My four years as a sex slave (2)

My Four Years of Sex Slavery No. 4: Naked Servitude

Waking up from a coma, female slave Qingqing writes in sleepy exhaustion

The next big event after my daughter was born was the eventual execution of the owner’s brother after a complicated legal battle.

A hearse was set up for him on the first floor, and on the wall opposite his effigy and offering hung me alive upside down, chest and belly out, still bound only by my two big toes that had curled out of shape. My legs were split into a V and a thick red candle was inserted deep in my pussy, lit, of course. When it burned out it was replaced with another, and the candle in my human lampstand stayed lit all day and night.

Later on people were going to perform all kinds of rituals that I didn’t understand at home, and it would go on for many days. Unchained me still kneeling against this wall, sitting back on my heels with my back against the wall. Pulled my arms apart and drove large concrete nails through my palms and nailed them to the wall, and the same with the other arm. I was able to tolerate the pain well enough by then, but I was still screaming like crazy when the nails went down, and it hurt, it hurt very, very much.

The two holes still healed slowly, but left two smooth, deep craters in the center of my hand opposite the back of my hand. And because of the bruised nerves, two fingers on my left hand were so stiff that it was hard to bend them.

Still to use me as a lamp stand, after I was immobilized in this way, Achang took a dagger and dryly stabbed a hole several centimeters deep downward in each of the upper edges of one of my breasts, stirring it to the side a few times in order to widen the wound. A thinner candle was inserted into each of them, the flames roasting my face just right.

I don’t remember at all when they ended it all, what I probably do remember is that after the ceremony the master made me spend the next month, maybe two, in that torture chamber in his basement, not even letting me out of the door halfway through. The bodyguards switched shifts and beat me painfully day and night.

The methods of torturing women are just the same, and it is just as well to turn them over on me again. I remember my master sometimes coming down and sitting in that old wicker chair, drinking tea and meditating, and on the other side of the room the crimson coals poured out of the stove were scattered all over the floor, and a couple of big, sturdy men kicked and rolled the naked me around on them.

The first couple of days I even had breastfeeding time, and they stopped for a moment to ask me, “Do you want to see your daughter?”

I nodded my head desperately, and I was told, “You’ll have to add one more thing to see your daughter’s eyes.” I nodded my head. I nodded my head and asked someone to take my daughter down and stuff my vagina with kerosene-soaked cotton.

I was on my knees, picking up my daughter, and they were lighting a fire underneath, stepping firmly on my knees. I was burned and bouncing upward, sweating hot sweat like rain all over my head, all the while holding my little daughter tighter to my broken breasts. I really didn’t know if it was my milk or my blood she was sucking in, and the fumes rising from my burnt flesh choked her as she coughed up her staff.

Then, one day, I spent the morning peeling all the skin off one of my breasts in circles with a pocket knife, leaving me with just the big nipple in the center, applying alcohol to the wound as I did so. My soft flakes of skin fell out east by west like the skin of a badly peeled apple. I said I’d peel another one in the afternoon and asked, “Are you still breastfeeding?” I didn’t nod again.

I was shoved into that little square pit back there just after the end of those two months, and I think it was my master who finally got tired of all this fruitless vengeance. He got me down into the ground as if I were dead, and he could forget all about it and get back to work. As I’ve already mentioned, I lived in that little hole for six months straight, and by the time I was released, my original shawl hair had grown long enough to cover my ass.

“Do you remember how to speak English?” My master asked me.

“Slavegirl remembers, Master.”

Thus I came to Razin for the second time and began to do for my master a ridiculous thing that only his mind could conceive.

The reason for this was that the English teacher at his Reed High School had not returned to town after summer vacation, and his men had been unable for a while to find a candidate who could teach English and who was willing to come to this part of the country where insurgency was raging. And then there was the fact that my host stubbornly believed that it was essential for middle school students to learn English, even on the borders of the country M.

There is no tuition at Reed High School, plus the townspeople know that this is where my master trains and selects his soldiers and even officers. Many arrogant warlords have run schools to train their own direct line, and my master must have read about the history of these. The students were more Croatian, from the surrounding mountains, in addition to Chinese sons and daughters.

However, my master ordered that Chinese be taught and emphasized, and naturally no one argued with him. This had a side effect: I was able to teach English to the students in Chinese.

The chairman of the Reed School was my host, the principal was Phila, and there was another vice principal, Wu, who was the real senior teacher, and he was of Chinese descent. This seemingly gentle, middle-aged man with glasses, who has obviously been around for a long time in this windy and stormy part of the world, smiles at me, a naked from top to bottom substitute female teacher with heavy chains dragging along her arms and legs, and tells me that he is delighted to have the honor of working with me.

I proceeded to startle him anyway, and I immediately fell down on my knees towards his feet and said, “Slavegirl has put you through a lot of trouble, Headmaster Wu.” This is what I had to do according to the rules.

To be meaner to me, Phila introduced Principal Wu to the young girl in front of him as a real female master. Then he swatted me hard as if for fun, hitting me so hard that the blood from my nose flung onto my chest. “But it’s time to discipline, as it were.” He said.

Principal Wu told me that the school is divided into five grades, with one class in the first grade, and about thirty students in each class, ranging in age from thirteen to seventeen. He said that there were eight teachers in the school, not counting him, and all but one of them were young men who had recently graduated from school and were the only ones who traveled around the country to try their luck. He was the only one who had a family and had brought it to Razan. Then the eighth was his wife, teaching music.

“But she’s taking the next two days off.”

Obviously, as a woman, his wife, I’m afraid, can’t handle the surreal scenario of spending time with a naked female coworker on campus. Teaching these kids to sing is not a big deal, and Principal Wu can deal with it instead of his wife.

By this time he had led me into the writing room used by the teachers downstairs in the two-story building, and I knelt down once more at the doorway and asked my new colleagues to please feel free to discipline me as a slave girl. Principal Wu introduced them to me one by one and I nodded and smiled at them as I lifted my face from the ground.

It was still my attitude that was a little smoother and more natural than that of the few young men in the room, but I think they had been prepared for it, as I have already spoken of. In fact, every one of them knew me, and must have seen me in the clearing outside the barracks, or else in the market at the edge of town. Gogon’s house is just across the street, and it was in there that I screamed last year!

Let me just use the desk of the English teacher who didn’t come back after the vacation. I went behind the table and straightened out the ones on my wrists and the several large strings of chain links that ran from my neck down to the soles of my feet before I began to straighten the table. The tables side by side belonged to Mr. Aka, the math teacher, and when I turned to him and asked him if he had a rag, the poor old boy was really a bit flustered, a sight he’d probably only seen in some of his own mysterious and grotesque dreams!

By then I was essentially a whore who had spent a year in the service of frenzied soldiers, and not a full-blown schoolgirl as I had been for the previous twenty-four years. I didn’t care if he turned his face away from my naked breasts in an awkward manner, and said very gently: “Do you have any toilet paper left? Please help me wipe the blood from my mouth, okay? Think about it, I can’t see my own face!”

I lifted my chin up for him to rub it on me, then softly said, “There’s more on my tits!” And I pushed both of my big breasts up to his eyes.

After this, the atmosphere in the writing room became much better, and people came around to help me clean up, as if a lovely female coworker had been added to a male collective on a bright and calm morning.

There were a couple of reasons why the whole thing of me being naked in class didn’t become completely unthinkable. The first was that Reed High School operated under a kind of militarized administration at the behest of my master; it was closed to outsiders. Students live on campus and are only allowed to leave the school briefly after having taken a leave of absence during class time.

The second point is perhaps even more important: there are no female students at Reed High School.

The reason for this is that the people here generally believe that girls do not need to study, and to come to the town from dozens of kilometers away from the village to study, you can only live in the school, although under the management of my master Lara really security is not bad, but let teenage daughters to live alone outside is still too far away from the tradition. Later, it became an unwritten practice of Reed High School: only boys were admitted.

If there were dozens of schoolgirls sitting in here, even if my host’s school rules were as strict as they are, they’d be running around screaming when they saw me walk in, wouldn’t they? Indeed, based on my personal experience this year, the last thing I care about right now is going naked into a pile of men, but if there are women watching next to me, it’s a little less comfortable, a little bit, I guess.

The third point that comes to mind is that the remote mountainous areas of M are not K-towns, and in the cottages the women are not always clothed, in fact women who have given birth can go without a blouse. Even in a district seat like Razin, women of all ages can be seen bathing and splashing in the streams outside the town in the evening, and they don’t really avoid people.

It was under these circumstances that my owner came up with such a way to have fun with me, and simply let me live completely naked for four years, until today.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the first naked mature woman the kids see.

My English program quickly turned into a disaster, though; it wasn’t that the kids cared about my big wobbly breasts, it was that they cared too little.

In accordance with my identity, I kneel down for the students during the first class and tell them that I am everyone’s slave and that they can do whatever they want to me before I start taking them through the text. Remember also that I am never to sit down during the entire lesson.

The higher classes soon realized that they didn’t have to listen to anything I had to say, and if I asked a question about what the phrase take by meant, the kid who didn’t know stared up and said, “On your knees, slave girl!” I’d have to kneel in the aisle next to him, and then he’d give me a big smack in the mouth and say, “That’s what it means, slave!” He was young enough not to say “bitch” or “whore”.

Then, as soon as I walked in the door, they yelled, “On your knees, slave girl!” Then the whole class, playing with themselves, said to me: “Take the whip, lie down on the desk and spread your legs!” I did it, and they asked, “Pick a spot, where do you want it?”

“Better whip the slave girl’s back.” I pleaded. “No! Pumping is fun.” They’d tried it several times and knew where the hard parts of a woman were, so they all took turns pumping my pussy, trying to poke deeper in the spirit of brave exploration. The kids didn’t know how to be gentle and zapped me so hard I was writhing and screaming on my desk. In the end, this one was seen by Principal Wu, who was passing by the window, and I’d never told anyone before this, no matter how much the students fooled around.

Like many great men of peasant origin, my master was very, very serious about the matter of reading, and such nonsense in the midst of his studies could never be licensed, even to lowly slaves. Principal Wu asked me which students had led the way, and when I refused to tell him, he took the two officers who were resident at the school and responsible for the military education of the students around to the classrooms, seized a dozen or so boys, and made them kneel side by side in the playground outside for the duration of the session, slapping each other across the mouths incessantly.

On behalf of the chairman of the board, Principal Wu declared: during class time, you are not allowed to call Ms. Lin Qingqing a slave, you are not allowed to give her any orders, and you are not allowed – as a precautionary measure – to have any physical contact with Ms. Lin. Due to my position, I cannot personally punish the students, but I am instructing Mr. Lin, that is, me, to truthfully report all misbehavior to Principal Wu, and that any student who makes trouble in Mr. Lin’s classroom time will be punished twice as harshly by the school administration.

However, I knew that my master would never let me get a little more dignity easily. Sure enough, Principal Wu went on to convey the Chairman’s opinion that since Ms. Lin Qingqing was indeed a lowly slave, she must indeed be made to remember who she was. It was decided that the entire student body would gather to watch my whipping, twenty strokes, every day as they left for morning exercises, to be carried out by the military personnel stationed at the school.

He casually doubled my daily punishment, which ensured that there were always enough greenish-black and crimson whip marks intertwined across my chest, stomach, and shoulders and back to resemble a pattern on a piece of lucite. Those crimson colored wounds would ooze out wetly throughout the day.

At the end of the evening study session, the students likewise concentrate for fifteen minutes on the other twenty strokes of the lash executed on me during the night.

For a month prior to this, I, a substitute teacher at Reed High School, was a daily commuter, and whenever I lived on the Razin side of town, the Razin barracks was my home. I walked out of the school gate alone after class in the evening to cross town to go home, and my soldier brethren were still waiting there with great interest! Because my master and I had formed an agreement regarding my daughter, by this time I was free to move about within the town of Razin as such.

