dad?"

she asked. "That's different. Do you wash your mom's clothes?"

I said, "Yes, of course. You've never washed your dad's clothes?"

She asked, "Oh, that's different. What do you do when your mom needs to use the restroom?"

I said, "I help her wipe herself. Can you wipe yourself with your feet?"

She asked, "What if she's in trouble?"

I said, "What do I do? I help her. As the saying goes, a sensible child learns to be independent early."

She asked, "Then why doesn't she find a partner?"

I said, "Why doesn't your dad find one?"

She asked, "How can you find someone suitable? Besides, he doesn't want me to suffer."

I said, "That's it."

She asked, "Your family is much better off than mine."

I said, "That's why he's even less likely to look for someone. I know he's after money or something."

I immediately regretted saying it. Too much talk leads to mistakes.

She changed the subject and asked, "What do you feel when you're with your mom?"

She was probably asking herself the same question. She was still confused.

I frankly said, "It felt good! Exciting! I got addicted quickly, it was a kind of forbidden pleasure. Wiping her butt and bathing her, being with her all the time, I naturally got hard. All men are like that, and I was still developing. When I got hard, she saw it. And that's that. At first I was a little nervous, a little embarrassed, thinking I 'shouldn't,' but after a while I thought, 'Screw 'should' and 'shouldn't'?! I'm just like this!'"

She smiled.

I continued, “I felt a great sense of accomplishment watching my mom moan, sweat, and have her vagina spasm and contract in my arms. I felt incredibly proud

of taking such meticulous care of her, bringing her to orgasm, making her so happy, and giving her such intense

bliss. It's like having your own private plot. Self-sufficient. Mutual support within the family. Your dad probably felt the same way when he was with you, and since your mom passed away, you're both lonely, and you're so understanding. Have you noticed how similar our two families are?”

She said, “Yes, that’s right.”

I said, “At first she was very shy, but later when I took off her pants, she cooperated willingly. So…” "They say all women are sluts. Sluts have to be fucked to death."

She asked, "Then why do you insist on going to your mom? There are plenty of women in the world."

I said, "I've fucked a lot of women, but with my mom, we just really click. We always feel a special closeness, a kind of unspoken understanding, you know? A lot of times, we understand each other's thoughts halfway through a sentence."

She nodded and said, "I know. I understand. But don't you feel awkward? Guilty or anything?"

I said, "I'm just a bastard. Bastards never feel guilty. Why should I feel guilty? My mom got what she wanted. It wasn't rape."

She asked, "Aren't you afraid your mom will get pregnant?"

I said, "She had an IUD a few years ago. No worries. It got a little inflamed this year, so she had it removed. Just be careful, use condoms and stuff. Your dad never went in, so I don't think he's a complete bastard. He still has some conscience. A daughter and father experiencing orgasm is a beautiful thing. The daughter loves her father, and the father loves his daughter. They can touch each other behind closed doors—who cares? Every family has its unique circumstances; why be so one-size-fits-all?

For example, if the father studies traditional Chinese massage, why can't he practice on his daughter? Or if the son is an artist, who says he can't draw his mother's nude? A family is first and foremost a self-sufficient little unit. As long as the members of this family aren't antisocial and haven't had children, they can do whatever they want; nobody else can interfere, right?"

Actually, I'd been thinking about these words for a while. I'm saying them now, trying to offer her some comfort and explanation for what has happened.

Often, even twisted logic can soothe the heart, even temporarily.

She said, "Yes, that's right."

I said, "Of course, I think incest between fathers and daughters and incest between mothers and sons aren't entirely the same. After all, this is a patriarchal society..."

I noticed her attention was starting to wander, and I realized she had no interest in these "big words," so I simply stopped.

She suddenly said, "My dad didn't rape me!"

I said, "Who said your dad raped you? There's a common belief that as long as a girl has an orgasm, she hasn't been completely raped, because she experienced pleasure and enjoyment."

At this point, her questioning of me had almost completely turned into a lecture.

I asked, "Does your mother have any illness or discomfort?"

She said, "I don't know, but I remember from when I was little until she hanged herself, I often heard her screaming at night.

My dad would make her scream, and she'd sob and cry, like she was in a lot of pain."

I said, "Maybe she had pelvic inflammatory disease, maybe she had vaginismus."

She asked, "What's that?"

I said, "It's when it hurts terribly when we have sex. It's hard for a man to satisfy a woman like that."

She asked, "Don't you think incest is abnormal?"

I said, "What do you mean by 'abnormal' in my mother's eyes?!"

She asked, "Isn't it pretty vulgar?"

I said, "What do you mean by 'vulgar' in my mother's eyes?!"

She asked, "Then do you think girls who don't commit incest are more innocent and happier?"

I said, "Good question. But I think people who ask this kind of question are rather pessimistic. You're already in this situation, it's already happened, why ask such questions? What's the point? It's like me asking you: If I were born in Denmark, would I be happier? If I had 80 million, would I be happier? Damn!" If you sell bananas in this life, you will have the happiness of selling bananas. If you work as a secretary in this life, you will have the happiness of being a secretary. No matter which path you choose, the so-called misfortune and happiness are actually the same, believe me.

She asked: "Do you hate your mother?" "

I said: "I don't hate it. I think I have a strong, complicated love for my mother. I feel more in love with my mother than before the incest. I think few people fully understand what I mean. Of course, if you don’t ask, I won’t tell anyone.

"Keeping secrets is very heavy," she said. "

I said: "Yes, but it is also very happy to keep it a secret. There is an extreme rapport between you and this secret accomplice. "

She asked: "After I met you, I wanted to know: Do you have any shame? "

I said: "Being shameless can be a very comfortable state, don't you think?

She asked: "Indeed, but in her eyes, you are no longer her son..."

I said: "No!" I will always be her son. She will always be my mom. "

I know that like me, she is also struggling deep in her heart. What is she carrying? What is she resisting? Social pressure? The recognition of my own conscience?

Am I really just my mother's son? Is my mother really just my mother?

Her tone suddenly shifted, asking me, "What has your mother done for you?"

I replied, "Well, a lot. For example, she let me go barefoot, she let me penetrate her, she watched porn with me..."

She said, "No, I feel like she's 'using' you."

"Using" me? Is that true? For over ten years, I've washed my mother's lace-trimmed underwear stained with urine and feces,

disposed of her used, smelly sanitary napkins, washed her slightly sweaty, fragrant socks...

not to mention cooking, feeding, and cleaning.

So, I really did give almost all of my youth to my mother. My marriage was short-lived, and I've never revealed the main reason for its dissolution to anyone: my ex-wife looks a lot like my mother, but their personalities are completely different.

Thinking back to my previous girlfriends, why did they all fail? Subconsciously, I was always comparing my mother to my girlfriends. (So, all of them ended in failure?)

Actually, while I was "treating" that little slut, I was also "diagnosing" myself. I'm not that much "better" than her

. I was just trying to untangle the knot in her heart that her father had tied.

My intentions were good, but what was the final result? I dare not say.

I said, "Whether my mom 'uses' me or not, I think that's a complicated topic. What I do know is that my mom's orgasm is my happiest moment. Watching her whole body curl up, spasm, and convulse violently, like a live shrimp being pulled out of its shell, I feel incredibly happy, honestly, even happier than when I orgasm myself.

"

As the little slut listened, her breathing gradually quickened, and her other hand reached towards her naked cunt, her fingers stirring inside her sticky vagina, making a gurgling, muddy sound.

I said, "Okay, it's your turn to speak. After your dad left home, who else did you let do this to you?"

Having established a level of trust with me, she easily began to reminisce: "My dad had a good friend, I called him Uncle San. After my dad left, Uncle San often came to our house. One time he came, sat on a small wooden stool by the stove to light a fire, and even brought a pheasant. I pretended to take a nap on the kang (heated brick bed), but I wasn't actually asleep. I was playing with myself under the covers."

I asked, "You masturbated in front of Uncle San?"

She said, "Yeah, it was really exciting. Then he came over. He sat on the kang, looked down at me, touched my forehead, touched my hair, and then he put his hands under the covers and touched my neck, chest, stomach, legs… He repeated this many times afterward, sometimes giving me a few cents. He liked to call me 'little slut' while he was doing this to me."

