The Path of Degradation

The video ended, and Li Hao’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, still thick with that familiar, eager tension. “See? It’s not even that crazy. Just… no underwear. You’d still have your skirt on. Nobody would know.”

Zhang Tong stared at the black screen of her phone, her reflection a blurred, round-faced ghost. Her thumb hovered over the replay button, but she didn’t press it. The woman in the video had worn a sundress, flimsy and thin, and when she walked, the fabric had caught between her thighs. Zhang Tong’s own thighs pressed together under her desk, a reflexive clench that sent a dull pulse through her groin.

“I don’t know, Hao,” she said, her voice small. “What if someone notices? What if the skirt rides up?”

“Then you pull it down. It’s a test, baby. Just to see how it feels.” His tone softened, coaxing. “You said you wanted to try new things. To feel… more. Remember?”

She remembered. The conversation had come after another phone sex session that left her frustrated, her body aching for a climax that never arrived. Li Hao had been apologetic, then thoughtful, then excited as he described the videos he’d been watching. Women in public, exposed, vulnerable, watched. “Maybe that’s what you need,” he’d said. “The risk. The eyes.”

Zhang Tong had argued, then cried, then agreed. Now, standing in her dorm room with the afternoon light slanting through the blinds, she reached for the camisole hanging on her closet door.

It was simple: thin white cotton, low-cut, with spaghetti straps that dug into her soft shoulders. She pulled it over her head, the fabric clinging to the gentle curve of her belly and the heavier weight of her breasts. Her nipples, already stiff from nervous anticipation, pressed against the material in two dark, distinct points. She didn’t own a bra that could hide them. That was the point.

Her skirt was a short denim one, faded blue, barely reaching mid-thigh. She stepped into it and zipped it up. The waistband dug into her flesh. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning sideways. The skirt hugged her hips. When she bent forward slightly to adjust the hem, she saw the pale curve of her buttock cheek. She straightened quickly, cheeks flushing.

The underwear—a simple black cotton pair—lay balled on her bed. She picked it up, felt the soft fabric, then dropped it as if it burned. Her hand went to the hem of her skirt, lifting it. In the mirror, she saw her own bare mound, the trimmed dark hair, the lips of her vulva just visible. A shiver ran through her, part fear, part something wet and warm that pooled low in her belly.

“I’m doing it,” she whispered to her phone, which she’d propped against her pillow. Li Hao was still on the line, listening.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now put on some sandals. And take the bus, not the subway. More standing. More people.”

She slipped into a pair of flat sandals, the leather straps already familiar against her feet. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. She grabbed her small crossbody bag, checked for her phone and keys, and hesitated at the door.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“That’s okay. That’s part of it. Call me when you’re on the bus. Keep the line open.”

She stepped into the hallway. The dorm was quiet—most students were in class. The click of her sandals echoed off the linoleum. Each step sent a slight breeze up her skirt, and every time, she flinched, expecting a hand or a stare. But no one was there. She made it to the stairwell, down three flights, and out the front door.

The afternoon was warm, the sun high and golden. The bus stop was a five-minute walk across campus. She kept her head down, watching her own feet, but the periphery of her vision caught everything: a boy on a skateboard, a girl with a coffee cup, a middle-aged man in a polo shirt reading his phone. None of them looked at her. They couldn’t know. But the air between her legs felt different—cool, exposed, vulnerable. Her thighs brushed together with each stride, the friction of skin on skin, the slight tackiness of sweat already forming.

She reached the bus stop just as the 42 pulled up. The doors hissed open. She climbed the steps, swiped her card, and looked for a seat. The bus was half-full. Empty seats near the back, but Li Hao had said to stand. She grabbed the overhead rail near the middle, positioning herself so she faced the side windows, her back to most of the passengers.

The bus lurched forward. She swayed, her sandals gripping the rubber mat. The camisole shifted, and she felt the fabric drag across her nipples. They were hard, almost painfully so. She crossed her arms, trying to hide them, but that only pushed her breasts higher, fuller. The man seated nearest to her—a stocky man in a work uniform, maybe mid-forties—glanced up from his phone. His eyes flicked to her chest, then away, then back. He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just looked.

Zhang Tong’s stomach clenched. She turned her head to the window, watching the campus buildings roll by. The glass reflected her own flushed face, the curve of her neck, the dip of her collarbone. Below, the reflection blurred into the dark interior of the bus. She could see the outline of her skirt, short and tight, and the pale columns of her thighs. When the bus hit a bump, her skirt hiked up an inch. She didn’t dare pull it down. Her fingers tightened on the rail.

The man’s gaze lingered. She felt it like a weight on her skin. Another passenger, a college girl with headphones, looked at her for a second longer than necessary. An old woman with a shopping bag gave her a quick, dismissive once-over.

Zhang Tong’s breath came shallow. Between her legs, a warmth spread, slow and inexorable. She squeezed her thighs together, and the pressure sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine. She bit her lip, hard. The taste of blood.

The bus stopped. A few people got off, a few got on. The man in the work uniform stayed. Another man, younger, with a backward baseball cap, stood near the front. He turned and looked at her, openly, his eyes traveling from her face to her chest to her legs. He didn’t pretend to look away. When their eyes met, he grinned and gave a small nod.

Zhang Tong’s face burned. She wanted to disappear, to shrink into the floor. But her body didn’t cooperate. Instead, her hips tilted forward, just slightly, pressing her mound against the seam of her skirt. The fabric pulled taut, outlining the shape of her. If he looked close enough, he might see the damp spot forming. She hoped he wouldn’t. She hoped he would.

Her phone buzzed in her bag. She fished it out, heart hammering. A text from Li Hao: *How is it?*

She typed with shaking thumbs: *Terrifying. There are people staring.*

His reply came instantly: *Good. Don’t run away. Let them look. It’s just eyes.*

She pocketed the phone. The young man in the cap was still watching. He shifted his weight, adjusting his jeans. Zhang Tong’s eyes dropped involuntarily to his crotch, then snapped back up. The man laughed, a low, casual sound.

“First time doing something like this?” he asked. His voice was easy, friendly, as if he were asking about the weather.