After being dragged up early in the morning by the soldiers on duty for a severe whipping, I would then go to the shower room to wash my body, for by this time I was bound to be covered in filth, and then rush off to work. Carrying the long shackles in my hands, walking barefoot on the main road, shaking my bare breasts to greet the neighboring women who got up early for work, it was really a bit like a normal nine-to-five kind of life!

According to this schedule, the daily chastisement whippings were done in the barracks, but now my master had determined that they should be done at school. And he also found a big problem: the requirement that I must masturbate with a wooden stick every day after dinner was left out of both, so of course it had to be done at school!

Principal Wu later told me, with credit, that by this point he had bravely argued with my host for a while. In any case, it was too much for a middle school. Until my master shouted at him the words that hit the nail on the head: “Do you think I want a class of scientists who raise flowers and plants? I want robbers who can read orders!”

It was not necessary to argue about it any further, and the matter was settled. My master’s words to Headmaster Wu showed the other half of his true feelings, that he had not sent me there just so that I could teach some English to people, but that he was trying to give his boys an early chance to get acclimatized to the evil world of men, and to learn early the atrociousness of human relations.

The kindly Principal Wu still managed to get a discount for me, and he finally convinced my master that going back to the barracks every day to spend the night was too destructive of my energy. I simply didn’t have the time to prepare my lessons, and I couldn’t show anyone my homework, and it was impossible for anyone to teach a decent lesson in such a situation.

My master had finally agreed to temporarily exempt me from the camp whore part of the job I’d always been burdened with, but I couldn’t be allowed to take advantage of it for nothing. “Isn’t that little bitch of a cop just like a regular teacher anymore, letting her swing around the campus in boredom? Something has to be done to make her remember your hard work!” He said to the honest Principal Wu.

Principal Wu prepared a bedroom for me in the school walls, just for me. For the first time in my four years as a sex slave, I was given a room and a bed. The price of the exchange was that Phila had gotten another set of shackles from him, and unlike the long ones I had been wearing, they were short, just three links in all, all straightened out to a maximum of forty centimeters, but each of the huge loops was heavy as a solid block of cast iron. My master knew that after more than a year, I had gotten used to the whole set of chains on my original body, and that I would have to increase the weight to make it harder for me.

The Bammer who brought it to me hid in my dorm room to fuck me , this was after all in school and even Bammer knew to be a little careful. When I was done, I straightened my legs out and waited for him to lock me in.

“Bitch,” Bammer told me, stripped to the waist and with a muscular body, “this thing weighs seven kilograms by itself, but it’s not the weight that’s the most interesting thing about it.” He pulled apart the two halves of the ankle bracelet to show me the inside: there was a ring of thin steel spikes, half a centimeter long, and I shuddered.

“The last time we used it was against a T-man who came to assassinate the boss, and the guy was able to climb a three-story brick wall with his empty hands!” He bragged.

“Is that what you guys use on girls?” I mouthed back.

“Yeah, yeah!” Bamo showed a very proud look : “The girl used against the police.”

The original shackle iron ring stuck in my ankle, now this pair of side-by-side folded to the top, hooped my calf. Bammer showed his teeth at my face: “Scream twice if it hurts too much, big girl of the police.” He pressed the two semicircles together with his hand and ” ” locked it with a click.

The sharp pain went right to my bones, and I watched as my bare foot trembled like a dying duck in the big iron ring: “Ouch… Uncle Bhamo… Oh… pain… pain… pain… pain…” He took hold of my other ankle: “Let’s finish it.” Also with a ” “, my person had collapsed to the ground.

It, coupled with my original leg irons, was heavy indeed, dragging and dropping me to the point where I could barely lift my feet, as well as, when I did, it hurt like hell.

“Now you don’t have to go back to the barracks every day to be a bitch, don’t need to walk around!” He then put down a pair of not  steel handcuffs, the key inserted in the lock hole: “The boss said, once the class you have to bring it, the key to the student control, no matter eat, drink and shit can not be opened. It is the class that a while can let you off the hook.”

That is, cuffing my hands together again all day long, except for the meter-long chains on my hands.

I sit down next to Ms. Aka and read. It’s against the rules to sit down in a public place, but it’s all teachers here, and people aren’t so hard on me that they go around telling people about it. I carefully positioned my feet under the desk, the shackle rings weren’t big saws for cutting meat, the steel spikes as thin as sewing needles were probably punched holes in the inner ring and welded in place by sticking them down one by one, tight and thin inside my calf muscles, none of which bled out much, it just hurt too much to move my feet.

I had my next class, and early on I had to get up and move over to the fourth class’s side of the room. With my handcuffed hands clasping my books, and sometimes a stack of exercise books, I carefully balanced myself in the aisle. It took a determined effort to slide one foot forty centimeters against the ground, then drag the back foot up in an arc, a round trip that hurt so much it made me cry, and then take a break to come back for the next round.

The students running around next to me after class, between my two bare feet were three large straightened iron rings, behind them was the first pair of shackles dragging on the ground around a large semi-circle. Walking into the classroom tears were already streaming down my face, and it was hard to wipe them off when my hands were shackled and then holding a book. I kneeled down in front of the podium and said: “Li Xiaozheng, please open your hands to the slave girl.” According to the master’s wishes, the key to the handcuffs in the day duty students passed, during the class to open me, once the class is locked. This probably fosters a sense of responsibility in the children to watch over the prisoners!

Since I was now living at the school, I was allowed to clean the classrooms and teachers’ offices after class in the afternoon. This was nothing compared to the work I used to do for Emeiji, but now that my hands were handcuffed and my feet were so heavy and painful that I couldn’t walk, it was a big job to carry a bucket of water back from the well. It was hard to use a mop with my hands cuffed together, and after wiping all the desks, I cleaned the floor by getting down on my knees and wiping with a cloth as well. It wasn’t very hot in September and October, but after each session, I was drenched in sweat from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes. There weren’t any teachers or students who wanted to help me, but the officer at the school was quick to tell them that it was the chairman’s order to let me do it alone.

If I didn’t get this done in time for dinner, there would be no food. Every evening, the teachers and students ate as a group in a large bungalow that doubled as an auditorium and dining room, and I was allowed to walk in and join them, though alone, kneeling in the open space at the very front with my bowl on the floor. Like in the military, there was a time limit on the meal, and when everyone was finished, they lined up together and went out the door, standing at attention and turning around to face their teacher, Ms. Lin Qingqing.

Before I did that, I had to exit, kneel down in front of the door, then face all the students and faculty and open my pussy, insert a one-inch stick, count out “one”, pull out the stick and insert it back in, and say, “two…”

It can be counted as self-congratulatory that my old friends Achan and Bamo and the others aren’t here, and I don’t have to scream myself into a tumble on the floor with my hips and belly lifted and my arms and legs twitching to get through it, I just have to count to one hundred in a bland manner, which saves me a lot of effort.

Then the officer who shouted the password dismissed the group.

Despite all the hassles, I had a little room of my own after all! The happiest times of my four years were those nights at Reed High School when I could sit alone on a cot with red plaid sheets, lay down as long as I wanted, and wrap a big fluffy blanket around my naked body. You know, it was a big favor for everyone to allow me to sit on my ass for the last four years!

The sheets were lent to me by Principal Wu, along with the big pillow and the blanket that sat on top. I was a real slave: I didn’t have a penny of personal property. The necessities of living alone, the cups, toothbrushes and soap on the small low cupboard, plus the towels hanging on it, were all given to me by my colleagues. But they wouldn’t have given me dresses and skirts anyway, so I didn’t have a closet in this little home of mine.

The only girly thing sitting on the table: a small mirror with a woodgrain frame, given to me by Aka. Staring at my face in it, listening to the frogs chirping in the pond outside, it really reminded me of the girls’ dormitory when I was in college.

In the middle of the day, this little world had to be broken once more. Study hall ended at nine o’clock, and I put down my book and clipped it to my bookmark at eight-fifty and slowly walked across the open field to where I was going to get those twenty lashes in front of the students.

My whole body ached after the beating, and I struggled to move a large pile of chains from the ground to the bed, leaned down toward the head of the bed and proceeded to read. It was Principal Wu again, lending me so many books in Mandarin, a jumble of everything, like How I Brought Down the Bank of Bahrain, but more nineteenth-century European novels. I did my best to try to immerse myself in it, to anesthetize myself for a little while.

Further down the line there would be a gentle knock on the door. My door was unlocked, and it was the Sven teachers who did not come over as guests. It took a great deal of effort to restrain myself from jumping up from the bed and kneeling to the floor to greet the visitor at that moment, that had been trained into my instincts. Here I can just sit up from the bed, hug my knees with my handcuffed hands and say softly, “Who is it? Please come in.” The voice was probably cute to the kid at the door.

So it was the shy Mr. Aka who smiled and pushed open the door, and since there were no chairs in the house anyway, he had to sit on the edge of the bed and lean against the end of my legs, and said without words, “What are you reading?” He put his hand on my knee and said: “Aigoo Qingqing, your knee is really strong!”

To be honest and confess, every teacher here has been in my bed, except for Principal Wu, who is indeed a good man. I can’t be considered forced, in a small place like this the men get bored at night, and if they came into my room and sat down and moved down the side of the bed towards me, there was no way I could have bothered to say no in my situation. Mind you, they would have had the right to just order me to get down on the floor and pucker my ass. They were a lot gentler compared to the guys at the camp.

Mr. Aka was already rubbing my breasts, “Ouch, your big tits are rough!” Even if he was thinking that in his mind, he didn’t say it out loud. By then my breasts had already been completely skinned once, and they were covered with horizontal and vertical slash-like marks, as if they had been carved out of a single piece of stone. He picked up a key as if by magic and waved it in front of my eyes, this is the same old trick they play every time: to find the student on duty to borrow the key to my handcuffs.

He uncuffed me while I kissed his slender hands, then I stripped him of his clothes and Mr. Aka climbed onto the cot to flat out play with me for a while. He couldn’t spread those legs of the girl underneath his body any wider than forty centimeters, though, and the keys to the shackles were in the barracks, not in the school.

In order to take care of them, I had to turn my knees outward so they could fully penetrate me, and I couldn’t stretch my legs up to hook them around his body.

Considering that there were six single male teachers living in the school, that there were guests at Mrs. Lin Qingqing’s house every night, and that each one didn’t repeat in a week, I guessed that they must have had some sort of rule for determining the order, though I never asked them.

They knew I never had enough to eat and always brought me some small cookies and juice bought in town this time of year. When I was done I got into the arms of the man whose turn it was today and ate like a rat. When I’m done, I shoo him out the door and I read for a while. Unless… like today.

I stirred in Little Aka’s lap and he cooed hazily, “Green?” I turned around and wrapped my arms around his waist, groping for his vertebrae on his smooth back, leaving the chain in my hand in front of me wrapped around his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed leaning back against the wall, and after a moment I felt his thing stand up once more and push against my ribs. I licked up along his stomach and looked upward into his little eyes, “Would you like to try a slave sister’s mouth?” He couldn’t even catch his breath.

I kneeled underneath him and slowly made him come, and when he was about to come, I let go of him and asked him, “It’s fun to watch your sister get beat up every day, isn’t it?”

When Phila was at the district office, he used to make me kneel on the bed and read him dirty stories from men’s magazines while he lay naked on the bed and daydreamed. In those stories, the raped woman would have endless orgasms over and over again, which was nonsense. In the army camps, I was raped dozens of times in a row, and the only thing I had to do was to lie there motionless and let them fuck me, so if I could have an orgasm from each one of them, how would I have had the strength to live this long? Usually my body doesn’t react at all, at most it’s a little feverish, the walls of my vagina twitching twice, and the men screaming and writhing on top of me is their business.