I asked, "How did you feel?"

She said, "I was very confused. I knew 'slut' wasn't…" "Good words are for bad women, but I get really excited when he calls me 'little slut.' Once he took me to the woods behind the mountain. There were ailanthus, chinaberry, elm, locust, linden, goldenrain trees, chestnut trees, and oh yes, persimmon trees..."

I quickly interrupted her: "Once he took you to the woods behind the mountain."

She was pulled back to the main point, saying, "He made me squat on the fallen leaves, and then he peed on me, calling me 'little slut' while he peed on me, soaking me completely, making me feel all slutty."

I asked again, "How did you feel?"

She said, "That time I felt really excited, really thrilled! I felt that sluts should be punished, cursed, and pissed on. Later, a few uncles in the village touched me. I usually didn't resist fiercely. Sometimes I sucked on them, holding them in my mouth and letting them ejaculate in my mouth. Sometimes they touched my clitoris until I was wet. But I never let them penetrate me."

I asked, "Why?"

She said, "I don't know. I just felt they weren't worth it. I have a treasure in my vagina, and I have to save it for someone important. Later, I gave it to you."

I asked, "Has anyone done anything special to you?"

She said, "Um... Once, Uncle Sixteen from the village, he's a distant relative of mine. He came to my house and brought me millet. Later, he played with me on the kang (

heated brick bed), but he couldn't get hard. No matter what I did, it didn't work. Later, I asked him what to do. He said he had to tie me up. I asked him why he had to tie me up. He said, 'Shut up and give me your hands.' Then he tied my hands up with straw rope and spanked my bottom." I asked, "

Was it comfortable? " She said, "No." I asked, "Did Uncle Sixteen get hard?" She said, "Yes." I asked, "Did he ejaculate? " She said, " Yes." I asked, "Where did he ejaculate?" She said, "On my face. Later, he used his hands to scrape the semen into my mouth and made me suck and swallow it." Her fingers dug deeper and deeper into her rotten vagina, harder and harder. The gurgling, muddy sounds grew louder and louder. She said, "Another one of my PE teachers did this to me. He committed suicide later." I asked, "Because of you?" She said, "I don't know." She masturbated intensely in my arms, pulling my hand down. My fingers immediately became aroused. She arched her back, yielding to my touch, allowing my fingers to penetrate deeper. She sucked on her thumb, looking at me with two burning words in her eyes: "Fuck me!" I could clearly hear the dry wood crackling as it burned. I slapped her. She groaned, looking at me with a wronged expression, like a primary school student who had failed an exam. I slapped her hard across the face. She said with enjoyment, "Hit me! It feels so good~ Daddy hit me!" She rolled over, revealing her white, tender buttocks to me, and said, "Daddy~ Fuck me~ Fuck my rotten cunt..." I sat up cross-legged and slapped her buttocks hard. She knelt on my lap. Once, two pale buttocks were presented before me, but I didn't cherish them... I slapped her buttocks desperately. The sound of slapping echoed loudly. Her buttocks jiggled slightly from my slaps, like jelly. She twisted her waist, whimpering, "Mmm! Mmm~~ I was wrong, Daddy! Daddy, I was wrong..." Everyone has inner demons. This little slut's inner demon is her father. I must exorcise him! (And who is my inner demon?) I remembered my first girlfriend's cold rejection, my second girlfriend's betrayal... I hit harder and harder, my blows becoming heavier and heavier. My penis was erect. Her pale buttocks were now covered in bright red handprints, like a flower. It was like Zhou Yu beating Huang Gai. Zhou Yu and Huang Gai were healing each other. She was still moaning, "Hit me harder, Daddy! Hit me! Hit me~~ Hit your little slut... Hit the shit out of this little slut!" This was aiding and abetting evil. King Zhou's dark psychology swelled even more, as he slapped her while intently enjoying the beautiful trembling of her buttocks under the violent torment. The sound of slapping her buttocks grew louder and louder in the apartment, echoing. She arched her back in pain, pulling her buttocks forward, trembling as she tried to escape. I grabbed her hair with my left hand, twisting and turning it maniacally, while my right hand slapped her buttocks even more viciously. (Slapping the mouth is called "slapping the face," what's slapping the buttocks called?) Gradually, I tried to rub her vulva with each slap. She moaned, groaned, cried, sniffled, and choked back sobs. Suddenly, she stopped making a sound, her lower abdomen convulsing violently, hardening, as if she were gagging. My hard penis was pressing against her vulva, and the head of my penis felt a gush of hot, sticky fluid pour down. At the same time, I saw her anus loosen, and a pool of dark brown, runny feces gushed out, flowing down her vulva and thighs. A foul stench quickly filled the air. I knew she had orgasmed. Feces, vulva, fingering, masturbation, orgasm, fluid, smell—all of these excited me. I forcefully shoved two fingers into her hot, splattered cunt, snarling, "You've soiled your father! I'll fuck you to death, you rotten cunt, you stinking cunt!" Her body convulsed, the orgasm continuing, her hot cunt still contracting. I turned this intestinal creature over, seeing her teeth clenched tightly, her eyes half-closed, her face taut and greenish, contorted like a female corpse. I touched her nipples, her belly button, squeezed her clitoris, and pressed hard on her lower abdomen. More splattered feces were squeezed out, gushing out. That stuff was full of indole, skatole, hydrocarbons, and amines—all toxins, useless to keep. She gasped for breath, her belly and chest heaving violently, her bare toes twisting together, the spasms still lingering. I casually grabbed a carrot and shoved it into her anus. Her anus was lubricated, so it was easy to insert, burying it all the way in. She started breathing heavily (clinical term: hyperventilation. But a8 prefers the cruder, more sensible "human language"). I bit down on her swollen nipple while simultaneously vibrating her rotten cunt with my fingers. Her body arched violently again, then fell silent. She was high again. Her cunt contracted fiercely, gripping my fingers tightly. One can imagine that at this moment, her rectum was also tightly gripping that carrot. She was reborn from petitmort (little death), trying to open her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy. (A sequel to "Heavy Wings": "Heavy Eyelids"?) From holding her breath in silence to wailing, she sounded just like a newborn baby crying! Climax is baptism. Rebirth deserves celebration. I shoved my fingers, covered in her vaginal fluid and runny feces, into her mouth. She sucked on them. I said, "No, no, no, that won't work. Next time you're filming, you have to lick your fingers or penis like ice cream, that's sexy." She stuck out her tongue and slowly licked it—she really had a talent! I asked, "What's wrong? Did you take laxatives?" She replied, "No. I just drank three cups of coffee and ate two cups of ice cream." I asked, "Is your poop bitter?" She licked her lips and replied, "Hmm, bitter, but also sweet..." I asked, "Does it smell bad?" She said, "I don't think my poop smells bad. Is that strange?" I said, "No, it's not strange. 'Not feeling your own poop smells bad' is a very high level of understanding~" We smiled, hugged each other, rolled around, and kissed, as innocent as two little puppies, our minds filled with nothing but fucking. Suddenly, she asked, "Have you thought about death?" I said, "Hmm, rarely... I think this topic..." She didn't even wait for me to finish, continuing to be direct and aggressive: "How do you want to die?" Her eyes began to flash with that pungent, fishy light again. I tensed up, weighing the best answer in my mind while my brain raced through a list of possible responses: "Uh..."

"Well... well... sometimes..."

she said, her face flushed and ecstatic, "I hope to die while being fucked. Preferably during an orgasm."

My heart, which had just been filled with rosy clouds, immediately darkened.

I cupped her face in my hands and comforted her, saying , "We won't die."