Zhang Tong’s mouth opened. No words came. She shook her head, then nodded. Then shook her head again.

The man stepped closer. The bus had thinned out; now only a few passengers remained. He stood beside her, close enough that she could smell his deodorant, cheap and strong. “Relax,” he said. “You look good. Don’t hide it.”

His hand brushed her hip, light and quick, a contact that could have been accidental. But it wasn’t. His fingers grazed the bare skin just above her knee. She flinched, but didn’t move away. Her thighs clenched harder, and a clear, hot pulse of moisture leaked from her. She felt it slide down her inner thigh, a single trail of wetness.

The bus announced her stop. She fumbled for the cord, pulled it. The young man stepped back, still grinning. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She stumbled off the bus, her legs weak. The air outside hit her like a wall. She leaned against the shelter, gasping. Her skirt was still short. Her camisole still clung. And between her legs, the wetness was cooling now, turning to a sticky, shameful proof of what she’d felt.

Her phone buzzed again. Li Hao: *Did you make it? How did it feel?*

She typed: *I think it felt good. I think I loved it.*

She stared at the words, then hit send. A new sensation bloomed in her chest, deeper than shame, darker than fear. It was hunger. And she knew, with a clarity that should have terrified her, that she would do it again.

The afternoon bus was nearly empty when Wang Lei boarded at the rear entrance. He scanned the seats casually, his gaze landing on a woman sitting alone near the middle. She was slightly chubby, with a soft, round face flushed pink, and her breasts pressed heavily against a thin white blouse. Her hands were clasped tightly over her thighs, knuckles white, shifting restlessly as if something was wrong.

Wang Lei recognized her. Zhang Tong. The chairperson of the Youth Volunteer Association. He'd seen her at campus events, always flustered, always trying to hide beneath oversized sweaters. Today she wore a fitted top that betrayed her generous curves.

He took the seat beside her, closer than necessary.

Zhang Tong tensed immediately. She'd just come from a long video call with Li Hao, her boyfriend, who had encouraged her to wear something more revealing today. *Just try it,* he'd said. *See how it feels to be noticed.* Now she felt noticed. Too noticed.

"Hi there, Chairperson Zhang," Wang Lei said, his voice low and warm, meant only for her.

She turned, startled. "Oh, hi. Wang Lei, right? From the engineering department." Her voice came out breathy.

"Yeah." He smiled, leaning closer. "You look different today. Really... soft."

Her blush deepened. "I'm just heading home."

"You take this bus often?" He didn't move back.

"Sometimes." She shifted in her seat. The bus lurched around a corner, and his hand brushed against her thigh. She flinched but didn't pull away.

Wang Lei noticed everything. The way her breath hitched. The way she bit her lower lip. The way her thighs pressed together beneath her skirt.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his lips near her ear. "Are you cold?"

"No. I'm fine."

He didn't believe her. He let his hand rest on the seat beside her thigh, not touching, but close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his palm.

"I've noticed you before," he said. "At the volunteer recruitment fair. You were in charge of registration. You kept dropping the pens."

She remembered. He'd been watching her then too. "I was nervous."

"You're nervous now." It wasn't a question. "Why?"

Zhang Tong couldn't answer. How could she explain that her boyfriend had spent the morning texting her instructions? *Take the later bus. Wear the top I bought you. Let me know how many people look at you.* She had done it, and now she felt exposed, vulnerable, and shamefully aroused.

Wang Lei's hand moved. His fingertips brushed against the hem of her skirt.

"Please don't," she said weakly.

"Don't what?" His fingers traced circles on the fabric covering her knee. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

She should have pushed him away. She should have stood up and moved to another seat. But her body wouldn't obey. Her skin prickled where he touched, and between her legs, she felt a familiar, shameful dampness.

Li Hao would want to hear about this. The thought made her stomach knot.

"You're really beautiful, Zhang Tong." His voice was a caress. "I've always thought so. But you hide yourself. Why?"

"I don't hide."

"You do." His hand slid higher, stopping just above her knee. "In those baggy clothes. But today you don't. Today you're showing off what you have."

Her breath came in shallow gasps. "I just... felt like wearing something different."

"Your boyfriend's idea?"

She froze. How could he know?

Wang Lei laughed softly. "I saw you on the phone earlier. You looked... obedient. Like someone was telling you what to do."

"I'm not—"

"It's okay." His fingers pressed into her thigh, squeezing gently. "I like it. I like girls who listen."

Zhang Tong's mind screamed at her to leave. Her body stayed rooted. She could feel the heat of his hand through her skirt, the pressure of his fingertips, the casual possessiveness of his touch.

"Your skin is so soft." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her neck. "I bet you're soft everywhere."

"Wang Lei, please. Someone might see."

"We're in the back. No one's looking." He moved his hand higher, just brushing the inside of her thigh. "Are you wet?"

"No." The lie came out choked.

He smiled. "Liar."

His fingers traced a line up her leg, stopping just before her underwear. She could feel the heat between her legs, the moisture that betrayed her arousal.

"I can feel you trembling," he whispered. "Your body knows what it wants. Even if your mouth won't admit it."

She should say no. She should push his hand away. She should do anything except sit here, thighs parted just slightly, inviting him closer.

But she didn't.

He let his palm rest flat on her inner thigh, not moving, just pressing warmth into her skin. "Do you want me to stop?"

She couldn't answer.

"Say it," he said. "Say 'stop' and I'll move my hand."

The words wouldn't come. Her throat felt locked, her heart pounding so loud she couldn't think.

"Good girl." He squeezed her thigh once, then pulled his hand away. "I thought so."

She exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath.

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone. I want to add you on WeChat."

She fumbled in her bag, pulled out her phone, unlocked it with shaking hands. He took it from her, his fingers brushing against hers.

He added himself, handed it back. "I'll text you tonight."

"I have a boyfriend," she said, the words finally coming.

"I know." He stood as the bus approached his stop. "That doesn't matter."

He stepped off without looking back.

Zhang Tong sat frozen, her phone warm in her hands, a new contact glowing on the screen. Her thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache between them. Li Hao would ask about her ride. She'd have to tell him something. Not everything. She couldn't tell him everything.