A woman’s body is the most mysterious thing in the world, and even I can’t control it. It’s only two or three times in a month that I suddenly feel a special desire, a quivering desire from the bottom of my heart to have someone hold me close. It didn’t matter who happened to be on my body at the time, even if he was the meanest Achan or Bhamo. For a few minutes I would feel so in love with him that I would cry out, even if he would beat me to death.

For a while at school, I sometimes became that way with Aka: I ended up swallowing all the stuff that came out of him, and our two naked bodies were entwined and squeezed together on that little bed. “Don’t go away tonight, hold on to your sister!” I held his hand as I counted the whip wounds on my body, one by one, glistening with stickiness.

“My sister’s whole body hurts,” I grunted, “and my heart hurts too.” He began to lick me until I laughed out loud at the tickle: “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Tomorrow is the weekend, right?”

There was no late night study on weekend nights, the students all went home, and I had to go home too. I was dragged slowly back along the main road in the middle of town with two pairs of shackles, and on both sides of the road flickered the dim lights of the residents’ homes.

More than fifty men are waiting for me! I hadn’t seen them for a week, and when I lay down with my legs crossed, I wouldn’t have to get up until noon tomorrow. It’s not like when I used to go back to the camp and lounge around with the soldiers 20 or 30 times a day, the men raging like a pack of lions.

They gave me something to eat for lunch, and then they slowed down for the second round. This round was a little more fancy, using my asshole, telling me to get up and suck it in my mouth, and so on. Standing around watching and waiting must be very boring, so surrounded by other people to think of ideas to torture me, I am containing a boy’s penis, behind the people with incense cigarette burns my shoulders and back.

Do this for another day and night, by Sunday afternoon I was lying on the ground can not move, then still want to fuck me brothers see I do not have a response, will not be happy, the soldiers picked up my feet tied to the window bars, find a tin funnel inserted in my vagina, take the kettle to pour boiling water into it. Luckily it was overnight and they didn’t want to scald me to death, they just wanted to make me red and swollen; also, they could make me scream in pain when they fucked me later.

Usually they wouldn’t stop there, they would turn me over and burn my anus in the same way, taking my whole ass with them. After I’m untied, these maniacs climb on top of me one by one and in the middle of the night, I squeal like a pig with a knife, and that’s all they need to feel happy.

The students had already seen every wrinkle on my naked body, but I had only walked into the aisle of the school building on Monday and everyone turned and flinched. My entire bare ass, red, swollen and dripping from the boiling water, must have been horrible.

That morning I was supposed to be in class 5, I stood in front of the podium and looked down at my lower half, the students sitting in the classroom were also staring at the roots of my thighs just like me. In the center, a pair of red labia were swollen as if they had been blown up, and the juices oozing out of them were dripping down half of my leg, with a big wobbly blister on my left side, so I could only smile bitterly at them.

That wasn’t the hardest one, it was half a month later. In the middle of the night on Sunday, a few soldiers were quite upset and said, “We won’t have any holes to poke tomorrow!” Another said, “We won’t let anyone else play even if we don’t have any.”

They cut a bamboo pole into thin strips, and my legs were bent skyward and held down, the thin bamboo strips wedged into the underside of my pussy lips, which had been rising and aching for two days.

“Little bitch, you’re about to woof!” Everyone looked at me and laughed, and I closed my eyes at the drop of a hat. Southerners like to use bamboo, it’s the first time it’s been used on me here, and it’s all the same anyway. What kind of pain hadn’t I endured in two years of naked slavery?

The bamboo strip was jammed against the soft, tender inner surface of my pussy, sawing down, pulling back and sawing down again, faster and faster, hot as if it was going to burn. I didn’t “woof”, what little strength I had left was only enough to “whimper”.

Later, when I was picked up and shown, the two large flaps of flesh on the outside had been pulled over, and the vaginal vestibule that was supposed to be hidden underneath was a bloody mess. Broken little bamboo filaments pierced my flesh horizontally and vertically like shrimp whiskers, a clump here and a cluster there.

When I got back to school, I cried while still attending class and eventually fainted in the classroom. Teachers and students carried me back to my hut and I had to take a leave of absence from Principal Wu, I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even stand up. Aka got a pair of tweezers and sat on the edge of the bed spreading my legs apart, he spent the whole day turning my whole genitals over and over picking at those thin bamboo spines.

I stayed in bed for another four days, and because it interfered with classes, it got so big that someone probably went and yelled at the soldiers, and when I went back to the barracks for a weekend after that, they never went that crazy again.

But a lowly slave girl had to pretend to be dead and sick, and had the audacity to take a leave of absence to lie in bed and enjoy herself. How does a slave have the right to take a vacation? It occurred to me then that such a comfortable day was too much for a female slave, and it certainly wouldn’t last long.

Over the course of the semester, I still managed to get the students to like me more or less; they were, after all, kids like the rest of the world, and for the time being hadn’t been transformed into complete villains by my master. In the way I was accustomed to, I gave everyone English names, and I got them to more or less memorize words and phrases. I think I took a little joy in singing “WHAT EVER WILL BE, WILL BE” with everyone.

I can’t be bothered with the more complicated grammar, and there’s nothing I can do about the habitual accents they’ve developed long ago.

Teenage boys were never likely to be unresponsive to the naked female flesh that was close at hand throughout the day, although there was a ban on it, and there were often pretend unintentional squeezes on my breasts. The braver ones would drop their pens to the floor and proceed to bend down to feel the opening of my pussy held back by the dangling chains. I myself stuck to the rule that nothing happened, never showing the slightest sign of what could be mistaken for encouragement.

Deliberately disruptive in this sort of thing was Phila again, who, during his occasional inspections of the school, popped into the classroom where I was teaching and told the students that he was going to give a little lecture on physiology. He ordered me to climb on top of the podium and sit with my knees wide apart, and to cooperate with him by turning up my labia majora and pointing out the clitoris, the labia minora, the urethral opening, the vaginal opening, and he had the idea of asking me to rub out the woman’s “love juices” for the class!

He smiled at me sinisterly: “Ms. Lin, come sit in your little house, you won’t refuse me, will you?”

“Slavegirl wouldn’t dare, Master Fira.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He sat on the bed and said, “You haven’t forgotten your old friend, have you?” So I got down on my knees and took off his pants. Then he muttered to himself: “Strange, why is the bitch up in bed? Ah, there’s a book to read.”

He got dressed and walked away. During the evening study hall, the teachers got some students to come to my house to move their things, and I knelt alone outside the door with my head bowed, their eyes averted from me, and finally they closed up leaving only the empty four walls of the house.

Don’t I have to correct my students’ homework, don’t I have to prepare my lessons for the next day? Of course, I can do that in the first half of the night, sitting in the writing room. Other teachers could come and talk to me at that time, right here or take me to their dormitories.

“┅She was already a whore… Everyone can, everyone can, as it should be, as it should be.”

I’m told that was the original quote from Principal Phila.

Standing in front of me, Principal Wu looked down at his shoes: “But wait until twelve, Ms. Lim… this, this…”

See the row of student bungalows across the school building? And the dead tree trunk in front of the bungalows? I walked up to it just after twelve o’clock that night. I squatted down and felt around the section of the tree near the ground, and found an iron chain that had been nailed to the tree with a large iron bolt, only half a meter long when I felt down the chain, and the other end carried an open brass lock.

I threaded the brass lock onto my iron collar and pressed down to lock it in place, just as I had done last year when I spent the night outside the walls of my master’s villa. By this time the chain around my neck was not long enough for me to stand up, and I lay down next to the roots of a tree to flatten my ever-prickling feet, and it was not until after the pupils had lined up for tomorrow’s morning exercises that the instructor would come up to me and administer the twenty strokes of the morning’s lash before opening the lock for me. For the sake of cleanliness and hygiene, and to insult me, a wooden bucket with a lid was placed next to me for my convenience.

By the time my neck was untied the next morning, I realized that the bucket had no handles to lift and that my hands were always cuffed together. How was I supposed to carry it across the clearing to the outhouse by the fence at the other end?

There would be no padding or covering for me, ever. The dirt floor, dry and hard from a day in the sun under my naked body, was faintly warm, but the night breeze blowing against my chest and belly was cool, and it was November after all. I shivered and wrapped my cuffed arms around my bare chest and breasts, staring wide-eyed into the dark, high M sky. From now on, this is where I’ll be spending the night, Phila did the right thing, this is really where a bitch should be.

It was a sunny day, think of the heavy rainstorm that caused the flash floods in the Montmérique Mountains, the rain poured down like from a big barrel, and did not stop for three days and three nights. The water on the empty field can be accumulated over the back of the feet, three nights in a row I kneeled in the pool of water holding his head lying on his back, the whole night listening to the dense column of water “splash” poured on my bare back.

At first I was hoping that the rain would stop soon! Then I thought: “It’s so hard to be a slave girl, I really want to die, but I can’t. Finally I was counting: “126, 127, 128, 129…”

After three days of being drenched in this way, the palms of my feet were white and swollen with water, like blistered hair, and during the day, when I stepped on the concrete floor of the building, “pfffft” sounded as I pushed out water. My long hair was sticking out in front of me and behind me, and I was so cold that I couldn’t stop shaking all over.

Despite the instigation of the perverted Phila, despite getting up in the middle of the night and opening the door just four steps out to see a naked big girl lying on the ground floor, no boy had done anything further to me until the end of the semester. It was probably the tiny campus environment that didn’t allow it in the first place, but I was still proud of my students.

At the end of the semester I was told that I had found an English teacher who was willing to come to Lazen.

My colleagues from Reed High School did their best to happily see me off in the dormitory, and Aka had a few drinks and kissed both of my nipples in public. Of course, anyone would want to dance with their arms around a heroine who had nothing on, and who knew what awaited her tomorrow. The best would be to go back to carrying water and chopping wood for the Akaiji, and the worst I could think of was to be stuffed back into one of those little concrete pits in the basement of Moyan for another six months.

I bumped into Aka once more later on the streets of the town, six months after coming to Razen from Moyan with Bamo Xiao Xu and the others. I don’t know who in the district office asked me to go and buy him some small batteries, so I said hello to the soldier at the gate and walked slowly to a small store next door.

It was a hot day, and I had just been severely beaten, the sweat on my uncovered body mixed with the mucus from the wounds and flowed downward, and the quartz sand on the ground hotly burned my bare paws. Inside the store, Ah Pong shouted: “WAGONG a sister, another six months have not seen you, where tonight?”

“Ask your district governor.” I said, inclining my face to see that the person standing outside the counter was Aka. I smiled back at him, “Do you want to know too, Mr. Aka?” His face went red.

My Four Years as a Sex Slave #5: Nude Scene

Bitch, Ah Ching wrote this with tears in her eyes between gang rapes.

I was indeed disappointed when it turned out that Phila had called two soldiers to accompany me back to Moyam.

My master seemed to be in a good mood as he asked me, “It’s vacation time, what would you like to do for fun and relaxation, Mr. Lin?” I should have said, “At my master’s discretion,” but my tears were already flowing uncontrollably.

I cried, “I just beg you not to put me in a hole in the ground…”

“It’s hard in there isn’t it?”

It was extreme horror in there, and I would rather have been killed alive, and I just nodded my head. He stared at me, this is the same old man who, with the slightest word, could make a living woman squeeze tightly into that hole and spend six months, or ten years, motionless in her own excrement. I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.