She shook off my hands and said dismissively, "Tch! Don't fool yourself! We'll all die! Maybe tomorrow!" I

was still forcing a smile , but a chill ran through me, shooting from the soles of my feet to my brain. I said, "I'm sleepy. Go to sleep. We'll continue chatting tomorrow. " " I held her close. She curled up in my arms like a kitten. Neither of us spoke. The child in her belly wasn't mine. I'd done the math. Absolutely not. Whose child was it? Old K's? They'd only done it twice, and the dates didn't match. The security guard who caught her at the supermarket? Did a security guard at the supermarket really catch her and have sex with her because she stole plums? As the saying goes, seeing is believing. Could this 'security guard' be a fabricated fantasy? If not, who else had sex with her? That leaves only the ghost landlord and the ghost in the museum. I didn't witness any of those myself. Could they also be her delusions? Fabricated to provoke me? She said the landlord had slept with her, but that's all she'd ever said." Two sentences. I asked again, but she wouldn't say anything. I didn't catch her in the act. Could she be delusional? *Cà de lèi!* (Cà ≈ 肏, the tip of the tongue blocks the airflow with the back of the upper teeth, only the alveolar affricate is pronounced, omitting the second vowel, the final consonant of the front diphthong is omitted, aiming to emphasize the alveolar affricate.) An ominous premonition enveloped my heart. I felt a chill. After a long time, I finally drifted off to sleep. While sleeping soundly, I heard someone crying. I vaguely felt it was that little slut crying. I opened my eyes; the apartment was pitch black, and it was bitterly cold outside, a ghostly dawn. That poor girl! I wasn't fully awake; my eyes stung, so I closed them and gently asked, "What did you dream about?" She sobbed and replied, "I dreamed about my dad." I said with my eyes closed, "Oh, did he speak?" She said, "No. He saw me across the street. I saw him too." He seemed to have so much to say to me, waving and running towards me. Then a huge truck came sideways, speeding, slamming on the brakes. The truck stopped, but the large shipping container on it flew off, crushing him forward before finally coming to a stop against a house, leaving a blood trail over thirty meters long. "My dad was a pile of minced meat, his intestines, brains, and even his leather shoes were gone..." She started sobbing, her words broken and indistinct. I hugged her, closed my eyes, and gently stroked her back to comfort her, saying, "It's alright, it's alright, dreams are the opposite of reality." Her sobs gradually subsided, becoming decrescendo (Italian for "fading sound"). I stroked her back more slowly, the pressure decreasing, like soothing a child awakened by a nightmare back to sleep. A long, long time passed, and I thought she was soothed, so I stopped stroking her back. But then she spoke softly, "Do you think I'll ever see my dad again in this lifetime?" " Who knows? Damn it!" I answered, following her surface logic, "Assuming he's still alive, you might see him." She said, "Then... how can I find him?" I said, "What? Missing him?" She said, "Yeah, I miss him. I'm so heartbroken. They say blood relatives are connected. Do you think something might really have happened to my dad?" I couldn't even open my eyes, so I blurted out, "Yes. He's done so many bad things, shouldn't something have happened to him?" She immediately became alert, straightened up, and asked sharply, "Huh?! What did you say?!" Damn it! This inner demon is endless! I'm so annoyed! I forced my eyes open and looked at her, saying, "What's wrong? If he hadn't harmed you, would you be in this state now?! You're still protecting him?" She said, "Even if he hadn't harmed me, others have harmed me a lot." I said, "Stop! The cause and effect order is different!" "If he hadn't ruined you, would you have let anyone touch you so easily later?" After a two-second silence, she suddenly started bringing up another topic: "Then you said my dad wasn't a jerk that day." I said, "Remember, my exact words were 'your dad isn't a complete jerk.' But he's a jerk inside and out." She said, "Don't you dare say bad things about my dad! I never said you and..." I knew she had this trick up her sleeve. I knew she would retaliate. I interrupted her before she could finish, saying, "I'm a complete scoundrel! I told you that long ago! Why did you insist on staying here? Why don't you stay at the bandit's place?" She fell silent, no longer speaking. Since she didn't speak, I didn't speak either. I was happy to have some peace and quiet! I reached for a lighter and cigarette on the bedside table, lit it, and took a couple of satisfying puffs. Having gained the upper hand, I pressed on. I continued my attack: "Now I highly suspect that your mother hanged herself after discovering your affair with your dad. Whether it was suicide or not is still hard to say!" " To my surprise, she didn't even argue this time! This silence is suffocating. Not speaking could be annoyance, or it could be tacit agreement. Silence has cut off any further communication. Damn! No way? Did I guess right? A strange childhood, a bizarre home. It seems our country's current laws follow the principle of 'no investigation unless reported.' That is to say, if no one reports it, no case will be filed, meaning even if her mother was truly murdered, she can only die with regret. The underworld is chilling!! Maybe it was her idea? Maybe she also did it? She always talks about her father..." Her dad ran away, maybe to mislead me. Perhaps she killed him too and fled to me? Damn! So, I'm sleeping with a murderer? Evil emerges from the deep fog, its狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) face. A cold wind rushes down my spine. I continue smoking. In the dark apartment, two living people confront each other in silence. Darkness. Silence. Only the flickering glow of my cigarette butt can be seen. Only the hissing sound of the tobacco burning as I puff it on can be heard. I finish the cigarette, stub it out, and get up with a whoosh. She asks warily in the darkness, "Where are you going?" I reply irritably, "Holding it in!" I really do need to hold it in. I get out of bed and loudly urinate into the squat toilet, feeling the large bulge below my belly button as I do so. It's getting bigger and more painful to the touch. Annoying! I'll have it removed at the hospital tomorrow! I finish urinating and flush.

Just then, I suddenly heard a cracking, snapping, and hissing sound coming from behind me, like a woman's ulna and radius being crushed by vises, her breath coming in gasps and gasps in extreme pain.

This time, a chill ran down my spine. I immediately remembered the female ghost I'd seen in the mirror after urinating in my mother's bathroom.

I slowly turned around, my pupils tucked tightly into the corners of my eyes, trying to spot what was behind me immediately.

My facial muscles were tense, hard, and bluish; the whites of my eyes were 95% visible. Anyone with a weak heart would think I was a ghost.

My ears seemed to have a life of their own, automatically stiffening and perking up, turning like cat or dog ears, beyond my control.

Finally, I turned around and looked back. In the dim light, I saw the bed, and the little slut was lying on my bed, everything as before, nothing seemed amiss.

What on earth had made that strange sound?

Remembering her story about the museum ghost encounter, I quickly went to the bedside, silently pulled the black steel baton from under my pillow, gripped it tightly, and, trembling, went to the window, slowly pulling back the curtains.

Outside, only a faint light shone, a hazy blue dawn.

Through the icy glass, I saw the entire city shrouded in fog, appearing gloomy, heavy, eerie, and permeated with an air of evil and fear.

The neighborhood was deserted, the snow outside the apartment building was empty, and I didn't see the sprawling, padded-padded ghosts.

Although I couldn't see them with my naked eye, I knew: the evil spirits had entered!

Damn it! I gritted my teeth and made a silent vow: from now on, I'll always face outwards when I poop or pee!

I gripped the baton and went back to bed, burrowing under the covers. Years of fighting and bloodshed had strengthened my survival instincts. I lay there with my eyes open, baton in hand, afraid to sleep, thinking about everything.

Everything has a cause and effect. I recalled all the unbelievable things that had recently surrounded me. These things were all directed at me.

I've certainly done my fair share of wicked things, but I'm getting increasingly annoyed with this bitch next to me. Ever since she entered my life, strange things have been happening all the time.

The helplessness of being a caged white rat is driving me crazy. This isn't the life I want.

The daylight is gradually intensifying.

I'm still scanning my apartment over and over, unable to pinpoint what's wrong.

The apartment is quiet, the soft, even snores of the little slut beside me are deep and gentle, and the blankets are warm. Sleepiness is creeping in, and I realize my eyelids are closing.

Just as they're about to close completely, I glance at the ceiling, then wearily close my eyes, only to snap them open again!

I rub my eyes, look at the ceiling again, and instantly all sleepiness vanishes, a chill running straight to the top of my head!

I see a cross-shaped crack in my ceiling, shorter horizontally and longer vertically, a perfect cross, cutting the ceiling into four rectangles of equal area.

The crack is about three centimeters wide, I don't know how deep.

I immediately think of the shattered talisman, the old gourd, and the television. An obvious ominous sign.

I have reason to believe: the evil spirit has returned to the house. In the suffocating silence, I can hear a thumping sound. That's my heart pounding like crazy.