But his hand. His voice. The way he'd said *good girl*.

She bit her lip, shame and desire warring in her chest.

The bus rumbled on. Her phone buzzed. A message from Wang Lei: *Same bus. Same seat. Tomorrow.*

She didn't reply. She didn't delete the message either.

Her phone buzzed again. Li Hao this time: *How was the ride? Did anyone look at you?*

She stared at the message, then at Wang Lei's contact. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

*It was fine,* she typed to Li Hao. *Just a normal bus ride.*

Another buzz from Wang Lei: *I can still smell your perfume.*

She closed her eyes, the ghost of his fingers still warm on her thigh.

Tomorrow. Same bus. Same seat.

She was already planning what to wear.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, and Zhang Tong’s hand trembled as she picked it up. She was alone in her dorm room, the faint hum of the air conditioner the only sound. Li Hao had texted her an hour ago with another link to a website, encouraging her to watch and learn. She had closed the tab, her face hot, but now a new message from Wang Lei lit up the screen.

“Hey, busy tonight? I was thinking about you.”

Her breath caught. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then typed a short reply: “Just studying.”

Wang Lei responded almost instantly. “Studying? That’s boring. I bet you look so cute when you’re focused, biting your lip. What are you wearing?”

Zhang Tong’s cheeks burned. She glanced down at her old T-shirt and shorts, the fabric loose around her soft body. She should ignore him. She should block him. But her thumbs were already moving. “Just casual clothes.”

“Casual?” A pause, then another message. “I bet you’d look better without them. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You think about it too, don’t you? The way your boyfriend never really gets you off. I could change that.”

Her heart hammered. The words were crude, invasive, and yet they lit a fire low in her belly. She typed back, her hand shaking. “You’re being inappropriate.”

“Am I? Or am I just saying what you’re too shy to admit? I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want to know what it feels like, don’t you? A real man, not some distant boyfriend who only gets off on watching you expose yourself.”

Zhang Tong bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She thought of Li Hao, his encouragements, his thrill when she sent him photos from the park. He liked it when she was daring. He liked the risk. Maybe this was just another risk, digital instead of physical. She could play along, just a little. For the thrill.

“What would you do?” she typed, then immediately wanted to delete it.

Wang Lei didn’t give her a chance. “I’d start by having you take off that shirt. Slowly. Then I’d tell you to touch yourself through your shorts. I’d want to hear you moan my name, not his. Can you do that, Tong? Just for me?”

She looked around the empty room, the silence pressing in. Her fingers were damp on the screen. She slid the T-shirt over her head, her breasts hanging heavy in her bra. She took a photo, just from the collarbone down, and sent it before she could stop herself.

“Good girl,” he replied. “Now the bra. Let me see those tits. They’re so full, so soft. I bet they jiggle when you walk.”

Her breathing was shallow. She unhooked her bra and let it fall, her nipples tightening in the cool air. Another photo, her breasts bare, the skin pale under the desk lamp.

“Perfect,” he wrote. “I can almost feel them in my hands. Now, slide your shorts down. I want to see your panties. Are they wet?”

Her shorts pooled at her ankles. Her panties were plain cotton, but she knew there was a damp spot forming. She pressed her thighs together, ashamed and aroused. “Yes,” she whispered, typing the word.

“Take a photo of that wet spot. Let me see how much you want me.”

She did, her hand trembling as she framed the shot. He didn’t reply for a long moment, and she felt a pang of panic. Then three words appeared: “Touch yourself now.”

Her fingers moved of their own accord, slipping inside the waistband. She thought of Wang Lei’s confidence, his size, the way he’d promised to change everything. She thought of Li Hao, watching from a distance, getting off on her shame. The dual fantasy pushed her over the edge, a small, gasping orgasm that left her legs weak.

“I came,” she typed, the confession burning.

Wang Lei’s reply was a laugh emoji. “That was just a taste. The real thing will make you scream. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tong. We’re going to have some practice sessions.”

She didn’t say no. She couldn’t. The phone buzzed again, and she saw it was Li Hao. “Hey babe, did you try anything today? Send me something if you did.”

Zhang Tong stared at the message, then at the photos she’d sent Wang Lei. Her heart was a tangle of guilt and desire. She selected one of the milder images, her breasts covered, and sent it to Li Hao with a shy smile emoji.

His reply was immediate: “Fuck, that’s hot. You’re being so good. I love that you’re doing this for me.”

She typed back, “I’m doing it for us,” but her eyes drifted to Wang Lei’s contact. She had already saved his number with a heart emoji. Tomorrow she would see him again on campus. Tomorrow she would let him push further. And she didn’t know if she wanted to be saved.

The message from Wang Lei arrived on Friday afternoon, a simple string of coordinates and a room number. Zhang Tong stared at her phone screen for a full minute, her thumb hovering over the notification. The motel was on the edge of the old industrial district, forty minutes from campus by bus, a place where no one she knew would ever go.

She locked her phone and shoved it into her backpack, her heart hammering against her ribs. Throughout her afternoon classes, she couldn't focus. The professor's voice became white noise, replaced by the insistent rhythm of her own pulse. Li Hao had texted her twice, asking about her weekend plans. She'd replied with vague pleasantries, her fingers trembling as she typed.

By six o'clock, she was standing at the bus stop, a overnight bag clutched against her chest. The sky had turned the color of bruises, heavy clouds threatening rain. She told herself she was just going to talk to him. To set boundaries. To explain that what happened in the storage room was a mistake, a moment of weakness that meant nothing.

But her body knew better. Between her thighs, a persistent ache had settled, a wet warmth that had been building since she read his message. She could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her throat, the shocking thickness of his fingers inside her. No one had ever touched her like that. No one had ever made her want so desperately to be taken.

The bus arrived, its doors hissing open. Zhang Tong hesitated for three heartbeats before stepping aboard.

The motel was called the Moonlight Inn, a two-story building with flickering neon signs and peeling paint. Wang Lei had already checked in by the time she arrived. Room 207, second floor, end of the hall. The stairs creaked beneath her feet, the carpet stained and worn thin. She could hear television static from behind closed doors, the occasional burst of laughter.