He agreed to my staying at the villa. As compensation, of course, there had to be a price to pay, and my master sat in the backyard in the evening and let me entertain him, which involved the use of my dancing partner. Starting from a kneeling position, I took the rather thick encrusted snake in my hands and let it circle around my arms, my thighs, and then my entire body, all the while helping it caress my own entire body.

To make me look professional, I was often shown videos of lap dances and told to do the same. If I didn’t learn it properly, or if I didn’t show enough flirtation, the men watching would immediately tell me off with their whips. I had one small advantage over the girls in the videos: I could improvise with the chains to add to the effect.

They even got that T dancer to tutor me. At first she was inevitably a bit nervous to see such a monster as me, but later on, when she probably promised to pay her some more money, she seemed much more normal and still taught me some things with great dedication.

After a while of decent writhing with the snake to M’s twangy music, it was time to rattle my very vicarious pussy again. I assumed one of the hundred tender gestures I had just learned to make some water out of my little meat hole, holding the neck of the coding snake and using its head to slit the gap between my pussy lips. As I felt a hot shiver already between my legs, I used more force to shove its head inside me. Its shaded scales rubbed against the inner walls of my cunt as I feigned ecstasy at my master.

I had to lie down and roll around in place with its exposed flailing tail, climb up and raise my arms (holding the snake in place entirely by the strength of my vaginal opening muscles) and spin in circles, and so on. The full show also included figuring out how to get it into my anus after removing it.

Incidentally, a codependent snake can sense blood. It usually looks intense when I stick a razor into my vagina for two to three light strokes before the dance and then let it burrow in.

The T-dancer sitting off to the side could watch in awe, even though she was a true expert in this type of entertainment.

She unconsciously covered her chest and almost screamed out loud.

Bammer had tortured me with snakes when I was first abducted here, and I screamed as soon as they were taken out, which was more effective than a red-hot iron bar. By the time they got the snakes inside me, I was in a complete hysterical fit. I didn’t realize it had only been a year or so since I was able to make this so entertaining, people are such adaptable creatures.

One day before the show the owner called me upstairs to his bedroom and allowed me to sit in front of his wife Nicole’s wide teak dresser. He took out a wooden box the size of a cookie jar and said he had a gift for his whore. I opened the box and then knelt down to thank him.

“Know where to wear it?”

“Slavegirl knows, Master.”

On the deep red velvet cushion lay three golden bells, two slightly smaller, about the size of my youngest daughter’s fist, and one larger, about the equivalent of a Sunkist orange. I picked up one of the smaller ones and held it in my hand; I think it was cast in bronze, and it was heavy and substantial. Attached to the hanging ring of the bell was a not  steel spike over an inch long, glittering with silver, and the whole body of the spike was delicately made with two circles of sharp barbs.

Still on my knees, I lowered my head and cupped one of my breasts in my other hand to grip it tightly, letting the cracked and mutilated nipple with several cuts stick out through my fingers, the year I still had it. I pressed the pointed nail head against it and gritted my teeth and drilled down hard into it. The heart-ripping sensation went backward all the way up my spine, and I arched my back as if I’d been hit by a bullet, threw my head against the dresser in front of me, and shivered as I let go.

I begged my master with a ragged breath, “Slave’s hands are weak, ask Bhamo to help the slave girl wear it. Master, will you do it?”

“Are you not liking my stuff anymore?”

“No, no, slave girl like, like.” I took the other brass bell out of the box and it flooded into a large golden glow in my tear-filled eyes.

The largest of the remaining brass bells is attached to the center of a thin crossbar with pointed ends, again with small barbs. This ornament would have to be put on for me by someone else. A couple of the men held my legs and feet down for a while and worked the small steel rod across and jammed it into the just-opened area of my labia majora, with the ends embedded deep in the fleshy groove.

I groaned in pain as I stood up, bending my legs like a looper. The bell hung very squarely over my crotch, ringing crisply and appearing as if it were a small decoration to cover my shame. In time it stopped bleeding, and when I pressed the little bell to the side, I could see the flesh in the dark red wound in the slit.

More than two years have passed since that day, and these three little “jingling” things have been stuck in three of my spots, and the bottom one is a pain in the ass when I walk around and have sex. At first, this was a novelty for the brothers, who turned me upside down, experimenting with how to keep the bells ringing during intercourse, and how to squeeze it to make it hurt more. Because of their barbs, they couldn’t be removed without pulling the whole flesh apart, and it wasn’t until the middle of last year that I was forced to pull the two hard ones out of my breasts myself.

This was my third year as my master’s slave, and I spent a good portion of my time at Moyam, sometimes taking me to Razen again. Aside from the usual rules of punishment of those whippings and masturbation, it was endless service to the men on both sides of the fence.

One day I was doing two bodyguards at the same time and they had me between them, one using my , the other using my anus. I moaned loudly out of habit, then they both withdrew. A leather shoe kicked me hard in the stomach and I turned my face to see Cheong.

“Get up!” He said, carrying a pair of handcuffs, “Let’s go to Razen.”

To use handcuffs is to go the distance, and I twisted my hands behind my back to let him cuff me, following him all the way into the garage downstairs. He opened the door for me before kicking me in the calves, so I honestly crawled with great effort behind my back and knelt into the gap between the seats of the Japanese Jeep, which had been the place for me to stay on long trips.

The car drove to Lajin and got me right into the shower room on the inside of the barracks. Achang called two soldiers to come and hoist me up onto the hose and whip me all over my body in circles, beating my naked body like a fishnet intertwined with plaid-like fuchsia patterns.

“This will be a little more exciting.” He said to himself.

After putting me down I kneeled down and Achan told me that I had something to do: “A bitch like you who has read a lot of books will surely enjoy the company of a white boy.”

Roughly speaking, country M has been running a so-called universal anti-drug campaign for more than a year now, implemented with the persuasion and inducement of a number of neighbouring countries, by granting microcredits to farmers in traditional poppy-growing areas on the condition that they switch to a legal cash crop.

As a slave girl who was always at my master’s side, no one knew better than I the absurdity of the whole thing. All the money was paid into the account of the district government, my master’s account; and the local farmers, of course, remained highly motivated to grow the crops that would make them the most money.

Now one of the government’s anti-drug committees has decided to put together a set of reports and tables to show what they have accomplished during the year. After spending so much foreign donations, there has to be something printed that can be distributed, and that’s what all government departments do.

In this way an official was sent to our remote mountainous region, who needed to inspect the small and large villages in the district and count how many hectares of poppies on the original plantation had been converted into hectares of coffee, or maize.

This man has been living in the guest room of the district government’s small building for three days now, and whoever he is, he should hide in that guest room and write down casually: one thousand hectares of narcotics in this district’s original seed farm has been changed to eight hundred hectares of corn, and the other two hundred hectares are rice. Or even if he wrote ten thousand hectares.

But my master had known for a long time that this man, Maung Maung, was a petty clerk that no one had ever cared about, and he was probably so unappreciated that it was surprising that no one on the committee had told him what he should be aware of when he came to our district. Phila had treated him politely enough, inviting him to rest in the district: “We’ll have any numbers you need ready.” And Maung Maung was actually talking about how he wanted the district to prepare an automobile for him so that he could make the necessary investigations.

This annoyed everyone, so the ever-cynical Fira got me to come to Razen to play a joke on him.

As I waited on my knees in the kitchen, Chef Ge joked with me about how he’d always wanted to try making air-pot chicken with my breasts. I told him that my grandmother was very old and he’d better go burn his daughter!

Lao Ge is the chef of my host’s house and came with us for Lajin for the treat. He’s the only K-towner I’ve met here, and is rumored to have been a chef in several big restaurants over there. He is not an outlaw and is purely in the business for the money. We sometimes (on the rare occasions when I’m free) talk about good food and places in K-City without moving a muscle.

Lao Ge was fat, like a lot of people of his age and weight; Lao Ge was also very horny, but also a bit stereotypical, how to use a woman’s ass or I taught him. Afterward he became very fond of it, and he always loved to fuck me on a case of raw meat.

Then Achang came in and said, “Little bitch, bring the tea in.” I hurriedly got up, picked up the tea tray I had prepared earlier, and went through the corridor to knock on the door across the street.

After three gentle strokes I pushed the door of the concealed room open, and Maung Maung, who had been let into the main seat by Fira, with his face to the door, was saying something to Fira with a persistent air, and then glanced absently toward me, and naturally remained there with his mouth open.

I’ve been naked in this part of the world for so long, it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to see a man react the way he would to my nakedness, that I can barely hold back a snicker. I walked all the way over to him and knelt next to him and put a cup on for him to make tea. Then wheeling down from Fira, they squeezed my breasts and legs as I smiled gently and obsequiously at them.

Because I had to kneel down each time, I did it slowly. But it wasn’t until I had finished the four sets of tea cups that I heard the dull voice ask, “Who… who is she?”

“What, Commissioner Maung Maung, haven’t you heard of Su Li? The youngest daughter of the famous drug dealer Wu Laoquan.

Look at her thighs and ass… turn around and show it to Commissioner Maung Maung.”

I turned my buttocks, which had widened considerably over the years, in his direction and pulled them to the sides with my hands. My flabby assholes were as wide as a sewer with an iron lid missing, and they must have looked amazing. A junior district official sitting on the Commissioner’s side of the table tacitly picked up a chopstick and inserted it into my anus, and I sucked in my breath and screamed “Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit… Vomit”.

“It was still a beauty, but not anymore.”

“Please,” I said, turning around with the chopstick in my hand, picking up the bell underneath with my big pinky finger and digging my other fingers in to turn the labia majora completely outward, which was a miasma like a bucket of paste: “Please stick this in again!”

“Look at that, look at that, the meat’s marinated black. Just got fucked by the chef, didn’t you?”

“Then you wash the slave girl with soju!”

That would have burned me half to death, but that’s what they kept me for fun, and thankfully Commissioner Maung Maung was already moaning to the side.

“Forget it, we commissioners have seen a lot, what’s that lousy hole of yours! Go on and pour the tea.”

Wu Laoquan is a real person who died in a war with my master a few years ago. His daughter is also a real person, my master kidnapped her back from Tokyo in order to eliminate a hidden danger. No one has ever told me how she died, or even if she is still alive somewhere. Sometimes when I was being tortured, someone would say, “We’ll cut out Suri’s liver alive, and when we eat it, she’ll scream even worse than you!”

“Drink tea, good tea! You can’t get good tea like this out here.” Fira said.

“Suri is a good and brave girl, who bitterly regrets the fact that her dead father caused so much havoc to the local people, and is determined to atone for the family’s sins in this way. She has made a venomous vow to wear these chains and spend the rest of her life naked, and she cries and begs us to beat her every day. Isn’t that right, Suri?”

“Yes, Deputy District Governor.” I replied, feigning remorse. Even though this was also having fun with my body, I wanted to laugh, there weren’t too many funny things like this in the years of slavery.

“It doesn’t really have to be, it doesn’t have to be.” Fira shook her head.

I stayed close to Maung Maung to refill his tea and later pour them drinks, shaking the little bell on my body. I looked down at his bulging pants and knew that Commissioner Maung Maung’s reaction was okay enough.

My tall, naked naked body was finally tanned to an even dark brown by the tropical sun, with large, heavy breasts hanging like fruit on my thin, jagged chest, and dark, shiny hair draped down over my legs and buttocks in front and behind me. Coupled with the heavy chains wrapped around my neck, hands, waist, and feet, and my body full of intertwined and entangled scars, this kind of barbaric excitement can only be encountered in the depths of the M country where thieves, robbers, bandits, and drug lords and bullies gather, right?

I had finally gone from being a schoolgirl to a bandit woman, and I didn’t give a damn what I looked like to Fira, Achang and the rest of them! And this new man, surprisingly, made me see myself anew from his point of view.