My testicles, bulging from my temples and navel, are also throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Damn! This nightmare is after me.

My hair stands on end, my palms are ice-cold, and I'm covered in cold sweat.

An ominous premonition is building in my heart. This premonition is growing stronger and stronger. I don't know what else will happen, and I can't figure out if it's targeting me or my mother.

Danger lurks around me.

I grip my weapon tightly, warily scanning every corner around me, my adrenaline surging, but I still can't see a soul.

I can't see it, I don't know what

it's going to do next. Being unable to see or touch your opponent is incredibly unpleasant.

Still shaken, I endured until dawn, not daring to sleep a single minute.

Around 8 o'clock, the little slut woke up, and while getting dressed, washing up, and using the toilet, she chatted with me as usual, seemingly oblivious to the large cross on the ceiling. After

tidying herself up, she said to me while combing her hair, "Brother Bandit asked me to film a movie today."

I asked, "Oh? What's it about?"

She said, "He said he'd film a series of me barefoot, dipping my feet in a bowl of spaghetti, and he'd give me four hundred dollars."

I said, "Who does he sell the film to?"

She said, "I don't know. He said he has a famous website that sells DVDs and used underwear and socks."

I coldly said, "Then he must be making a profit."

She said, "I don't care. Anyway, I'd be much more comfortable making this money than selling bananas."

I said, "Okay. Let's go."

She said, "Can you drive me to the artists' village?"

I coldly said, "Take the bus yourself."

She leaned on me, put my hand between her legs, and wiggled her hips, saying coquettishly, "Please drive me!

It's comfortable in your car."

I realized: the body is just a tool, used to help you achieve a certain purpose.

I pulled my hand away, saying irritably, "I'm busy, I don't have time."

She said, "You said you're not busy selling jewelry."

I said, "But I still have to run around. What will I eat if I don't?"

She pouted and said, "It's a long way to the artists' village from here."

I said, "That's your problem. No one should help you solve it. I have no obligation to help my tenant with transportation."

She said aggrievedly, "But you said yesterday you wanted to be good to me."

I said, "Teaching you to solve the problems you face in your life is being good to you. Look at that street sweeper, do I tell her? I don't. Why? I don't care about her."

She said, "So you care about me?"

I put on my coat, changed into my leather shoes, and said, "I'm leaving first. Let's each do our own thing. If you're not coming back tonight, call me in advance, I'll bring back a slut to have some fun."

She looked at me, her lips parting in surprise.

Before she could answer, I went out, closed the door, and called the elevator.

I went into the elevator and pressed B2. The elevator started running smoothly.

Now I realize that sentimentality is really harmful. Why should I be good to her? Why should I tolerate her continuing to live in my apartment while she goes out and causes trouble? Did I deserve this in my past life?!

No matter where she lives in the future, I will never tolerate her again!

My life is completely messed up. Tonight, I'm going to confront her and kick her out. I've made up my mind.

B2 arrived.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. I stepped out of the elevator, my Salvatore Ferragamo shoes clicking crisply on the quiet B2 concrete floor. The entire B2 was empty.

I pulled out my car keys as I walked, fuming as I headed towards my gleaming A8L 6.0 Quatt Ro. Parking underground is so convenient. No matter how strong the wind or how heavy the snow outside, my car is always spotless, making it a respectable sight to drive.

I walked towards my car. Getting closer and closer. Reaching the car, I unlocked it with the remote, opened the door, and got in, the movements as smooth and effortless as a dolphin diving into water.

I sat down, locked the doors, fastened my seatbelt, and started the engine.

It wouldn't start. I tried again. Still no start. My car always starts on the first try. What's wrong with it today?

It wouldn't start no matter what.

I kept trying, not yet getting impatient.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a dozen or so guys jumping around, closing in on my A8.

My gut feeling told me things weren't

looking good. My shoulders tightened, and I stared intently at the inside of the car. They were leaping and bounding, their movements incredibly light, each dressed in black hoodies with hooded caps that peeked out, their faces obscured by the dark shadows.

At this point, I was completely convinced that the little slut's museum encounter was true. I quickly turned the key again! Still no start!

The black hoodies were getting closer!

I panicked! I turned the key again! Damn it, still no start!

I instinctively reached for my steel baton at my back. Oh no. In my haste to leave, I'd left it at the apartment!

By this time, the first three black hoodies were pressed against my windshield. I definitely couldn't see their faces.

I was sweating! I desperately turned the key again! Finally, at the crucial moment, it started! Hearing the familiar sound of the engine starting, I floored the accelerator and revved the wheels.

The A8 roared and leaped forward.

Three grotesque black monkeys in front of the car were crushed and disappeared from my windshield. Strangely, when my wheels ran over them, I didn't feel the slightest bump as if I were driving over an obstacle.

It was definitely a ghost!

I floored the accelerator. The A8 roared and screamed as it carried me out of the underground parking garage.

Finally, I was out of the underground and saw the sunlight again.

The car's powerful engine had carried me to safety.

I let out a long breath at the familiar street scene that I used to find monotonous and boring.

The streets were gray and quiet, with few pedestrians.

Still shaken, I glanced at the center console and noticed that the revs had reached 5,000.

I quickly eased off the accelerator and forced myself to regain my composure and drive smoothly, but my heart was still pounding at 180.

I found a number and dialed it, only to be told that the owner had disconnected the phone.

I bought thirty live eels at the fish market and went to my mom's.

When I got inside, I put the eels in a large stainless steel basin and forced my mom to watch them carefully as they swam slowly but stubbornly in the slime.

Erguai watched with a strange look in his eyes.

I touched my mom's vulva. It was already wet.

Touching her wet vulva, I asked, "Mom, Aunt Chen transferred? Her phone number changed?"

My mom said, "Oh, right, she finally got promoted to chief surgeon. Didn't you know?"

I said, "I didn't know. Do you have her new phone number?"

My mom said, "Yes, wait a minute."

Saying this, she pulled her right foot out of her slippers and started flipping through her phone book with her bare foot.

I asked, "It's so cold, why aren't you wearing socks?!"

My mom said, "Oh, I've told you a hundred times, wearing socks is inconvenient."

I said, "Hurry up and put them on. If you catch a cold, it'll all be my fault!"

My mom said, "Okay, okay, I'll put them on right away... Oh, I found it, this is it!"

I wrote down the new phone number.

Mom asked, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

I said, "Nothing. A friend asked me to ask about something."

Mom said, "Oh."

I helped Mom put on her cotton socks and said, "Mom, how about braised eel for lunch today?"

Mom said, "Okay. Is eel good for nourishing yin or yang?"

I said, "It's said to replenish yin and yang, enhance libido, promote blood circulation and sperm production, and lower blood sugar. Aren't your blood sugar a little high? Go ahead and eat it, it shouldn't do any harm."

Mom said, "Okay. Let's eat together."

I said, "Oh, I really want to eat together too, but I have to go out right away to take care of something. I won't be back for lunch."

Mom said, "Oh. So where are you going to eat lunch?"

I said, "Don't worry about it, I'll just have a beef sandwich.

" Entering the kitchen, Erguai asked, "Brother, what's up?"

I asked, "Have you ever made braised eel?"

Erguai said, "No."

I asked, "Have you ever killed an eel?"

Erguai said, "No."

I said, "Killing is easy. Here, see? There's a hammer and nails. Take one at a time, turn it over, belly up, take a big nail and drive it through its chin into the cutting board, then use my double-edged sword to cut it open and remove the internal organs. It'll definitely be uncomfortable; don't be afraid if it moves around. After that, chop off the head, remove the nail, throw the body into a big basin of clean water and wash it clean, and then..."

Erguai said with a worried look, "Brother, can you buy pre-cleaned eels next time?"

After leaving my mother's place, I called that number and made an appointment.

To the hospital.

Aunt Chen, wearing a white coat, came out of the office and approached me. She touched my face and gray hair in alarm, asking, "What happened?! What's wrong?"

The hallway was packed with patients and their families. I said, "It's all because my mom is so worried and stressed."

She was skeptical, saying, "No, something's wrong! Tell me honestly!"

I said, "Aunt Chen, I have something growing on my stomach."

Upon hearing this, she pulled me into an empty examination room.