She stopped in front of room 207. The door was painted a faded blue, the number plate hanging crooked. She raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could touch the wood, the door swung open.

Wang Lei stood in the doorway, shirtless, a towel draped around his neck. His chest was damp, still glistening from a recent shower. He smiled, that same predatory smile she remembered from the storage room.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't come," he said, stepping aside to let her enter.

The room was small and shabby. A queen-sized bed dominated the space, its floral bedspread faded and stained. A single lamp on the nightstand cast yellow light across the walls. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the dying evening light.

Zhang Tong stood just inside the doorway, her bag still clutched to her chest. "I came to talk."

"Of course you did." Wang Lei closed the door behind her, the lock clicking into place with a sound that felt final. "But we both know why you're really here."

He walked past her, close enough that his arm brushed against hers. She caught the smell of cheap soap and something underneath it, something male and warm. He sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees wide, looking up at her with open amusement.

"You can say it," he said. "You can pretend this is about having a conversation. But I've been thinking about you all week. I know you've been thinking about me too."

Zhang Tong's throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, to insist that she was here to end whatever this was before it started. But the words wouldn't come. Because he was right. She had been thinking about him. Every night, alone in her dorm room, her hand between her legs, chasing a pleasure that always stayed just out of reach.

"You're my boyfriend's friend," she said weakly.

"I'm also the guy who made you wetter than you've ever been in your life." Wang Lei stood up, closing the distance between them. He was taller than her, broader. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "Li Hao doesn't have to know. This is between you and me."

He reached out and touched her face, his thumb tracing along her jawline. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, electric and terrifying.

"I can give you something he can't," he said softly. "You know I can."

She should have pushed him away. She should have turned around and walked out the door, caught the bus back to campus, and never looked back. Instead, she stood frozen, her breath coming in shallow gasps as his hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

Their lips met, and Zhang Tong's resistance crumbled. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue pushing past her lips without invitation. She moaned into the kiss, her bag slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her hands came up to his chest, not to push him away but to grip his shoulders, to steady herself as her knees went weak.

Wang Lei walked her backward until her legs hit the bed. He pushed her down onto the mattress, following her down, his body pressing against hers. His hands found the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. The cool air hit her skin, raising goosebumps across her stomach.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice rough. "Do you know how long I've wanted to see you like this?"

He unclasped her bra, sliding the straps down her shoulders. Her breasts spilled free, heavier than they'd been in her youth, soft and full. Wang Lei's eyes darkened as he looked at them. He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

Zhang Tong gasped, her back arching off the bed. His tongue circled her nipple, flicking and teasing, before moving to the other breast. His hand slid down her stomach, past the waistband of her jeans, pressing against the damp fabric of her underwear.

"I knew you'd be wet," he murmured against her skin. "I could tell from that first day. You've been starving for someone like me."

He unfastened her jeans, pulling them down along with her underwear, leaving her completely naked beneath him. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but there was something thrilling about it too. The way he looked at her, like she was something he wanted to devour.

Wang Lei stood up briefly to strip off his own pants. When he turned back to her, Zhang Tong's breath caught in her throat. She had known he was large. She had felt it through his pants in the storage room. But seeing it now, fully erect, was something else entirely. His cock was thick, longer than her forearm, the head swollen and dark. It looked painful. Impossible.

"Don't worry," he said, noticing her expression. "I'll make you ready."

He knelt between her legs, spreading them wide. Without warning, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against her. Zhang Tong cried out, her hands flying to the sheets. His tongue was skilled, relentless, finding every sensitive spot with practiced precision. He licked and sucked, circling her clit until she was writhing against his face, moaning without restraint.

"That's it," he said, his breath hot against her wet skin. "Let me hear you."

He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them upward, stroking a spot that made her see stars. Zhang Tong's hips bucked against his hand, her orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in her belly. She was close. So close.

But he pulled away, leaving her shuddering on the edge.

"Not yet," he said, his voice dark with amusement. "I want to be inside you when you come."

He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. She felt the pressure, the impossible stretch as he began to push inside.

"Breathe," he said. "Relax for me."

Zhang Tong tried to obey, but the sensation was overwhelming. He was so thick, stretching her in ways she'd never been stretched before. She felt a brief sting of pain, quickly swallowed by a deep, aching fullness that made her gasp.

"Look at me," Wang Lei said.

She met his eyes, and he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt. A scream tore from her throat, a sound she didn't recognize. He was so deep inside her, deeper than she thought possible, filling a void she hadn't known existed.

He began to move, slow at first, letting her adjust. Each thrust pushed against her cervix, sent shockwaves through her entire body. She clutched at his back, her nails digging into his skin, as he increased his pace.

"You feel that?" he grunted, his hips slapping against hers. "No one's ever made you feel like this."

It was true. Li Hao had always been gentle, careful, concerned with her comfort. But this was different. This was raw and primal and utterly consuming. Wang Lei fucked her like he owned her, like her pleasure was his to take, his to give.

He shifted, angling his hips, and the head of his cock struck something inside her that made her vision blur. She screamed, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"Right there," she begged. "Please don't stop."

He didn't. He drove into her again and again, hitting that spot with brutal precision. The pressure inside her built to a breaking point, her muscles tensing, her breath catching in her throat.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Now."

And she did.

The orgasm crashed over her like a wave, unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Her body convulsed, her inner walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure rolled through her. She cried out, her back arching, her vision going white. It went on and on, shattering her, remaking her.

Wang Lei didn't stop. He continued thrusting through her climax, prolonging it, pushing her into oversensitivity until she was sobbing with the intensity of it. Only then did he pull out, stroking himself rapidly until he came across her stomach, thick ropes of semen painting her skin.

They lay there for a long moment, panting, trembling. Zhang Tong stared at the ceiling, her mind blank, her body humming with aftershocks. She had never come like that. Not once. Not with anyone.

Wang Lei rolled off her, reaching for a towel from the nightstand. He cleaned her off with surprising gentleness, then lay beside her, one arm draped across her waist.

"I told you," he said, his voice satisfied. "I can give you what you need."