After drinking too much wine, my body was turned sideways to face our Maung Maung member. The wine was now poured into the brass bell I was holding up, and I climbed up next to him with my whole body to give him a drink.

Later, after dragging him to the guest room in my arms and legs, I fed him water, stripped him quite laboriously, and then knelt dutifully beside the bed. It wasn’t until it was quite a while after dawn, though, that he opened his eyes in a daze and stayed awake for a while longer. I lifted the blanket and took his cock: “I’m sure you’d like to have a quickie, wouldn’t you? Commissioner Maung Maung, just put it in the slave girl’s mouth!” I grunted as his thing softly filled my mouth.

He ended up jumping straight up out of bed like a rabbit in fear.

Of course my master and Phila didn’t intend to rely on me, a scaly slave girl, to seduce him; it was a mere joke. Since the fool was going to fool around, I would find someone to keep him company. Next, the district government assigned me to assist Commissioner Maung Maung in his “statistical work.”

I know how to drive, so I drove for Maung Maung, and sent another Shue plus a bodyguard to follow. It’s been three years since I’ve been in the driver’s seat of a car, so I drag a bunch of chains in and sit down. The warm pattern of the leather seat felt comfortable as it rubbed against my bare buttocks and back. I gripped the steering wheel and put a pair of bare feet on the clutch and gas pedal to try them out, respectively.

Maung Maung climbed into the back seat of the big jeep with a ridiculous purse clutched to her, and Koh sat down in the passenger seat and pulled the door shut, handing me a rod of something: “Bare-assed sister, find a place to put it.”

They have agreed to beat me all the way to Maomao see, but one look at the hand of this prop even I shivered. It was a seldom-used wire whip, made of five or six thin strings twisted together and attached to a wooden handle, which wouldn’t feel good on a person. I tightened the end of the wire whip around the handle in a circle, leaving the end inserted into the last circle to firm it up, and when I was almost done, I lifted the bell from my labia and sloppily worked the first half of it into my cunt.

The back half couldn’t get in on the outside, and was propped straight up there toward the bottom of the incline, so that I had to sit upright with my upper body on the edge of the leather chair, unable to lean back comfortably. I fired up the engine, released my left foot, and the car sprang to life. As my legs and feet moved, the thing tickled and tingled and rubbed against the soft, tender mucous membranes deep in my vagina, sort of like a filling comfort.

Driving like this wasn’t too bad, the wind swept coolly over my large swaying breasts.

We went to Sano. At each village, Maung Maung asked to meet the chief of the clan and asked him what used to be grown in the village and what was grown now. The old guy who runs out will tell him in all seriousness that it used to be poppies, but now, thanks to the hard work of the district chief, it is indeed all coffee.

This idiot turned his face back with a sense of accomplishment, and the first thing he saw was me stumbling two or three steps at once to his feet. That’s because Koh told me to do something without necessarily talking, often just by kicking. I didn’t have time to adjust myself after the kick to my ass, the pole of the whip that was exposed outside my pussy don’t fall to the ground, and the inside of my stomach hurt like I was being plucked out by a knife.

“Old Mangle, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen the little bitch, so let’s give her a break!” So the old patriarch called Mangle showed some vigor under his bitter face: “Go, go, climb behind the car.” He also looked back into the village.

They flipped me around behind the jeep and fucked me, making a couple of the guys sweat profusely. Old Manler stripped himself first and sat on a rock off to the side, looking our way for a while, his genitals only slightly more interesting. I lay on my back and pushed my ass up one at a time to deal with the little hunk that was thrusting into it, while sneaking a glance at old Mangle. The old guy got a little antsy and started to help with his hands.

Koh was so understanding, he pulled himself out and said, “Go help our patriarch!” I knelt in front of him to touch him, sliding his wrinkled, dry old foreskin up and down halfway, but still not good enough. I cursed inwardly, “I still need to use my mouth.”

After taking him in, I scraped his glans with my teeth, and my teeth pointed downward in small crunching steps until I reached his lumpy root, at which time my whole tongue pressed his doggy thing upward tightly, and I swallowed saliva downward like sucking on a Coke, making a “slurping” sound.

After two rounds of this, he felt better, so I took his free hand and pulled it between my thighs, handing him the wooden handle: “Pull… uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I lifted my face from underneath and looked at him as I slowly withdrew his much larger plaything. I was going to lick up his stomach to give him a rush and ask him again “Do you want to cum in my mouth or in me?”

I never expected his column of flesh to twitch in front of my eyelashes just as it left my lips! Followed by a huge stream of white slime suddenly coming out of that little opening.

My brain “boom” a moment, do these years of female slavery is the most afraid of this: did not let the service object shot in their own flesh. Normally, if I made such a big mistake in the barracks, the men would never stop until they had beaten me to death three or five times, unless they wanted to. I lunged down and sipped into his second wave, and the third wave… no more. This old man was as soft as a dead worm in a flash, so I had to lick his meat up and down to stall for time.

Xiao Xu laughed out loud: “Get up sister, give me the stuff.”

It’s just a game for them, but it’s not my game. For a slave girl, there’s only one way to end up with a beating.

“The slave girl deserves to die, begging Uncle Xiao Xu for punishment.”

He was going to hit me on my back and ass first. I found a tree and knelt down, resting my forehead against the roots and holding the trunk with both hands. The thin steel whip only made a “whoosh” sound on my buttocks, but the pain was excruciating.

“Ouch wow!” I screamed out on the second stroke.

“Tell me, why did you eat the whip?”

“Woah yah… female slaves didn’t… didn’t let the water from the mangle come out in their mouths.”

“Should I?”

“Shouldn’t. Oops! You’ve beaten your slave girl to death… I won’t dare to do it again…”

“Don’t dare what? Bare ass sister.”

“Oooh… slave must eat his water, eat all his water ah… ouch…”

I don’t know how long I had to endure this, but I was ordered to stand up. The first thing I saw was actually Maomao’s scared white face, and the second was the big puddle of sticky blood and flesh under my feet, which a few minutes ago was still part of my ass! The whole back was on fire and I didn’t even dare to touch it with my hands.

I bent my legs to walk, and as we all got back into the car, Ash casually buried his fingers under my pussy lips and stirred, saying, “Drive for half an hour and stop, then whip you a second time.”

Later, when I saw him nudging toward the liquid display timer on the dial, I stopped the car.

This time, he just pumped my breasts back and forth. I kept my head down and watched as the wire buried itself a centimeter deep in my breasts, and “whoosh” brought a trail of blood out across my ribs, which was a bit scary. The little bells fluttered to the sides like butterfly wings. After seven or eight strokes, the surface of my breasts was completely overturned, and the wire fell again and cut into the red flesh of the wound, so I used all my strength to scream loudly.

Where the falling whips formed a cross, cracked triangles of flesh were torn apart and rolled up towards the outside.

Add another lash to its rear and it falls whole to the underside of my nipple, dangling and wobbling all by a few tendons and membranes. In a few seconds it could be flying off into the weeds two meters away in the sweep of the whip’s slightest stroke, while more pieces of skin and flesh hang down somewhere on the other side of the breast.

“And for the third time, smoke your sister’s skinny ribs.” Koh announced. By the time I got to the next cottage I was really becoming sort of a bloody mess. When I became that I still had to do it in my mouth for the patriarch of this cottage, and this time I was going to make sure he shot every last drop clean in my mouth.

Back at the district office I was covered in dried and knotted plasma and pâté, and I begged Maung Maung to allow me to use the bathroom in his suite. As soon as I got in I went all soft and fell to the tile floor crying out. Luckily, I was still allowed to play with Maomao this night, otherwise I would have been called to the barracks like this, I wonder what I would have been made to look like by those soldiers?

I put some warm water in the tub and very slowly and gently washed the broken flesh off of me, gritting my teeth and yanking off the ragged pieces that were too cracked to stick back together with a grunt. After an hour or so, I stepped out to scare Maung Maung, and the cuts on my body were washed white with blood and yellow juice, like little open mouths.

By the time he came out of the shower, I had a pot of tea ready for him, and spread out all of his stupid reports on the surface of a chair while I knelt on the floor and filled in the numbers on them. I wasn’t too much of a stupid girl, and after all these years and a semester at Reed High School, not only could I hear and speak M, I could do things in M decently well.

He fidgeted and stared at me, of course he didn’t believe all that crap about Suri, it would have been stupid to do otherwise.

But the whole thing was too weird for him to make sense of.

“Are you really Suri?” He asked cautiously at last.

“Yeah, yeah, the slave girl is Suri.”

“Did you really do this voluntarily?”

“Slave girl’s daddy is bad and slave girl is willing to be beaten and fucked by everyone.”

“Look, you’re all done with your survey notes for today. Let me unzip your pants!” This time he obediently let me strip him naked. Later he said vaguely, “Su, Suli, can you go rest for a while? Let me sleep alone.”

“Slave knows you hate drug dealers’ daughters. You want slave girl out, slave girl will have to go to the barracks and beg the brothers to fuck me, they are all so mean, they will beat Sully so much it will hurt, better let slave girl spend the night with you!” I hugged his skinny ass tightly and had taken his scrotum into my mouth.

He sat backward paralyzed on the bed : “Suri, Suri, better use your bottom.”

“Mr. Maung Maung, Mr. Maung Maung, how can I ask you to climb up the ladder when Suri’s body has been beaten up? ….”

The next day is still the same, the car drove to the outside, Xiao Xu they let me out of the dead beat me. The craziest time to bind on my hands two big finger, drag me behind the car to drive more than a hundred meters. My whole body originally has no intact skin, gravel, fine sand stars in my blood-soaked flesh embedded all over the body.

At night, I took a big needle kneeling in front of Maomao “ouch” to pick out one by one, while still annoying him: “Xiao Xu is really kind, two days down still left the stench of female slaves did not smoke. Appearance of the commissioner want to try ah?” Later, he got down and pouted his rotten ass to him: “Please help the slave to get out the stone inside, okay?”

After this, Maomao never dared to mention what numbers to check in the village, the following week I just accompanied him to cat in the guest room to make up the numbers to fill in the form. People easily learn to be lazy, two days later he let me do all this, he was bored to go for a walk, and then came back to get up the courage to fuck me once or twice, mostly, he pumped back and forth thirteen or fourteen times and then flowed all over the place. Although I got beaten up a few times, in retrospect, I had a pretty easy time for a while when Maomao was there.

After Maung Maung left the master continued to play down the road, he was entertaining his various friends called me out, let me kneel next to the introduction that I am Wu Laoquan’s daughter Su Li. The master found it amusing to see his friends taken aback.

When they weren’t talking about important things I’d follow them around and pour them tea and stuff, and I was allowed to perform the snake dance at one end of the small living room a couple of times during meals. My hosts were sometimes so ostentatious that they brought in a folk band from hundreds of kilometers away to play tangled southern music, accompanied by me alone, naked and writhing with a tangle of encrusted snakes.

If the guests that day weren’t afraid of critters, I would have been told to watch for movement inside the table, stopping at any time to put the snake in my body and clamp it down, waddling over to them and filling their drinks.

Sometimes they talked and ate for hours and didn’t care about me at all and didn’t tell me to stop. At the end of the day, I can only half-lying to the ground, with a hand hard to cover the vagina has been restless, just want to drill out of the partner, barely lift up the buttocks only, dizziness can only see the hazy figures of the people.

Afterward, he said to me, “Go and keep my brothers company!”

The guest that day was Neha’s brother with a couple of townspeople who lived a little farther north in the mountains.

It seems to be a long time ago in a certain year, my master was being hunted by people had been hiding over there for a long time, may be it is Ni Xiang family took him in. This time, this group of friends are the villagers of this village, saved his life, I forced a headache and heart to those few hans winking, holding that ass on me down, vaguely saying something, as if crying. Later on, while sucking their bottoms, but fell asleep on his back between the man’s two thighs.