I lifted my coat and saw that the thing below my navel seemed to have grown larger, a deep purplish-red, with extremely thin, almost transparent skin, revealing a dense network of red blood vessels underneath.

Aunt Chen professionally examined me, then looked at me nervously and said, "Have you been in contact with any unclean people lately?"

I said, "No. Auntie, what's this thing?"

Aunt Chen didn't answer my question, but continued to ask, "What unclean places have you been to recently?

What unclean things have you seen? Have you been to a cemetery?"

I really didn't want to talk about my recent distressing experiences, so I said, "Nothing! Auntie, what exactly is this thing? The ultrasound can't detect it..."

Aunt Chen bent down again to examine my "testicles" carefully, muttering to herself, "That's strange! Back in '77 when I was studying cadaver dissection at medical school, something happened that terrified me, and I still remember it to this day. I've never dared to think about it."

She was lost in layers of painful memories, her face contorted, looking like she had eaten hot excrement.

I saw a glimmer of hope; it was at least better than the last ultrasound. I quickly asked, "What happened? Tell me quickly!"

She said, "My teacher said... said... Oh no! I'm completely limp now!"

As she spoke, her face turned noticeably greenish, her lips white, and a layer of cold sweat covered her forehead. She looked like a cow that had been butchered—lying on the ground.

I quickly grabbed her, but her legs felt like they were made of tofu, completely unable to support any weight.

Her over 100-pound body slid towards the ground, her white coat rubbing against my testicles, causing a sharp pain.

I pinched her philtrum. No use. I quickly slapped her hard.

She finally woke up, staring blankly at me, mouth open, eyes vacant, as if she'd seen a ghost in broad daylight.

She seemed to be walking a razor's edge, knowing she couldn't survive either way. Even in her dying moments, she wanted to know who had killed her, so she desperately asked, "Who are you?!"

I said, "It's me, Aunt Chen! I'm a8~"

She didn't seem to recognize me yet, and asked in terror, "What do you want?!"

I replied, "I'm here to schedule surgery."

Am I really that scary now? Could a ghost have possessed me and changed my appearance?

Aunt Chen flipped through the calendar and said, "The 19th."

I said, "No, the 19th is too late, we need to act fast."

Aunt Chen looked at the calendar again carefully and said, "The earliest I can fit in is the 17th."

I said, "No, I can't wait even one more day! Today is the day!"

Aunt Chen was almost crying and said, "Today is completely full. How about tomorrow? I'll definitely squeeze you in tomorrow. My word still carries weight."

I said, "Okay. You still haven't told me what this is about? What happened when you were doing the autopsy?"

Aunt Chen said, "There are some things I can't think about, can't talk about. Really. I had a sudden cerebral hemorrhage last month, and I almost went back to my normal position. I can't get excited or stimulated right now. How about this, after your surgery, Auntie will tell you everything, okay?"

I said, "Okay."

Since she'd already said that much, what else could I do?

I drove to the company. Nothing unusual happened at the company, except that little slut Hammer called and said she wouldn't be coming home to sleep tonight.

I said okay, and then asked her about today's X-ray. She said she was getting her makeup done, and the photographer had slept in late the night before and hadn't arrived yet.

I told her to be careful about hygiene and hung up.

After finishing my work at the company, I returned to my apartment complex. After thinking it over,

I decided not to go into the underground garage but to park my car on the ground. Even if the snow was heavy and the car was dirty, I'd wash it. I didn't want to go into the underground garage again. I never wanted to face my black-clad friend again, at least not alone.

I got out of the car, found our complex's renovation team, negotiated a price, mixed the putty, and took two workers back to my apartment.

The cross-shaped crack in the ceiling was still there. They used tables and chairs to fill the crack. I stood next to the table, lit a cigarette, and helped hold the chair.

I noticed that the two workers' legs were trembling as they worked. The trembling was getting worse, not just ordinary leg tremors from climbing.

No one said anything.

After finishing the work, the two workers hurriedly left, telling me to settle the bill with their boss.

But I knew in my heart that they had also sensed the ominous atmosphere around me.

I went to the hospital the next day. The surgeon removed the "dog's testicle" from my abdomen.

The surgeon was a man in his thirties, supposedly Aunt Chen's student. The surgery lasted an hour.

I remembered what Aunt Chen had said: "There are some things I can't think about, can't say. Really. I had a sudden cerebral hemorrhage last month, almost bending backward. I can't get excited, I can't be stimulated. How about this, after your surgery, Aunt Chen will tell you everything, okay?"

I walked out of the operating room and called Aunt Chen. No one answered. I walked to Aunt Chen's office and saw more than a dozen doctors in white coats busy at work.

I didn't think much of it and kept walking. Walking, walking, walking, I saw people carrying a stretcher out of Aunt Chen's office, and on it lay a woman—my Aunt Chen.

I asked around and was told that Aunt Chen had suffered a sudden cerebral hemorrhage and had been reported dead in her office.

My back went numb!

A nightmare had gripped me, destroying everyone I came into contact with.

I watched the stretcher being wheeled away and quickly called my mother.

The call went through. Erguai answered the phone and immediately started talking about how his first attempt at braised eel was a success, and how much my mom loved it.

I interrupted him, anxiously asking if everything was alright with my mom.

Erguai said, "It's fine, don't worry, brother."

I asked, "Is anything wrong?"

Erguai thought for a while and replied, "No."

I said, "Let my mom answer the phone."

He said, "The old lady is sleeping. Should I wake her?"

I said, "Never mind, don't bother. Thank you for your trouble."

Then I hung up.

At that moment, the anesthesia wore off, and the incision began to throb with pain!

Returning to my apartment after work, I suddenly smelled a faint, strange fragrance. I found a woman lying silently in bed.

I looked at her face. Familiar. Who was she again?

Round face, short hair, a not-so-high nose, a slightly fleshy tip. She opened her eyes.

I remembered! It was the landlady from Heizhuang Village! At that moment,

I was a bit reckless, no longer caring about the difference between the living and the dead. Since she's already come knocking, and I've already fucked her, fucking her once is a transgression, but fucking her again won't forgive me.

So why shouldn't I wash the boat in the river?

I lifted the covers and smelled her unique, subtle, musky scent. That scent was different from my mother's musk and that little slut's stinky fragrance, very, very different.

I turned on the bedside lamp, wanting to get a good look at her.

She stretched out her arm and turned the light off again. I knew that visitors from the underworld were afraid of light, so I didn't argue with her; if she didn't want the light on, then so be it. It didn't matter whether the light was on or off.

I crawled into bed. The scent was stronger.

This time she was completely naked, her body ice-cold. I hugged her tightly, kneading her fleshy buttocks. She gently kissed my face. Her lips were soft, half-moist, and very cool.

I said, "I know something happened to your family."

Hearing this, she stopped kissing me, buried her head in my arms and chest, and didn't say anything. Holding her felt exactly like holding a female corpse, except without the smell of formaldehyde.

A cool, musky scent emanated from her body and crotch.

This reminded me: she was alive. I reached my hand directly to the juncture of her thighs, touching her bare vulva.

Her increasingly loud nasal moans told me of her arousal.

Her vulva was wet.

I gently caressed, rubbed, and teased, relentlessly ravaging her clitoris. I wanted to seize every opportunity to indulge in lust. Anyone who slept in my bed was a slut.

The landlady bit her lip, trembling with orgasm in silence.

A strange woman. Extremely traditional and conservative, resolutely refusing to make a sound, as if her husband were still lying on her side.

At this moment, her aroused vulva was like a soaked apricot, incredibly wet.

Sticky secretions covered my hands. There's a type of black fungus that, after soaking overnight, when cut lengthwise, will release a lot of clear, slippery mucus from its two layers.

I shoved my fingers into her sour cunt, stirring them roughly with a squelching sound.

Her cunt was wet with semen, icy cold. She tilted her head back, clenching her teeth, a true martyr enduring torture, refusing to utter the moans I wanted to hear.

In the morning light, I masturbated her while staring intently at her face, scrutinizing every detail, trying to memorize her features, the subtle twitches and contractions of her facial muscles, the shape of her lips, storing them away for future reference. Who knows if we'll ever see each other again?