Zhang Tong didn't answer. She couldn't. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she glanced at the screen. A message from Li Hao.

"Miss you. Can't wait to see you next weekend."

Guilt crashed through her, cold and sharp. Her boyfriend. The man who loved her, trusted her. She had just let another man fuck her in a cheap motel, and she had loved every second of it.

"I have to go," she said, her voice hollow.

Wang Lei's grip on her waist tightened. "Stay."

"I can't."

She sat up, her body aching, her thighs slick with the evidence of what she'd done. She gathered her clothes with trembling hands, pulling them on in silence. Wang Lei watched her from the bed, his expression unreadable.

"Same time next week," he said. It wasn't a question.

Zhang Tong paused at the door, her hand on the handle. She should say no. She should tell him this was a mistake, that it would never happen again.

But she didn't.

She walked out into the cool night air, the door clicking shut behind her. Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Li Hao.

"You there? Everything ok?"

She typed back a lie. "Just busy with volunteer stuff. Talk tomorrow."

The bus ride back to campus was a blur. She sat in a window seat, watching the streetlights pass, replaying every moment in her mind. The way he'd touched her. The way he'd filled her. The orgasm that had finally, finally claimed her.

She should feel shame. She did feel shame. But underneath it, buried beneath layers of guilt and self-loathing, was a hunger that had only been fed, not satisfied.

The path was already laid out before her. And she was taking every step willingly.

Zhang Tong’s fingers trembled as she typed the message to Wang Lei. She had deleted and retyped it three times, her heart hammering against her ribs, before finally pressing send. *Are you free this afternoon?* The reply came within seconds. *Library. Fourth floor. Back corner. Be there at two.*

She should have felt guilt. She felt instead a wet, pulsing heat between her legs that made it hard to concentrate in her morning class. Li Hao had texted her last night, sweet and oblivious, asking if she’d worn the pink lace panties he’d bought her. She’d lied and said yes—she’d thrown them in the trash two days ago, after Wang Lei had torn them off her with his teeth.

At 1:55, she slipped into the library. The fourth floor was nearly empty, reserved for graduate students who rarely used it. Wang Lei was already there, sprawled in a chair with his long legs spread, a textbook open in his lap. But his eyes were on her, dark and hungry, as she approached. He didn’t smile.

“Close the blinds,” he said quietly. “All of them.”

She obeyed without a word, her hands shaking as she pulled the cords. The room dimmed to a grayish half-light. When she turned, he had pulled his cock out—thick, veined, already half-hard. “You’ve been thinking about this all morning, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“Then come here. Ride me. No panties.”

She had worn a skirt exactly for this. Wang Lei made her strip from the waist down, then guided her onto his lap. The penetration was still a shock—that immense stretch, that fullness that made her gasp and claw at his shoulders. She sank down slowly, her thighs quivering, and felt his hands grip her hips, forcing her deeper.

“Faster,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”

She rode him in the dim light of the library, her skirt bunched around her waist, her face buried in his neck to stifle the sounds she couldn’t help making. He didn’t kiss her. He never kissed her. He simply used her, squeezing her breasts through her T-shirt, pinching her nipples until she cried out. She came twice—small, sharp orgasms that left her dizzy—before he pulled her off, turned her around, and bent her over the table. He entered her from behind, one hand pressing her face into the pages of a textbook.

“You’re going to do something for me tonight,” he said, his voice rough in her ear. “The volunteer association is hosting that welcome party for the new students. You’re in charge of registration, right?”

“Yes.” Her words came out muffled against the paper.

“Good. I want you to go to the bathroom at exactly eight o’clock. No bra. T-shirt on, but wet it so your nipples show through. You’re going to send me a picture of yourself in the stall—full body, face included. Then you’re going to come out and walk back across the main hall. There’s a group of my friends sitting near the east pillar. I want them to see your hard nipples. I want them to know you’re my whore.”

She should have refused. The words formed in her mind: *I can’t, someone will see, someone will know.* But her body was already trembling with a dark, secret arousal. “Okay,” she heard herself say.

He finished inside her, a hot flood that made her gasp. Then he zipped up, walked to the window, and opened the blinds without looking back. “I’ll be watching.”

That evening, Zhang Tong stood in the bathroom stall of the student union building, her T-shirt damp under the tap. The fabric clung to her chest, translucent, revealing the dark circles of her areolas. She had noticed the change in the mirror this morning—they had grown larger, darker, almost purple in the center. Her breasts themselves felt heavier, more sensitive. Wang Lei had noticed too. “You’re becoming a real woman,” he’d said, and the compliment had sent a thrill through her.

She took the picture. Flash on, full body, her face flushed, her nipples hard and clearly visible through the wet shirt. She sent it to Wang Lei. He replied instantly: *Good. Now walk. Slow.*

She opened the stall door. Her legs felt weak. The main hall was packed—hundreds of new students, faculty, volunteers. She saw the registration table where she should have been sitting, the clipboard still in her hands. She left it on the sink.

She walked. Across the tiled floor, through the crowd, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music. She felt eyes on her—a boy with a beer cup froze mid-sip, his gaze fixed on her chest. She looked ahead, toward the east pillar. Wang Lei was there, surrounded by a group of male students. They were all looking at her. One of them whistled, low and appreciative.

Zhang Tong’s face burned. But she did not slow down. She did not cover herself. She kept walking, her wet shirt clinging to her breasts, her nipples standing out like dark berries. When she reached the pillar, Wang Lei reached out and hooked a finger through her shirt collar, pulling her close.

“Good girl,” he said, loud enough for his friends to hear. “Real good girl.”

That night, back in her dorm, she stripped in front of the mirror and studied her body. Her areolas had definitely grown—they were now the size of silver dollars, the skin around them slightly raised and textured. Her breasts had a slight droop that she’d always hated, but now it seemed purposeful, matronly. She cupped them, squeezing gently, and a bead of clear fluid appeared at the tip of her left nipple. Not milk—but something. A hormonal change. Wang Lei had stirred something deep inside her, something that was reshaping her body to his liking.

Her phone buzzed. Li Hao’s name lit up the screen. She answered, keeping her voice light.

“Hey, baby. How was the party?”