I wasn’t fully awake when they flipped me over, but a foot stepped on my ribs and twisted them from side to side, and I cried out as if I had lost my own mother, and it was as if one of the bones in my abdominal cavity had cracked into pieces, and I couldn’t breathe at all, and I said, “Ummm… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh… uhh…” I said.

A man squatted down towards me and I thought he was coming to fuck me, but unfortunately not. His large, hard, millstone-like hands pressed down on my withered ribs and rubbed them heavily… My head and feet shrank like a ball in the center of my body, and as he rubbed them again, I shrank again.

My master stared at me in disgust and suddenly laughed, ”Big brother, take her to your side.

That brother Keli of yours who passed on to the others is still digging for gold, isn’t he? Let her go there for a walk, and better yet, shoot her right over there before I have to look at her and get angry again.”

From the beginning until now, I have never brought up the fact that my master himself has raped me, he really has, but it has been few and far between and rather weak. His powers in this area declined a bit early compared to his age.

Legend has it in the guardhouse that over the years he’s only ever done it inside me, and now I can only make him come out a little bit by experience, by doing it very strongly with my mouth for a long time – and today my mouth is much tighter than it should be.

Therefore the youngest wife of Master Nichan who remained in the villa she was justified in disliking me. There was also the fact that she was essentially a good and timid woman who instinctively feared her master’s increasingly out-of-control violence in me.

They began to quarrel incessantly. My master may be a murderer, but he’s still a man, and soon got annoyed like a normal man. I guess that’s how this started today!

A couple of guys yanked me up off the ground, tied my hands behind my back with canes, and shoved me into the back of the driver’s seat of a beat-up farm wagon. The car started up and drove up a country dirt road, heading north west for a day and a night, surrounded by a large expanse of dark gray mountains with exposed rock.

We got out of the car and climbed for another day and night, stopping at a village made of stone rubble, which must have been Nehyang’s mother’s house. I was thrown into a side room, half of which was piled with large pieces of chopped wood, and the other half held a broken stone mill. I sat on the ground floor with my back to the stone mill and waited. Sometimes a man would come in and look at me blankly, and I would look at him blankly, and he would come up and hold me down on the stone mill for a while. From start to finish no one had to say a word.

The deepest feeling was that it was much colder here than at the bottom of the mountain, and the cold, dry mountain wind whistled in through the small, high back window, ravaging my uncovered, naked body, and freezing me to death in the middle of the night.

Maybe so for a month. One day it was said that Keli had come down the mountain, and a couple of men got me out, told me to put a big sack of corn on my back, and follow a couple of mountain men on another long walk up into the mountains. I saw that my destination was a small gold field deep among the canyons, and that beyond a large lead-gray gravel river bank ran a large river with rough waves and deep dark water.

Two wooden-framed shacks, a deep tunnel tilted down into the riverbed below. Naked men, their muscles tense and their blood pumping, dragged huge bamboo frames filled with river sand and climbed out of the hole on all fours, crouching to the side and gasping for breath. Against the water’s edge there was another area where small grains of gold had been plucked from the sand, and a few more men were busy there.

I’ve been doing it here for almost a year. They beat me too, but they didn’t beat me to death. Maybe it’s because out of the twenty or so people who dig gold sand here even I’m only two women, and people need me.

The other Croat woman, who looked solid from top to bottom, was in her thirties, older than me, and unattractive. All the men working in the mine, plus the two of us, were naked as if we had just been born. The top of the tunnel was dirty with a soup of yellow mud running down the cracks in the wooden supports, and the mud that had built up underground didn’t reach the backs of our feet, so that if anyone had been foolish enough to keep their clothes on, they would soon have rotted into soggy pieces.

The bamboo frames were dripping with river sand, heavy as a pile of dead weight, attached to a loop of thick rope around my skinny, bony, bare shoulders, dragging it behind my feet, and I had to fight with all my strength to get a step out of the way. Each man had a battery light in his mouth, the only remotely modern item left in the mine, and struggled back and forth through the muddy water.

Other people work for money, every basket of sand to send a small bamboo chips, at night the owner of the mine with bamboo chips to keep the account. But I didn’t need bamboo chips or money, and the only way to make me work harder was to beat me. It was impossible to keep an eye on me all day long in the narrow pit, so the mine owner’s method was to calculate my workload for the day after the close of work, compare the number of baskets I hauled out with the number of baskets of the day’s tallest person, and whip me three times for every basket that was short of the number of baskets I had hauled out.

It amounts to forcing me to be the strongest laborer I can be, every single day. There’s no way I can do that, so I have to be beaten every day. And the whips here aren’t the cooked cowhide that my masters used to punish me with in the past, the kind of whips that usually just bruise and bruise my body. Perhaps because of the tough nature of the mountain people, the whips used in the mine are rawhide, four-sided in cross-section, with sharp points . The owner of the mine, Keli, said that it was prepared for the thief who stole the gold sand.

At night a bonfire is lit, and at the end of the day even the strong men fall crookedly to the side. The mine owner told me that I had four fewer baskets than Meng Kun today, and that I deserved twelve strokes. Meng Kun’s chest was as wide as two of mine, and he wasn’t wearing chains, no one had put a big brass bell in his crotch that got in the way.

I stood up, my muscles so sore that I could hardly take a step, and barely struggled, sometimes crawling, to cross to the wooden post erected in front of me, and hugged it so that my hands could be tied on the reverse side. If I had been beaten on the front the day before, today it was the back. The executioner didn’t have to use a lot of force; the knife-like edge of the rawhide would cut into the pads of flesh on my buttocks, followed by a jerk outward with blood and flesh. Down went, in turn, my legs, belly, waist, and skinny shoulders. If he’d put some effort into it, he could have torn the skin off my back in just one swipe, exposing the entire ghastly white, blood-drained shoulder blade.

It was only half a month into this fight that I gave out and lay motionless in the shack. The owner of the mine had only to multiply the number of ores hauled out by others by three, as before, and smoke me for two or three days, and he would have fulfilled his friend’s trust.

But then, someone would mutter to the boss, “Let’s keep her for a while, she’s a poor little girl.” Or: “It’s a pity about the little girl.” The burly men gathered around me and fed me hot soup. Although the owner of the mine said in a foul voice: “I don’t want to be like this, this is my life and death brother entrusted me to do.” Afterwards, when I whip the hand is much lighter, and then without saying a word, the whip was replaced by a pine bar. After two more months, everyone stopped talking about it.

We were all crammed into a small wooden hut, each of us spreading out the small spreads we had brought with us, with two rows of twenty or so ragged quilts. The Croat woman had lived with us before I came, and of course she did the same when I arrived. I didn’t bring any luggage with me, if I were at the bottom of the mountain, even if I had to sleep in the open air, it wouldn’t scare me, but here one night passed and a layer of frost could form on the ground. Symbolically every day after the tree strips, I climbed into the shed and casually lifted a quilt to drill in, inside the guy muttered, I put my naked body up and then touch him he was honest, the two of us squeezed under a piece of stuff to spend the night.

Don’t think that’s all there is to it this night, after a while there will be a third, fourth, or fifth person groping around in the dark or simply dragging me under the covers if the kid I’m sleeping with complains too much. Honestly, I was so tired, I couldn’t figure out who they were until they pulled their stuff out limply and crawled away.

The mine owner, Keli, slept in another wooden shed, which was just as dirty and dilapidated as ours. Sometimes he would sit in front of the door and smoke, coughing and saying, “Ah Ching,” and I would walk over to him with an “Ai.” So we all knew that I wouldn’t die here for a while.

There really wasn’t much more to say in the gold mines; we got into the mine on all fours while the star of the beginning was still hanging, and then it was mud, yellow sand, and that big bamboo frame, and everyone biting their lips and scrambling, scrambling, scrambling. By the time we got out of the cave at night it was full of stars again. The most we could do was go to the river and take a bath, and we all ate dinner in a couple of circles, naked.

If I hadn’t already said it earlier, the truth is that not only in the mines, but here, except for Keli who wears a pair of big pants, sometimes over a crumpled up advertising shirt from who knows where, nobody wears anything at all all all year round, and anyone who goes anywhere walks around bare-assed. A little thought made it clear that it was a simply unnecessary nuisance; we were the only mine for miles around, and no outsiders ever came. And the mountain people are really resistant to the cold. I’m already going to love this place, where I’m just like everyone else.

The most absurd thing that happened to me in the gold mines was that Mangun intended to take me for his wife. As we entered the winter, he went to the mine owner and told him that he was willing not to be paid for the whole year, and asked him to agree to this strange idea.

Klik’s attitude was noncommittal, “Alright, alright, tell her she doesn’t have to go down the well and cook for everyone!”

Finally he said.

Then it’s time to cook. After chopping a bundle of firewood and carrying it down the hillside, I stepped over the gravel on the riverbank to fetch water and wash some clothes for Keli, who was the only one who still had clothes to wash in our area. I walked all the way to the point where the river was up to my calves and squatted down, the river was running with snow water that had melted from a glacier farther down the river, and it was freezing cold to the bone, making even my bare feet cramp up from all the training I’d been doing.

By then there was no one left in the mine to care about me, I could wander off into the mountains, Klik they wouldn’t necessarily be able to find me, but it was so far from civilization that I’d surely starve to death in the wilderness. All that really mattered was that I could die, all I had to do was take a few steps in a row toward the center of the river and I’d be swept down to the bottom by the waves. But I was getting better, and we, me, Meng Kun, and the owner of the gold mine, Keli, all felt that the Qingqing girl and the gang of drug dealers hundreds of kilometers away would never have anything to do with each other again. Mengkun and I had already had serious discussions about using a saw to get those iron shackles off me.

I looked into the river at my emaciated face and my loose hair that hung down all the way to the surface of the water, the irony being that I had wanted to grow my hair long since I was in K-City, and had always been unable to do so. Having Meng Kun build me a wooden house where I would cook for him and sew him a dress was probably the best homecoming the current Lin Qingqing could hope for!

Another thing that was equally ridiculous was that I was pregnant again. The funny thing is that up to this point Mangun had not stopped anyone from using me, he knew that he had not yet been given the right to do so. I was still crammed into the hut with everyone else, and he did it first, with a lot of vigor, and then watched silently as everyone else did it.

Because of my pregnancy reaction, I went outside the shed and threw up and came back to tell the men that I was cold, and a sweaty-smelling Mangun covered my ass with his big palms to hold me tightly to his broad chest, my equally rough fingers stroking his hairy genitals in boredom, and the other guy laying behind me kept touching my bare backside.

One day I was squatting in front of a fire in a stone hearth, bored and swaying to hear the little bells ringing. Suddenly I looked up and in front of me stood three men with rifles on their backs looking at me and smiling, the one in the center was Bamo.

Now it’s written by Phila.

At the end of last year, the boss was a little bit free, and after playing with Ah Qing for a while, he asked Ah Qing to write a few paragraphs of her own nasty story. The naked big girl cried as she wrote, and Achang and the guys kept fixing her up on the side, it was pretty miserable to watch. After Chinese New Year when everyone had to do their business, that little bitch was shoved back into our hole in the basement and never bothered with her again.

As a result, two days ago, the Internet actually will be the first paragraph of A-Qing four months ago and re-posted again, that is, downstairs, No. 19 of the one, as if there are still people quite concerned about her as if. Now the boss had to say: “Use it for half a month, cut Ah Qing off.”

“Well, that’s no problem.” At the end of April, I have a few bills to collect, so I’ll let you all have a look at the previous ones of Miss Ah Ching’s for a while. But since last Tuesday night, huh… I won’t tell you what she’s like now.