I fiddled with her for half an hour, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, until my hands were so sore that I took them up and examined them in the blue morning light to see what was on my fingers.

I sniffed them.

They smelled incredibly pungent. I put my fingers under her nose for her to smell. She turned her head away. I forced my way in, inserting two fingers into her mouth and massaging the taste buds on her tongue.

Her tongue was icy cold, but quite soft, with tiny, granular bumps on the surface like bayberries.

I increased the pressure, thrusting my fingers into her mouth. Her tongue writhed slightly around my fingers, secreting a sticky fluid, like some kind of mollusc.

I shoved my hard cock into her slippery, pungent cunt.

I didn't care about manners anymore. I started rocking my hips. I needed to relieve the pressure. I needed to use fucking to ease the tension and panic building in my heart.

She remained motionless, like a doe that had just died.

The doe's body was soft all over, undulating with my vigorous thrusting, like a shipwrecked female corpse rising and falling with the waves.

The feeling of a big cock fucking a cold woman was incredibly stimulating.

Her large, white breasts were deathly pale, as if filled with water, swaying up and down and side to side as I fucked them.

Her neck was limp, as if it couldn't support her head at all, and her head swayed wildly with my thrusts. She was

like a life-sized, cast-on middle-aged doll, incredibly realistic in every detail. Morning light streamed through the stained glass window, falling on her body and face.

Her eyelids were fluttering, her eyes were moving. This showed she was conscious. This cunt was alive.

As I fucked her, I said, "I've kept your panties from last time, they smell really good."

She covered her face with her hands, only the tip of her nose showing.

I grabbed her white breasts and said, "You bitch are horny again, missing me, aren't you?"

She nodded slightly, her nostrils flaring, her breathing quickening.

I roared as I fucked her hard, “You slut! You’re dead and still acting like a jerk! I’m going to fuck you back to life!”

She opened her pale, bloodless lips, her soft upper and lower lips separated by only five millimeters, but the corners of her mouth were still softly stuck together.

Her separated lips let out a hoarse moan, the sound of a virtuous woman about to climax, the sound of a mute calling out.

I fucked her harder, the head of my cock feeling the heat coming from her cervix!

I fucked her even harder. Strive! Strive! Strive! Strive! I’m going to fuck her back to life and keep her in the apartment to play with her every day!

The head of my cock felt the cervix getting even hotter. Her

whole wet pussy started to warm up, not as cold as before.

The steam locomotive sped up to its limit, emitting hot steam. The pistons churned and thrust like madmen. She finally cried out, “Fuck sister!”

I felt like I had found a treasure, as if all the sweat I had shed was worth it. (How foolish men are!)

I stared intently at her, admiring her captivating expression during her orgasm, carefully feeling how her vagina contracted and spasmed in waves.

There's a TV commercial that asks, "When is a woman most beautiful?"

How vulgar the copy is! The answer is as obvious as a nipple on a breast.

I pounced on her, roughly cradling her head in my hands, my fingers running through her hair. Hot sweat was seeping from her hair roots! Her whole body warmed up.

I could now release my pent-up desire.

I licked her warm cheeks, her red, hot ears, her white neck, my penis throbbing and spasming, my spermatic cord contracting violently.

I ejaculated.

I remember the powerful, sizzling sound of my semen shooting out.

I remember her hands kneading my balls, her hands soft, no longer cold…

My whole being floated up, soaring in a dreamlike realm. It felt so good.

I remember her whispering in my ear, "Your girlfriend's dad just arrived and reported to our place."

I remember trying so hard to hold on.

I remember trying to open my mouth to speak, but I was too tired to open it. I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, but I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep like an old farmer.

When I woke up, I saw the landlady naked on the big bed, fast asleep like a bitch.

I pinched my leg; it hurt. It wasn't a dream. It seems I really did bring her back to life.

There's a true story circulating around here: a woman who accumulated good karma in her life, possessing some beauty, was buried, and the next day her grave was dug up, the coffin empty. It turned out that two daring young men had dug her up that night, had sex with her, and brought her back to life. She died at forty and then lived for another forty years.

Did the landlady come to me this time to ask for the "resurrection potion"? Or to deliver that message?

I recalled her words: "Your girlfriend's dad just checked in with us." The little slut's dad went to the underworld?

So he's really dead. Blood relatives really can communicate through dreams. If

the landlady really could come back to life, that would be a good thing, a way for me to accumulate good karma.

I went to the bedside, sat on the thick carpet, and carefully examined her in the dazzling sunlight. I

only knew she was gentle and obedient, and hardworking, but I had never really looked at her closely. Her upper body wasn't bad-looking, but time had etched lines on her lips and eyes.

She made me feel attracted to her. I couldn't help but lean down and gently kiss her cheek and lips.

She was awakened by me and opened her eyes.

I said, "Awake?"

She looked around warily and asked, "Where is this?"

I calmly said, "This is my home."

She asked, "How did I get here?"

I said, "Don't you remember how you got here?"

She said, "I remember now, I don't have a home anymore. My family is ruined. I'm so tired. I think I slept for a long time. Did I snore just now?"

I asked, "What's your nickname?"

She said, "It's quite nice. What was it again? I forgot."

I asked, "If you'd like, you can stay here with me from now on."

She said, "Okay. I'll cook for you."

I said, "I have to go out and take care of something now."

She obediently said, "Okay. Come back soon."

It's so comfortable with a decent woman.

So, relationships with women can be this simple and easy?! Before, all my relationships with women, including my ex-girlfriends, my mother, and even that little slut, were all awkward and complicated.

Stepping out of the apartment, my mood was unusually bright, and I walked with a lighter step.

I went to the company to handle business, visited my mother, and even on the way, my heart was always warm, constantly thinking that there was a decent woman I'd brought back to life waiting for me in the apartment.

My ex-wife called, saying a woman had called her, calling herself Teacher Xu. I said I was busy, you two should meet up and have some fun.

I didn't care about anyone else right now. I just wanted to get home quickly.

Finally, I got back to the apartment, went in, changed into slippers, locked the door, fully expecting to see the landlady, but the room was pitch black. I turned on the light and looked around, but she was nowhere to be found.

The landlady was gone.

It seems the resurrection wasn't successful yet, and xx still needs to work harder.

It was Christmas Eve evening. I was tired of eating out and didn't want to go anywhere. I bought bread, parsley, steak, and duck liver in the heavy snow.

I returned to my apartment, clutching flowers and carrying bags of groceries, but no one was home.

The bag and clothes that little slut had brought were gone. I threw myself on the sofa and found my apartment key on the coffee table.

The stray bitch, she ate and left. Finally, she's gone. That slut!

I called all my best friends, offering to buy them drinks, but they all said they were already booked.

I went out alone, randomly picked a small pub downstairs, and ordered a plate of peanuts and two large Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor).

The waiter thought he misheard and weakly asked, "Two small Erguotou?"

I said, "Large ones. Two large ones."

Couples were everywhere on the street. Couples clinging tightly together. Couples walking in perfect unison. Couples kissing in the snow.

Alone in the pub, I took a sip of Erguotou and ate a peanut.

[Flashback here]

[...She asked me, "Are you a policeman? Then are you a security guard? The lads from our village who come to the city to be security guards are so cool..."] [...I said, "If you want to come with me, hurry up. I'll wait for you at the intersection. I'll leave in two minutes." One minute and fifty seconds later, she came out, carrying a bag...] [...She said, "Hmm, right, the little bitch is aroused, she's horny. Do me! Do me! Do me down there..."] [...Her eyes gleamed, she panted and grinned mischievously as she said to me, "I have an idea!" She held out her bulging fist to me, slowly opening her fingers.] There's a plum in my palm...] [...She asked, "We've done everything, but you won't marry me, right?" I said, "Yes. I don't want to marry anyone else..."] [...I said, "You have hemorrhoids. I bought you some medicine, this is for applying, and this is for suppositories." She said, "You're so good to me. You know? No one has ever cared about me like this before..."] [...She said, "You scoundrel, you're so bad. I was scared to death, my whole body went limp... Do you think my dad was on the train just now?"] [...She raised her voice and said, "Let me go! I was wrong! I'm a whore! I shouldn't have gone to that pervert! I was wrong..."] [...She said, "Hey! You were never my boyfriend. You said it yourself. I'm just staying here temporarily. Go find a girl who's more suitable for you..."] [...She was tied to the rails, her face covered in snot, half-crying and half-laughing, saying, "Daddy! Untie Daddy..."