“It was fine. Busy.” She pulled her T-shirt back on, as if he could see through the phone.

“Did you wear what I asked? The black lace set?”

“Of course I did.” Another lie. That set was in the bottom of her drawer, untouched for weeks. “You’d have been proud of me. I was so professional all night.”

He laughed, relieved. “I love hearing that. You’re doing great, Tongtong. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I have an early class.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up and stared at her reflection again. The lie had come so easily. Too easily. And beneath the shame, there was something else—a thrill. She had kept her secret. She had performed for Wang Lei and his friends, and Li Hao had no idea. The dichotomy made her head spin.

Her phone buzzed again. Wang Lei: *Same time tomorrow. The maintenance shed behind the gym. I want you on your knees.*

She typed back: *Yes.*

Then she opened her gallery and deleted the wet T-shirt photo, just in case. But she didn’t delete the mental image—the way those boys had looked at her, the way Wang Lei had claimed her in front of them. She touched herself in the dark, and for the first time, she did not imagine Li Hao’s face. She imagined Wang Lei’s hands, his voice, the weight of his gaze. She came silently, biting her pillow.

She was completely his now. And she knew, with a clarity that should have terrified her, that she would never go back.

Zhang Tong stared at the pregnancy test in her trembling hands, the two pink lines blurring as tears welled in her eyes. The bathroom tile was cold against her bare thighs as she sat on the edge of the tub, trying to count back the weeks. Her last period. The nights with Li Hao during his visit. The afternoons in Wang Lei's apartment. The timeline was a murky swamp, and she was sinking deeper with every passing second.

She heard the door to her dorm room open and quickly stuffed the test into her pocket. But her hands were still shaking when Wang Lei's voice called out from the common area.

"Tongtong? You in there?"

She splashed water on her face, gripped the sink, and stared at her reflection. Her face looked pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked like someone carrying a secret too heavy to hold.

When she emerged, Wang Lei was lounging on her bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and immediately frowned. "You look like shit. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said too quickly. Her voice cracked.

He set the phone down and patted the space beside him. "Come here."

She hesitated, then walked over and sat down. The mattress dipped under his weight as he shifted closer, his hand landing on her knee with practiced ease. "Spill it. I can tell something's eating you."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I'm pregnant."

His hand stilled. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he let out a low laugh, not mocking, more like he was savoring something unexpected. "No shit."

"I don't know whose it is," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It could be Li Hao's. It could be yours. I don't know."

Wang Lei pulled her against his chest, his hand sliding to her stomach, pressing flat against the fabric of her shirt. "Does it matter?"

She blinked up at him. "Of course it matters!"

"Why?" He tilted her chin up, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "I told you I'd take care of you. That includes this. Keep it."

"Keep it?" Her voice rose in disbelief.

"Yeah. Keep it." His hand pressed harder against her belly, a possessive gesture. "You think Li Hao's gonna step up? He's miles away, jacking off to videos of his girlfriend getting fucked by other guys. Be realistic, Tongtong. I'm here. I can give you a place to stay, money, whatever you need. All you have to do is let me take care of you."

She wanted to argue, but the logic was seductive in its simplicity. And underneath the fear, buried deep in her gut, was a thrill she couldn't name. His hand on her belly felt like ownership. Like she was being claimed.

"I need time to think," she said weakly.

"Take all the time you need. But I already know your answer." He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction. "You're gonna be a mom. How does that feel?"

She didn't know how to answer.

Over the next few weeks, her body began to change in ways she hadn't expected. Her breasts, already soft and saggy from years of being full, swelled again. The areolas darkened, becoming larger and more pronounced. By the time she was ten weeks along, her bras no longer fit. Wang Lei bought her new ones, larger ones, and watched her try them on with hungry eyes.

"Your tits look incredible," he said one evening, his hands cupping the new weight of them. "They're fuller. Heavier. I can't wait to see what they look like after the baby comes."

She blushed but didn't pull away. The truth was, her body felt more sensitive than ever. Her nipples ached constantly, and when Wang Lei touched them, she moaned before she could stop herself. He took full advantage, spending long minutes sucking and kneading until she was wet and breathless.

"You're gonna be so good at breastfeeding," he murmured against her skin. "All that milk. I'm gonna taste it before the baby does."

The thought should have disgusted her. Instead, it made her core tighten with desire.

Li Hao called every night. His voice was cheerful, full of plans for their next visit, for their future. Zhang Tong listened with a hollow feeling in her chest. She hadn't told him yet. She didn't know how.

"I've been thinking," he said one evening, his voice low and eager. "About what we talked about last time. The exhibition stuff. I found some new videos I want us to try. Maybe you could wear a loose top, no bra, and walk around campus. Let people see the outline of your nipples."

Zhang Tong's hand drifted to her belly, still flat but no longer hard. "I don't know, Hao. I've been… tired lately."

"You're always tired. Is everything okay? You sound weird."

"I'm fine. Just exams stress." The lie came easily now.

When she finally told him, ten days later, she did it over the phone. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out.

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale. "What?"

"I'm pregnant. I just found out."

"Fuck, Tong. Fuck." His voice cracked, then rose with excitement. "That's amazing! That's—holy shit, I'm gonna be a dad!"

She closed her eyes. Her fingers pressed against her stomach. "You're not… upset?"

"Upset? No way! This is perfect. We've talked about this before, you know, after graduation." He laughed, a giddy sound. "I guess it's a little early, but who cares? We'll make it work. I'll transfer schools, find a job near you, we'll get a place together—"

"Li Hao, stop." But he didn't stop. He kept talking, spinning fantasies of their future, of the baby, of the three of them as a family. Zhang Tong listened with a growing numbness. She didn't correct him. She didn't mention Wang Lei. She let him believe it was his.

"I can't wait to see your belly," he said, his voice dropping. "You're gonna look so beautiful. Sexy. Pregnant women are so hot, Tong. You have no idea."

She felt a lurch in her stomach. "That's… weird, Hao."

"It's not weird. It's biology. Maternal glow, bigger boobs, all that." He paused. "I wanna have sex with you when you're showing. I wanna fuck you from behind and watch your belly hang."