The grand finale of my four years of sex slavery: Naked Murder.

Lin Qingqing and Master Phila, the condemned slave girl.

Every day, every late night, tied up in the basement, I hoped that a complete mental breakdown, or extreme physical pain, would cause me to have a little flashback hallucination, or to pass out. But I was never so lucky, my arms held flat against my side were tied to the wall with thick ropes wrapped around them, and only the first two toes of my feet could touch the ground.

I had stood thus against the wall for four days and nights, and for four days and nights the pain had made it almost impossible for me to close my eyes. Any woman whose two breasts had been cut down like mine in small pieces by the blade of a knife until they were cut into two deep pits in her breasts would have had trouble sleeping like I did. And at the end of the day, Koh never forgot to rub a lot of salt into those two big, ragged wounds.

In the middle of such a night, I had to stare wide-eyed into the dark corners of the house, involuntarily recalling over and over again my four years of life as a sex slave. As a young woman, I had been able to live for four whole years naked, without a stitch of clothing, naked in full view of the city and the countryside, every day, every hour of every day, never having been given even a strand of cloth to cover me. No doubt my master will also let me die naked in this way, naked with only the chains that I have not been freed from for a single moment in these four years.

With the exception of Aboriginal women in the deep jungle and on one or two small islands, I’m sure it would be a rare experience! That is, they wouldn’t wear chains all day long, nor would they have a little bell tied to their labia. I can’t remember at all the prideful mood and spring-like pomp and circumstance that lacing up a beautiful dress would bring to a woman; in fact, I don’t even know what it’s like to walk in shoes to the touch anymore. I would ask myself if life would really be lighter without the iron torture device. For a city woman who had spent the first half of her life picking out and collecting beautiful floral fabrics and silks, this was a great irony.

Until one has experienced this first hand, it is not always possible to think of the many other unexpected hassles and embarrassments that come with living naked, and it is not always so tempting to men. During that cycle that women encounter every month, there are three to four days when menstrual blood keeps dripping out, and it’s not often that I’m allowed to wipe it off, and even if I were, I wouldn’t always be able to find something. This is not in my own home: by the sink is my towel, tea  down there are Kleenex, without permission, master room anything female slaves simply can not touch.

Many such little things can become unexpectedly torturous, and I don’t even talk about them much. Let’s say that once I accidentally broke the broken china bowl I was served with, and think about how I’ve eaten since then.

Menstrual blood flowed all over my legs and feet, and when I took a step, it left a bloody mark on the ground. It’s hard to say what a stifled soldier will do when he comes across such a time. I was knocked up on the third day of labor to sweep the yard and wash the floors, and a woman’s bottom doesn’t get completely clean until a month after giving birth, and the stuff that starts out red and then white just runs and dries up.

For four years, I was subjected to the constant use of all the holes in my womanhood by men. Not only that, but it was often in public, often in public places, like outside the gates of the barracks in the town of Razen, which was crowded with spectators, and over and over again, we performed our sexual acts in public. If I was raped an average of twenty times a day, how many times have I had sex in the past four years? Since these nights were so difficult and long, I did the math myself to pass the time. As for the people who have viewed my naked body during these four years, forget them, they don’t count.

Every day was a beating, and the ten lashes in the morning and ten in the evening were never forgotten. And the one at night, rubbing one’s vagina hundreds of times with a thick wooden stick. As for the other, more unusual ones, I’ve already mentioned them anyway. Oh, but I think of one exception: the days when I was tightly balled up, bowed low and squatted in a concrete pit for a whole month, not every day I had to beat and stab myself. I didn’t see many men on those days, and it was too much trouble to drag me out and shove me in, so sometimes Cheong remembered to call two of his little bodyguards to do it, and sometimes they let me go.

And the year at the gold mine was better too, that was just a joke of Klik’s by the end of it.

Even I was surprised to see the potential in me, and after twenty-four years of arrogant pampering, I had learned many of the more basic things that a woman could do well with nothing: carrying water, for example, or how to please a lot of men, and Mangkun had taught me that I could even live with that. But I don’t think I’ll ever need it again, and this time it’s probably true.

Still on the first day of starting to cut me, one of the brethren transformed the little wooden stick that had been my companion for four years into a cruel toy right in front of me. Specifically, a sewing needle was clamped with pliers, angled backward into the stick with the help of a hammer, and then clamped off the too-long portion of the end of the needle that was exposed. A number of thin steel pins were placed in a circle around the front part of the stick so that it looked like a wolfsbane with a few barbs.

My master wanted this toy to stay closer to me for the last ten days of my life. It was almost like a living thing, and when it was inserted into my vaginal opening, it automatically crawled deeper and deeper by virtue of those densely packed little steel feet, never backing away. Because my muscles contracted in pain, my legs would not be able to resist twitching, and any movement of my lower body was an aid to it. It was now up into the very tip of my vagina, softly aching where it was pressing against my cervix. I rubbed its exposed grip outside my body with my empty left hand, and some mucus and blood trickled out.

My master, who has killed a dozen, maybe dozens of young women, would never do something as stupid as stabbing me directly in the vagina with a sharp wooden stick. The important thing was not to rupture the organs and cause hemorrhaging, and a battered woman could still be alive and in pain.

Starting today, for the next four days they will start torturing both my feet and maybe my hands, and my masters have already said that I will see with my own eyes how much is missing from my body before I die. They will probably keep me alive for another four to five days, and I really hope it will be soon.

The reason I can still write about my slow death here with ease is because this morning when the sun’s rays finally came into this underground torture chamber Phila walked in and stood over me. I had been trembling all night, and I don’t know what I said to him before or after, probably always begging him to let go of me and let me lie down.

He stared at me for a while, and seemed to actually show some compassion: “We all enjoyed reading the things you wrote to your husband. I’ll untie you and you promise to write the last paragraph. Tonight we’re going to start cooking your hands, and then we won’t get another chance after that.”

He was crazy. I shook my head as hard as I could and moaned, “No, ouch, no…”

“Whatever, you can stand against the wall like that until evening. But if you agree, I’ll have Dr. Wong give you a pain shot, so at least you’ll feel much better throughout the day. There’s still four or five days to endure behind you!”

He said indifferently, knowing I’d just have to say yes in the end.

It did hurt less after the Dulcolax shot, and I glared at my desk, wondering what else there was to write about.

Phila enlightened me peacefully, he really is rarely this kind.

“Little bitch, don’t worry about the fact that you’re about to die. Think about the beautiful, the sweet, the innocent… Even if you don’t want to talk about the little bastard who cuckolded your husband, you should report on the state of that hole down there… How did she get into such a state? Your husband will care, it’s his precious thing! You’ll get all sentimental writing about it, and you’ll think about the fact that you don’t even have boobs anymore. Hahaha!” He said.

Well, let him be.

After Bamo got me back from the gold mine early last year, no one bothered to explain it to me, and I was silent; the slave girl never asked questions. The only thing I can be happy about is that I was allowed to meet my daughter, who is two years old and doesn’t recognize me, but she wasn’t scared by the blood and chains I had on me, she’s really bold. Her nanny told her that I am a kind of dog that stands up and walks.

Everything is back to the way it was. Oh, and the one thing that needs to be put back in place is my stomach.

One morning during the rainy season in M, I trudged up the hill in the drizzle twisting my wide waist and hips, my fisted toes slipping and sliding in the delicate red mud. I had just spent the whole night with the soldiers in the camp below, and my back and belly were so sore that I just wanted to squat down to the ground.

A few of the owner’s guards leaned lazily against the villa’s front door, watching me dispensably as I came closer and closer.

“Hey, little bitch, did you eat?” One of the brothers greeted me.

I stopped respectfully: “The slave girl is not yet available, uncle.”

“Let’s have some of Uncle’s water first. You’re so cheap, you must have been craving it all night.”

I knelt downward into the muddy water and skillfully unbuckled my pants and pulled them down to his knees, sticking my head into his crotch and wiggling it. The bouncer, who had me in his mouth, held his elbows and looked down, for him and his companion toying with me had long since become as mundane as a trip to the bathroom.

With great dedication, I went from slow to fast, letting my long hair fall out of my face and began to make screaming noises while I had to hold my hands flat to carry the man’s pants for him. Instead, the guard above me bent down and yanked my hair tight, lifting my entire body abruptly, his menacing face right into my eyes.

“You bitch, are you really that hungry?” The man let go of one hand and smacked me hard on the cheek like a bear’s paw, reversing it for a second time while releasing me.

I was knocked sideways and thrown out to one side, and the other man took advantage of the situation and kicked me. The first man, on fire because his genitals were still erect in his crotch, pulled his foot out of his pants, which were spread out on the floor, and took two bare-bottomed steps forward to yank me up, lifting his knee and slamming it into my abdomen in the traditional fighting style of their people, and the third hit me hard against my left breast with a crunch of bells. Then he let go, letting me shrink into a ball and slide to the ground dry-heaving.

These strokes increased his masculinity even more as he followed and pressed up into me. He grunted loudly, and then a large amount of blood raced out of my pussy.

I slowly propped up half of my body over my violently aching stomach, drenched in mud, and in a pool of blood between my legs dipped a fleshy mass with a small skeletal calf. “Call Mr. Wong!” I heard someone say.

After that anyone could tell I was just waiting to die. I was getting tired and my vagina and anus were getting loose. When I was alone my urine would unknowingly run down the side of my legs and I didn’t realize it until I had soaked my feet, and I thought the same thing was going to happen to my behind. I can think of fewer and fewer people who would be interested in playing with me in such a situation, at most they would ask me to suck them with my mouth. Occasionally, when they got excited, they would get me to spread my legs and beat my pussy so hard that I would swell up before they started, just like the time when Ah Cheong used the “Wooden Husband” on me later on.

As a result, I spent the whole day alone, kneeling in the corner of my bodyguard’s house, and the result of no one fucking me was that I was left in a state of emptiness and depression, and in my current situation, what else was I doing alive but getting fucked? I remember staring at the yellow piss dripping down my face, and thinking, “I’ve really got to be taken out and skinned by my master.

Not many people still touch me, and people hit me much less often. It is worth mentioning twice, first, Achang was angry because of something I can no longer recall, he thought to find a middle empty wooden frame off the ground set up, let me face down on it, hands and feet tightly tied to the four corners of the frame. My two breasts hanging on the copper bell in the middle of the frame hanging down to the ground, he then lit up two thick joss sticks into the copper bells baked.

My equally prone face facing downward stared intently at the pair of brass bells slowly being burned to a dark red, the heat penetrating all the way to the two steel nails stuck in the flesh, my breasts burning as if they were about to explode.

Since the closest thing to these two large branding irons were a pair of my nipples, they had turned into a thin little layer of dark, hard, crusty scabs by the end of the day.

I was not allowed to rest after I was untied, but was told to stand up straight against the wall, and to tie the hanging ring of the bell to the wall with a thin hemp rope, my hands still being bound behind my back. In this way, when Achang was about to leave with them, I was really frightened out of my wits, how long could I stand on my feet underground?

Still laughing, they went away, and I stood in there alone until the next morning. There were many, many times when I just couldn’t hold on any longer, and made up my mind to pull out the pair of brass pendants to flatten myself out on the ground floor right away, but a little trial of that horrible excruciating pain made me want to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer, I pressed my forehead against the wall and twisted my body pathetically from side to side, desperately trying to arrange myself in a way that would make me feel better.