]

[...She was naked and groaning to me in a daze, "Daddy, hug me..."] [...Old K said, "I think she has too much of a demonic aura. Hesitation will only lead to trouble later. You decide for yourself..."] I quickly knocked myself out with a shot of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor). In my hazy state, I heard the voice of the pharmacy clerk: "Brother! Brother?"

Then I felt him gently shaking my arm.

I lifted my head from my arm and found the waiter sitting in the chair next to me, looking at me. I realized I was sitting alone in the tavern, having a good drink.

I suddenly thought the waiter was nice, so I asked, "Want a drink?"

He shook his head.

I said boldly, "It's okay, come on, have a drink." (I always seem overly generous after drinking.)

He said gently, "Brother, it's three in the morning. We have to close."

I paid and walked out of the tavern.

The tavern immediately turned off its lights behind me.

I looked up.

Snow was falling heavily! It was falling like crazy, like snowplows were pushing snow off the rooftops.

The hard, brittle ice crystals of large snowflakes struck my eyelashes, making it impossible for me to open my eyes.

Under the vast sky, I stood there alone, tears streaming down my face.

I had never realized so intensely how lonely I truly was.

For so many years, I had been giving and giving, like a fool, being good to this person, good to that person.

From my first girlfriend, my second girlfriend, my third girlfriend, my fourth girlfriend… to my ex-wife,

my mother, that little slut.

From Old K to all my close friends, who could keep me company?

I wanted to tell myself, “Humans are inherently lonely.”

But I couldn’t open my mouth, because the muscles in my face and mouth were frozen stiff.

In the gloomy, cold winter night, no one was with me.

It is said that a calm mind is the greatest bliss.

It is said that the greatest sorrow is a dead heart.

The ancients have already said it all.

Bored.

Go to sleep.

Knock knock knock! A

knock at the door. I checked the time. Six in the morning. Who could it be? A ghost? Should I go open the door?

I hesitated.

Knock knock! Another knock at the door.

Just when things seemed to be going well , I thought,

"Damn it! I can't take this anymore! Who cares who it is! I have to settle this! "

I steeled myself, walked over, and peeked through the peephole. A woman stood in the hallway outside, her face unfamiliar.

I was still in shock, wanting to shout at her clearly and sternly, but my voice trembled violently as it came out: "Who...who is it?!"

The woman replied, "It's me. I'm your neighbor. Your house is leaking!"

I was skeptical, so I opened the door a couple of inches and braced my foot against the back of the door.

She said hurriedly, "I live downstairs from you. Your house is leaking into ours!"

I looked at the woman carefully; I really hadn't seen her before. But that wasn't surprising. These days, people living in apartments rarely see each other; who knows who?

She was in her thirties, in the prime of her life, about 1.66 meters tall, wearing a pink cashmere sweater, floral cotton long johns, and red cotton slippers. She had a round face, big eyes, and rosy cheeks, so tender that I wanted to pounce on her and bite her. My cheeks tingled, and my mouth watered, a burning sensation spreading across the sides of my tongue. I knew my salivary glands were starting to produce saliva.

She said, "Can I come in and take a look?"

As if possessed, I obediently opened the security door and let this complete stranger in. At that moment, I had lost all reason. Reason seemed to have vanished. Being a man! Sigh!!!

The woman went straight to the bathroom I had renovated (for details on how, see Volume Two of this book).

She complained a little, "Why did you knock down the wall?"

I said, "It wasn't a load-bearing wall."

She said, "You changed the water pipes, didn't you?"

I said, "Yes, I did. Is it leaking badly there? Shall we come over and take a look?"

She said, "No need. You should turn off the main water valve right away."

I didn't doubt her identity or her motives at all, and obediently went to turn off the main water valve, feeling lightheaded and light-footed.

Turning around, I found the bitch already lying on my bed, her sticky cunt exposed, her clitoris and vulva swollen and red, hot and slippery, like it was inflamed.

The bitch's ass started moving on its own.

My penis, like a highly lubricated piston in a steam engine, thrust in and out faster and faster.

The humiliated and damaged opening kept secreting saliva. The wet, sticky sound of the piston working filled the room.

Contraction began. I ejaculated. Semen roared into the woman's hot, moist cavity.

I fell asleep.

Opening my eyes, it was already bright outside. Bright sunlight streamed onto my bed. The apartment was quiet.

I lay alone on the large bed. No one was with me. The woman was gone.

My apartment door was open. Everything in the apartment was there (except for the paternity supplies), and there was no trace of sex.

ouvenir~~

I checked my watch: 11:00 AM.

I got dressed, grabbed pliers and a screwdriver, went out, locked my security door, went downstairs, and knocked.

After knocking for a while, the door finally opened, and a strong, pungent stench of an elderly person living alone assaulted my nostrils!

An old man poked his bald head out, wearing a sweater and thick glasses, and asked me shakily, "Who are you?"

I hadn't seen him before. He recognized me too.

I tried to sound calm and said, "Ah~~ um, your house is leaking, I live downstairs."

The old man chuckled and said, "Huh?"

I said, "I'll come in and fix it for you."

The old man believed me and opened the security door.

I went into his house and cautiously looked around.

The house was incredibly dark. I felt like I had stumbled into a junkyard. The furniture was old and worn, clearly from the 1960s.

Every usable surface—on top of wooden crates, on the round folding dining table, inside and on top of bookshelves—was piled high with old magazines, newspapers, and books, exuding a nauseating musty smell of decaying, outdated knowledge.

Even the floor was stacked high with books, tens of thousands of them, all yellowed and worn, leaving only a narrow, winding path a foot wide.

The old man looked like a retired editor, or perhaps a melancholy, declining, elderly gay writer?

I went into the bathroom. The bathroom was also piled high with books; it seemed the old man never showered, using the bathroom as a small storage room.

There wasn't even soap, let alone cosmetics; no woman could live here.

I looked up; there wasn't a single leak in the ceiling.

The old man followed behind me, asking with concern, "Is your house leaking badly?"

His words reminded me of my excuse for coming here. I quickly pretended to be checking the water pipes, tapping here and there, tightening them, and inspecting the drain, saying, "It's your house that's leaking. Ours doesn't leak."

The old man, confused, said, "Oh, oh, that's good."

I casually asked, "Don't your children live with you?"

The old man answered earnestly, as if swearing an oath to God, "I don't have any children."

I stood up, dusted myself off, and said, "Okay! I've fixed yours."

The old man smiled and said, "Thank you."

I said, "You're welcome."

The old man said, "Here, have a piece of candy." He handed me a piece of fruit candy wrapped in cellophane, the cellophane covered in dirt.

I took the candy, unwrapped the cellophane, and forced myself to put the candy in my mouth, saying as I walked out, "You're welcome. The world is too chaotic these days; don't open the door to strangers."

The old man said, "Oh! Okay, I know."

I left the old man's house, and he wanted to see me downstairs. I stopped him and asked him to stay.

The old man said, "Hmm, you live downstairs from me, right?"

I said, "Oh yes, that's right."

The old man looked at me with deep affection, his heart breaking as he returned to his apartment and closed the security door.

I stepped into the elevator, pressed "1," took out a tissue, and spat the nauseating fruit candy into it, my heart pounding wildly. Who on earth entered my apartment?!

Ghosts don't show up in photos. You can't capture them in pictures, you can't record them in videos.

"Ding-dong!"

The elevator reached the first floor.

I stepped out of the elevator, threw the tissue into the trash can, and walked out of the apartment building.

I parked my car on the side of the road and called Old K. No one answered.

Just then, a woman walked over from a small massage parlor nearby, stopped by my car door, and whispered, "Hey sir, want some?"

I looked at her; her eyes and lips were quite pretty, she was about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, still attractive, with a few freckles on her face. Was it late puberty? Or pigmentation from pregnancy?