"Li Hao." But her voice had no heat. Part of her was turning the image over in her mind, testing it. Wang Lei's baby in her belly, Li Hao fucking her from behind. Both of them using her body for their pleasure.

"I'll visit next month," Li Hao said, his voice decisive. "We'll celebrate. I promise I'll take care of you."

After she hung up, Zhang Tong sat in the dark of her dorm room, her hands resting on her stomach. Two men. Two futures. One body.

Wang Lei arrived an hour later, letting himself in with the key she'd given him. He found her on the bed, still in her clothes, staring at the ceiling.

"Li Hao knows," she said flatly.

"And? What did he say?"

"He thinks it's his."

Wang Lei smirked, unbuttoning his jeans. "Good. Let him think that. It makes things easier."

"It makes things more complicated," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

He crawled onto the bed, pushing her legs apart and settling between them. His mouth found her neck, her chest, her belly. He pressed a kiss to her navel, then lower.

"He's gonna want to fuck me when I'm showing," she said, her voice hitching as his fingers slid under her waistband.

"Let him." Wang Lei's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "I don't mind sharing. As long as I know whose cum you're really carrying."

She bit her lip, her hips arching into his touch. The wetness was already pooling between her thighs, her body betraying her again. He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her skin.

"See? You're already a good little mommy. You're learning."

She came with a gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders. And when he rolled her over and entered her from behind, his hand splayed across her lower belly, she felt it—the future pressing down on her, heavy and inevitable.

The baby would come. The lies would grow. And Zhang Tong knew, in the deepest part of her, that she was already lost.

The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of our shared apartment, casting striped shadows across the cluttered coffee table. Zhang Tong was in the shower, the distant sound of water against porcelain a familiar hum. Her phone buzzed on the table—a message notification. I glanced at it automatically, the way you do when a device lights up in your peripheral vision. Wang Lei’s name flashed on the screen. My hand moved before my brain caught up.

I picked it up. I knew her passcode—we had no secrets. Or so I thought.

The chat history opened to a string of messages from the past week. My thumb scrolled up, heart thudding in my ears as words and images unfolded. Photos I’d never seen: Zhang Tong in our bed, nude, thighs spread, her fingers parting her wet folds. Captions from Wang Lei: *“Look how wet you get just thinking about me.”* Her response: *“I can’t stop. I need you inside me again. Li Hao doesn’t make me feel like this.”*

There were videos. Thumbnails showed her on her knees, his thick cock—impossibly large—slick with her saliva, her mouth stretched wide. His hand tangled in her hair, forcing her deeper. The time stamps were from yesterday afternoon, while I was at work.

The bathroom door clicked open. Steam rolled out, and Zhang Tong emerged wrapped in a towel, hair dripping. She saw me holding her phone. Her face went pale, then flushed a deep, ugly red.

“Li Hao, I can explain—”

“Explain what?” My voice cracked. I held up the phone. “Explain why you’re letting him fuck you? Why you’re sending him pictures in my bed?” The words scraped my throat raw.

She took a step forward, hand outstretched. “It’s not what you think. It started as a joke, and then—I couldn’t stop. He makes me feel things you can’t.”

“You never even tried,” I said, bitterness coating every syllable. “I suggested the exposure videos because I thought it would bring us closer. I thought you were doing it for me. For us.”

“I was doing it for me.” Her voice hardened. She let the towel fall, standing naked in front of me. Water droplets clung to her skin. Her saggy breasts swayed as she crossed her arms. “You want the truth? I’ve never come with you. Not once. Two years, Li Hao. Two years of faking it. Wang Lei made me cum the first time he put his dick inside me. He fills me completely. I feel whole with him.”

I stared at her, at the woman I loved, now a stranger. “So you’re leaving.”

“Yes.” She walked to the dresser, pulled out a suitcase. “I’m moving in with him today. He already found an apartment near the university.”

She packed quickly, mechanically, as if she’d rehearsed this moment. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her fold clothes, memories of our shared life crumpling into fabric. The silence grew heavy, filled only by the slide of zippers and the soft rustle of fabric.

When she was done, she turned to me. No tears. No regret. “I’m sorry,” she said, but the words felt hollow.

“Don’t be,” I muttered. “I’ll send you your stuff.”

She walked out, the door clicking shut behind her. I sat in the dim apartment, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air. My phone buzzed. A message from her: *“I’ll always be grateful for what we had. But I need this.”*

I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the browser, fingers trembling, and typed the name of a site she used to post on. I scrolled through videos she’d uploaded months ago—public park benches, alleyways, her lifting her skirt for anonymous viewers. I watched her spread herself open for strangers, her face contorted in pleasure I’d never seen. My cock hardened even as my heart ached. I stroked myself, imagining Wang Lei’s massive cock sliding into her, her moans, her surrender. The fantasy burned through me, equal parts pain and perverse arousal. I came with a choked cry, shame and satisfaction mixing in my gut.

I knew then that I was lost. That watching her degrade herself for others had become my new addiction.

Across town, Wang Lei’s apartment smelled of fresh paint and cardboard. He’d moved in two days ago, the space sparse but functional. Zhang Tong stood in the bedroom doorway, suitcase at her feet, watching him unpack a box of sex toys.

“You nervous?” he asked, not looking up.

“No. Just… it’s real now.”

He straightened, walked to her, and slid his hand under her shirt. His fingers found her nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “You’re mine now. No more hiding. No more pretending.”

She gasped as he pulled her shirt over her head, unsnapped her bra. Her breasts fell free, heavy and soft. He bent, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Her knees buckled.

“I want you to call me ‘Master’ from now on,” he murmured against her skin. “And I want you to tell me exactly how much better I am than him.”

She nodded, words lost as his hand slid into her jeans, fingers pressing against her soaked underwear. “You’re so wet already. I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“I can’t help it,” she breathed. “Just thinking about your cock makes me drip.”

He guided her to the bed, stripped her completely. She lay there, thighs parted, waiting. Wang Lei took his time, undressing slowly, watching her writhe. When he finally freed his erection—thick, veined, a full nine inches—her mouth went dry.

“Suck it,” he ordered.