It was just before noon the next day that I finally pulled my own breasts apart, and I stared incredulously at the brass bells left rattling on the wall, the two steel spikes that had been deep in my breasts for two-and-a-half years and their barbs with tendons wrapped around a long string of my mammary glands and ducts, dripping blood downward, and then I fainted on the floor… and was finally able to lie down…

That was just the beginning, people started systematically destroying my body and the next time it was the destruction of my genitals. My master was serious that time, padding my hips after tying me up tightly on my back and hoisting a glass bottle with sulfuric acid above my stomach like an infusion, adjusting the position so that the acid inside would fall drop by drop right onto my pussy port. When more accumulated they would run downward along the labia, seeping underneath the labia majora as they did so.

I screamed and jumped so sharply that Achan and the others had to stop for a moment to tie my waist and legs a little tighter.

The camera was pointed at the base of my thighs, and the people pushed the twenty-five-inch monitor over to me on a stand so that I could see how my whole soft pussy was smoking and turning into a pile of black and brown rags bit by bit.

Dr. Huang then brought his scalpel to the bottom, let me lie on the not  steel table, did not bother to give me anesthesia will use the blade of the knife to cut off all the necrotic skin and flesh of my place, and finally put a large and a small ointment coated gauze rolls stuffed all over my vagina and urethra, this is in order to in the next to do do things don’t let these two pipes stick together. He kept doing this responsibly later on throughout the healing process, changing it every day, or I’m afraid that once the scar contracted up, there wouldn’t be any holes left for them to get.

Dr. Wong clapped his hands together and straightened up, my blood flowing like a small river after the scalpel cut. He got a big ball of gauze cotton and intended to cover me with it, but Chang pushed him away. The two bodyguards were roasting a small gardener’s shovel on the nearby fireplace, and when the surface of the shovel was red and shiny, they pressed it all the way down from my belly to stop all the bleeding… Why did the heavy, choking fumes that filled the whole room that day smell so bad?

The third bell that had been with me for so long was thrown to the ground, and I had no more place on me to hang it.

By December my master told me that I should die, and then forced me to write about the passage of those four years. I had some uncontrollable excitement when I wrote the first one, then it was much calmer and I wrote off and on until February.

My master probably did not think it would become so interesting, and when I would not write, or could not write any more, he beat me. My master’s experience made him believe that everything could be beaten, even writing. He would give me twenty sheets of paper in the morning, and if I hadn’t finished by nightfall, he would let me stretch out my feet and smash my toes with a “wooden husband”. Then he would read the ones he had just finished, and if he didn’t think they were raunchy enough, he would smash them a second time. Otherwise, he told his brothers to gang-rape me for a whole night, so that I can “experience the feeling”.

I fainted and woke up again and again, my ten toes were bloody, broken bones poking out of my toe joints, my face was white with pain. But my master said with a smile, “Green, you are like the princess of a thousand Arabian Nights, who lived by telling stories to her husband.”

He’s probably talking about the Thousand and One Nights, and Zoroaster isn’t a princess, but it’s rare to be reminded of the Arabian Merchant of Narcotics, and my hosts are certainly different.

The story must be told. After writing about the gold mine at the end of February I’ve been squatting twisted in the hole, not even the brothers have come back to me, the master had long ago said that I wasn’t living on now. Pulled me out of it four nights ago and bundled me straight into the torture chamber next door. They told me it would take ten days to kill me, told me what I had to do each day, and followed it up with the first slash on my breast.

They wouldn’t even promise to let me back on the ground for another look around, to let my bare paws step on the wet green grass and take a breath or two of the evening breeze.

“By the time we lift you up with a wooden stake up your ass, you’ll be breathing fresh air.” They promised.

Cutting an arc along the side of the root of my long-tenderized and all-scarred breast, then cutting another fissure perpendicular to it toward the tip, I gripped the fleshy skin in a triangular opening with tiny, sharp-nosed pliers and pulled it upward, at the same time slipping the blade of the knife underneath the wound to slice off the fascia and fat that had gotten in the way. After the flap of skin had been turned up a square inch or two, the knife was switched to the front to cut it off, and the blood was washed away with cold water, all the time washing the exposed fat underneath down to a soft, white, cottony mess. Then pick up and slit the skin behind it and tear it up again.

They did it slowly, ignoring how I cried and pleaded. If I fainted from the pain, they had to go through the trouble of waking me up. By the end of the day, they had only peeled the skin off my breasts. Xiao Xu poured a large amount of salt onto his palms and rubbed them all over, leaving me alone on the wall to stare at these two large reddish masses of flesh on my chest for the rest of the night.

The next day I wanted to start screaming as I watched the glittering blade stick to my tender meat soaked in yellow water, just thinking about it, it wasn’t sound that came out of me, it was bloody stomach juices. The knife cuts were so terribly sharp on the bare flesh with the skin removed, or did it cut a triangle as well, and then tore a strip of shapeless fat off. The woman’s so bulging breast outer layer is wrapped in a line of fat meat, slowly cut all day to reveal the bottom of the strings connected to the pipeline glandular tissue, looking at the heart, these things they use sharp-nosed pincers, sometimes with the hand to grab and pull out, one by one like in the pulling of my heart.

By yesterday morning, all that was left of my breasts were two large clean slices of bright crimson flesh, which I had studied a little physiology and knew to be the surface of my pectoralis major muscle. There were also a couple of tendons attached to the inside of my body that had been messily sliced out in cross sections, which would have been used by my body to hold up my breasts.

People don’t die when their pectoralis major muscle is cut off, so all day yesterday they just kept cutting down, and if they accidentally broke a large blood vessel they pressed it with a red-hot soldering iron to stop the bleeding. They cut off a piece to see how I reacted, rubbed some salt on it, and cut the next piece. There’s no way to describe the pain I felt, and I’m shaking just thinking about it now. With each cut I was sweating like I had taken a shower, and they kept giving me water.

In the end I have to thank my host, who kept his word, and before this whole thing started he had several layers of connections to get my tiny daughter back home, and for my peace of mind asked that side to take pictures and send them over the net, and I’m not going to say who’s holding her in the pictures.

After this, it didn’t matter what random encounters her little mom had.

As darkness fell, I wearily put down my pen and said to Fira, “It’s time, tell them to come back.”

Now it’s written by Phila.

This is how we fix the little bitch’s hands and feet. After all the guys she’s been fucked by, it’s probably a good idea to call her an old bitch.

Binding her feet together, they did not look to a man’s eye like part of an interesting woman; they were dry and tough, and looked dirty with a hard, mottled, thick skin wrapped tightly around their protruding bones. Stranger still were those toes of hers, some pointing this way, some twisted the other way, some hooked on the paws and not straight, which I am afraid I might describe as the claws of a female eagle. If they were a little more tender, I might suggest that the owner find a casserole and boil them alive in it with some red dates and angelica until they were cooked.

Deciding on a more violent approach now, Koh boiled a large pot of water nearby to keep it bubbling and boiling. Bammer scooped the water out of it and poured it over the little bitch’s hind paws, and because the boiling water was running off in all directions, it took a long time of continuous pouring before her paws burned red and fat, and the surface looked much cleaner and softer.

Tried with a wire brush, although the little bitch screamed in pain “wah wah wah wah”, the torn skin was not easily brushed off, so I had to ask Bamo to pour boiling water on it again. The principle is: until the surface of the skin easily peeled off.

We tried to get this unlucky woman to say something more into the tape recorder in between, but she wasn’t very cooperative, something along the lines of, ” Oooooh, that hurt! It hurt ohh… Fira ah Chang, mom ah… daughter baby ah… shoot me, kill me ohh… don’t do it… A. ohh… ohh… ohh…” and so on and so forth, it didn’t mean much. So I had to finish writing what happened next, so I had to tell the police a full story. They always want to know where the bad guy hid the body in the end.

In order not to put this off for too long, at the same time boiling water began to be used to scald her hands, and the blistered and swollen rotting flesh was brushed off layer by layer. Sometimes a spoonful of boiling water was also thrown on her body in passing, which at once made the little bitch look like she was about to jump up. That is, to regulate the mood when her arms and legs become less sensitive from overstimulation. Of course most of the time we’d be kind enough to let her rest for a while, and sometimes it was necessary to give her a cardiac injection to keep her awake, and from the next day onwards it was time to feed her some soup to keep her strength up.

We were a little concerned that she would be pained alive without the full experience, and decided to give her one last anal treat a little early. This was done by dragging her, while she still had strips of dark red flesh clinging to the bones of her arms and legs, to the outside of the gate, where a long, wrist-thick wooden stick had been prepared and a deep pit dug.

While a woman’s anus wasn’t too tight, it was still too narrow for such a wooden stick. A dagger had to be plunged in first to cut the tightened sphincter on her opening, which was the main obstacle, and further in the human’s belly-gut had a good deal of stretch to it. Reverse binding her upper hands, she lifted the wooden stick to carefully poke it into her ass hole, applying a really good amount of automotive butter to it. After inserting 40 or 50 centimeters into the large skewer of meat to the edge of the mound, carefully and cautiously put it up and buried it, this one took us a lot of effort.

Has been closed eyes softly listen to our manipulation of the big girl now really feel hard up, she put two thin long legs to the four chaotic stirrups, from the mouth of the “puff” out of the air, blowing out a string of large and small bubbles. The more she moved, the deeper her body on the stick sank. Another free offer was that as she struggled, the rod in her cunt would move, hoping that its relentless efforts inside would give the woman ironic pleasure.

The boss didn’t like the fact that she could still close her eyes, so Chang himself stood up on a chair and pinched up her upper eyelid and slit it open with a razor blade and threw it away; the blood would trickle down and redden her field of vision, but the thin liquid wouldn’t be able to completely black out the light, so that she’d have to keep her eyes open all the time and watch her bare torso, which had neither breasts nor arms and legs, sitting curiously in mid-air. Certainly I can imagine that all this she saw was steeped in a pinkish-red atmosphere.

In addition to gasping for breath and wailing in grief, she said the last words of her life to Chang, who came up to her face: “Thank you… thank you for letting… letting me die.”

We did teach her to be a very good girl, didn’t we?

I’m afraid she still underestimated our patience, because she had only been languishing on the stake until the afternoon when we cut the wood and let her down, lying on the grass to receive the fluids A Huang gave her. She stared straight at me with wide, lidless eyes, blood red and quite frightening. I found a knife and walked over to her, she barely moved her lips, perhaps wanting to try to ask for something one last time, she finally held back when I smiled and slowly cut her ear. With that I plucked out her nose with a little more effort and the face was now a mess like a slaughterhouse, just right for a woman with no breasts and no labia.

Behind me Xiao Xu and the others were busy putting small strips of cloth dipped in kerosene on her body with press studs and lighting fires left and right, which could only be considered as an aperitif between meals.

She lay through the night on the damp grass she had hoped to get, and in the morning as the sun came up once more threaded her upright on the stake, figuring this would be her last day. Pouring kerosene on the wooden handle left outside the opening of her vagina to start the fire, the embers licked and licked at the spot for a while before advancing deeper and deeper down the combustible wood without a word. This pleasure of a little barbecue in the back garden is something I’m afraid our girl is well acquainted with in these four years, so it’s time to shove another rag into her mouth to light the fire as well, and here at last the last remaining bit of fuel has been used up.

Obviously she still felt the pain, this crippled woman embodied in the sound and her strange physical movements are indeed indescribable, barely, perhaps like a big girl who has been fucked by 40 or 50 men to death and was made to orgasm again.

The boss had promised to attach a large stone to each of her already bony ankles.

Dai Tao, I told you to hang up the phone on the night of the 8th to tell you about this website! I know you will come here to see how your little wife has suffered through every day of these four years, DOWN and look at it again and again and again, and think about how your woman has crawled around naked and dragging chains, screaming at the top of her lungs as we flattened her, and how I kicked her like she was my dog. She’s not dead now, she might even live to see this night! We all think it’s promising to see the stake finally come out of her throat.

You must regret your choice to be our enemy for the rest of your life!

[End]