I answered confidently, "I'll take it if it's free!"

She surprisingly said quietly, "I'll give it to you for free today."

I cautiously scanned my surroundings, making sure there was no lurking danger, then turned off the car, got out, locked it, and followed her into her kingdom.

She rented a shop on the ground floor of a residential building. Baby cotton pants and sweaters were drying on bamboo poles outside the small storefront.

She led me into the storefront with a shy expression. It was only about eight or nine square meters inside, but there was another door at the back.

She was wearing cheap sneakers and black jeans, and no bra. Her areolas were clearly visible. Her ponytail was tied back with a light blue elastic band.

She took off her coat, yellow sweater, corduroy pants, and thermal underwear. I smelled a strong, pungent yogurt scent.

Her pullover was quite tight. I noticed a palm-sized damp patch on each of her nipples.

I said, "Take off your shoes."

She obediently took off her shoes, leaving only a pair of white cotton socks on her feet.

I said, "Take off your socks too."

She said, "Why? I'm cold~"

I said firmly, "Take them off!"

She took off her white cotton socks. I picked them up. They were warm, still damp. I smelled them. Slightly smelly.

I inserted my fingers into her vagina, the fingertips probing her cervix. She moaned.

I made her hold her own ankles, and my fingers carefully teased her cervix. She mumbled indistinctly, "Where are you poking me, big brother?"

I said, "I'm poking your baby-making hole! Lick your toes!"

She obediently stuck out her pink, wet tongue and began licking her bare feet. Her

breasts were round and hard, hot and firm, emitting a strong milky smell. It seemed she was breastfeeding.

I asked, "How old is your baby?"

She replied, "Four months."

I said, "You breastfeed yourself?"

She asked, "Yes... Can you lick me?"

I licked her face.

She whispered, "Down there..."

I licked her vulva.

She whispered, "Down there..."

I tore open her panties and licked her cunt, while simultaneously grabbing her large, white breasts and sucking on them. Warm milk began to flow down my hand.

She screamed like an ambulance as she reached orgasm. After the orgasm subsided, she smiled shyly at me and said, "Put it in, I'll breastfeed, it's okay, I won't cheat you."

I thrust my hard penis into her cunt.

After a while, I pulled it out and forced her to give me oral sex.

I said, "Touch your clitoris."

She obediently began to masturbate her clitoris, her mouth half-open, hissing and howling. A yellowish, snot-like secretion silently flowed from her cunt.

I shoved my entire fist into her slippery cunt and thrust wildly inside. She was intoxicated on the edge of pain and madness, her moans becoming distorted.

Her fingers gradually increased the pressure of rubbing her clitoris. I lifted her thighs and began to fondle her anus with my fingers.

I thrust my hard penis into her anus like a weapon, penetrating her rectum. Her rectum was soft and warm, enveloping me.

I thrust fifty or sixty times, then began to ejaculate, my brain and all consciousness plunging into a dark vacuum.

Utter silence ...

(Thinking back, I was terrified. What if her laid-off husband had hit me on the back with a pot of hot water? I would have been dead.)

Suddenly, a baby's loud cry came from the inner room. She quickly poured me a cup of boiling tea.

I asked, "Where's your husband?" (Just then I remembered!)

She whispered, "He's not here... wait a minute, brother. I'll be right there."

I said, "Wait a minute!"

I went to my car, got two strips of solid butter, and inserted them into her anus. With the butter in her anus, she smiled shyly at me, lifted the curtain, and went into the inner room.

Was she going in to breastfeed?

The baby quickly stopped crying. About ten minutes later, she came out of the inner room, her face flushed.

I said, "Let's continue playing with your clitoris!"

She earnestly and diligently played with her own clitoris, her eyes unfathomable.

I said, "Let me touch your anus!"

Her fingers flew up and down, masturbating her anus. Her anus was rather loose. Sticky.

I inserted it into her rectum, feeling like I was fucking a tight, oil-covered sac.

My erection was deeply buried in her warm rectum. She twisted and turned, grinding (torturing) my penis with her anus.

I carried her to the bathroom, placed her legs on either side of the sink, spread her legs in front of the mirror, and made her watch my penis withdraw from her anus.

I forced her to observe herself reaching orgasm in front of the mirror, watching her own lewd appearance.

Immediately, wet, dark brown, runny stool mixed with liquid butter gushed out, softened by the butter, somewhat soft, no longer formed.

She looked proud and fascinated.

I exclaimed, "Look! How sexy it is for a woman to poop!"

She teased herself, insulting her own orifice. She inserted her fingers into her urethra, moaning loudly, her moans filled with desire and unbearable thirst. In my arms, she climaxed again in front of the mirror, her chest heaving, her face flushed, delirious, and unconscious.

Her fingers were incredibly nimble, her masturbation movements remarkably practiced. Her fingers gleamed, covered in her secretions. Her lips were smeared with the same fluid.

She was trapped in a state of extreme, ecstatic pain.

I kissed her, focusing on the sensation of the kiss, feeling the softness of her lips. I wondered, what were the differences in texture and smell between her lips and the labia majora?…

Her nipples were overflowing; when I cupped them in my hand, they felt incredibly heavy, as if filled with molten lead. Her nipples were large, the areolas nearly the size of a 200g bottle of Nescafé, dark in color.

She thrashed violently in my arms…

After the climax subsided, she asked me, “Have you eaten, bro?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “Just make do with this, what do you say?”

I said, “Okay.” I

watched as she deftly slipped on a sweater, thermal underwear, jeans, and slippers, went outside, and in the blink of an eye brought back two foot-long fish, already scaled, headed, tailed, and gutted. She took the fish to the fryer. She

was clearly a capable woman, her life well-organized.

In the outer room,

the unique aroma of stewed fish filled the air.

Rice was already cooked,

along with a stir-fried vegetable dish.

I got up.

She asked, “Where are you going?”

I said, “Is there a liquor store over there?”

She lifted the liquor cabinet and said, “Just tell me what you want to drink. We have everything here.”

The little vixen had found a source of income.

Not many people can completely align their interests with making money. I should wish her well.

After she left, I went to my mother's every day to do chores, serve tea, and cook; I walked the dog, bought groceries, and then prepared all sorts of dishes

: picking, washing, chopping, stir-frying, steaming, cold dishes, grilling, boiling, stewing, and hot pot. Life was mundane, monotonous, bland, and tedious. No surprises, no suspense, no nightmares, no excitement. Was this the true nature of life?

No matter how much you struggle, you'll eventually return to this mundane routine? Would I just spend the rest of my life like this with my mother?

Twenty years later, I'd be there to see her off, then quit my job, live to eighty-three, and wait to "die in April"?

Was everything fate? Was everything predetermined? Was my fate

already sealed in the Book of Life and Death? Could I reverse my fate in Nanjing?

That day, I walked past a beauty salon on the street and suddenly realized that the person in the huge photo in the window looked familiar. I went back to look closely—it was Xiao Sao Sao.

She was wearing powder, makeup, eyeshadow, and soft lighting, but the seductive energy in her eyes was even more pronounced.

Not bad. She'd made something of herself. I'm striding confidently into the human flesh market.

That day, I was in the company conference room giving a meeting to various departments when my assistant quietly came over and whispered in my ear that Old K wanted to see me.

I left the conference room, went into my office, and picked up the phone.

He said he was right at the entrance of our building and wanted me to come downstairs; he said he had something for me.

I said I was in a meeting.

He said it was important.

I said, "Leave it at the front desk, and I'll have my assistant bring it up.

" He got a little angry and snapped, "What's with the attitude? I'm going up there right now and dragging this videotape to your conference room!"

Hearing this, I quickly went downstairs, wondering in the elevator, "Videotape? What videotape?"

I saw Old K's sports car.

I walked over.

He said disapprovingly, "You're always so busy!"

I said, "I really am in a meeting."

He handed me a brown paper bag through the window and said, "Luckily you listened to my advice and dumped her."

I took the bag; inside was a videotape.

I asked, "What's going on?"

He said, "Your little slut is in a porn movie. I'm leaving."

The sports car sped away.

I stood there dumbfounded in the sunlight.

[This post was last edited by eeshakhare on 6-1 at 15:20]

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