She crawled to him, took him into her mouth, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. He held her head, forcing her deeper, her tears mixing with saliva as she struggled to breathe.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Take it all.”

After he came in her mouth, he flipped her onto her stomach, entered her from behind with one smooth thrust. She screamed, the stretch overwhelming, her walls clenching around him involuntarily. He fucked her hard, skin slapping against skin, her face buried in the mattress.

“Whose cunt is this?” he demanded.

“Yours,” she sobbed. “All yours.”

He came inside her, hot and deep, and she collapsed beneath him, legs trembling. He didn’t pull out. Instead, he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, his cock still buried inside her.

“We’re going to do this every night,” he said, tracing patterns on her hip. “And you’re going to record every session. Post it for your viewers. Let them see who you belong to.”

She nodded, exhausted, content, defeated.

A text buzzed on her phone. She glanced at it: Li Hao, simple and hollow: *“I saw your new video. You looked happy. I’m glad.”*

She didn’t reply. She set the phone aside, pressed her body against Wang Lei’s warmth, and let sleep pull her under.

Meanwhile, I lay in our empty bed, scrolling through her profile one last time. I saved every photo, every video, every desperate moan. In the dark, with only the glow of the screen, I replayed the moment of her betrayal, over and over, until the pain twisted into something else—a dark, shameful excitement that left me hard and hollow.

I whispered into the silence: “I hope he makes you cum every time.”

And I meant it.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fresh flowers. Zhang Tong lay in the bed, the newborn sleeping in a bassinet beside her. She felt hollow, emptied out, but not just from the birth. Her body had changed in ways she hadn't anticipated. When she looked down at her breasts, they were heavier, the areolas darker and larger, stretched like saucers across the swollen mounds. The hormones had done their work, leaving permanent marks that made her feel both maternal and obscene.

Li Hao had visited once, awkward and distant, holding the baby with trembling hands. He said he had to go back to work, but she saw the relief in his eyes when he left. He hadn't touched her, hadn't even kissed her cheek. That night, she cried silently into the pillow, the baby's cries echoing from the nursery.

A week later, she was back in her cramped apartment, the baby sleeping fitfully in a secondhand crib. Her phone buzzed. Wang Lei.

*Missed you. Need to see you. Tonight.*

She should have said no. She was exhausted, still sore, her body not her own. But the thought of his hands, his voice, the way he made her feel like nothing else mattered—it was a drug she couldn't refuse. She left the baby with her neighbor, a kind elderly woman who doted on the child.

He was waiting in the park, leaning against the same tree where he had first exposed himself to her. The autumn air was cool, and she shivered in her thin jacket. He didn't say a word, just grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the shadow of the bushes.

"Show me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. Her fingers worked the buttons of her blouse, exposing the nursing bra underneath. He pulled it down roughly, and his eyes widened at the sight of her breasts—the dark, puffy areolas, the veins visible through the pale skin.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You look like a whore cow." He squeezed one, and a bead of milk appeared. He bent down and licked it off, his tongue rough against her sensitive nipple. She gasped, a jolt of something between pain and pleasure shooting through her.

He pulled out his phone. "Smile for the camera."

She looked away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to face the lens. He took several photos, zooming in on the milk droplets, the discolored skin, the look of shame in her eyes. Then he sent them to someone—she didn't know who, didn't want to know.

"I'm going to share these," he said, pocketing the phone. "Let everyone see what a good little mother you are."

She should have slapped him. She should have run. Instead, she felt a wetness between her thighs, a shameful arousal that made her hate herself. He saw it in her eyes, the surrender.

"On your knees," he said, and she obeyed.

He unzipped his pants, his cock springing out, massive and familiar. He didn't bother with foreplay, just shoved it into her mouth, guiding her head with his hand. She gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she kept going, tasting herself, tasting the milk that still lingered on his skin.

Afterward, he left without a word, and she crawled back to her apartment, her knees scraped, her makeup ruined, her soul and body in tatters.

Months passed. The baby grew, but so did Zhang Tong's depravity. Wang Lei came and went as he pleased, sometimes bringing friends, sometimes filming them. She stopped fighting, stopped caring. Her apartment became a stage for his fantasies, her body a canvas for his degradation.

One afternoon, he showed her a website. Her own photos were there, spread across the screen, with captions: *Tongtong the milk cow*, *Suzhou's favorite slut*. She stared at them, numb, recognizing the park, her bedroom, the bathroom of a nightclub she barely remembered.

"People love you," he said, grinning. "You're famous."

She didn't respond. The baby cried from the other room, and she went to nurse him, her breasts aching and full. Wang Lei followed, watching her feed the child with a sick fascination.

"Still lactating," he said, touching her nipple. "That's hot."

She didn't push him away. The baby sucked, and Wang Lei's hand moved lower, between her legs. She was wet already, a slave to her own body. She let him take her there, bent over the crib, the baby still nursing, his tiny hand gripping her finger.

Later, she stood on the balcony, looking down at the street. The lights of Suzhou glittered below, cars moving like blood cells through arteries. She thought of Li Hao, of the girl she used to be—the volunteer, the chairperson, the woman who believed in love. She was gone, replaced by this hollow thing that existed only for Wang Lei's pleasure.

I watched her that night, from the shadows of the building across the street. My heart was a tangled knot of pity, disgust, and something I didn't want to name. I recognized her from the photos, from the whispers that spread through the university like a virus. She had become a legend, a cautionary tale, a source of secret arousal for half the male population.

I followed her story from a distance, piecing together fragments from online forums, leaked videos, and the occasional sighting in the campus corner store, where she would buy diapers and instant noodles with hollow eyes. I never spoke to her. I never could.

But I wrote it all down, every sordid detail, every gasp and moan and tear. Not to judge, not to exploit, but because it needed to be recorded. Because someone had to tell the truth about what happens when desire meets degradation, when love becomes a leash, when a person gives up the last shred of herself.

The baby cried again. Zhang Tong turned from the balcony, her silhouette framed against the neon sky. He called her name, and she went to him, her feet bare, her mind blank, her body ready.

I closed my notebook and walked away. The story was far from over, but I had enough for now. Enough to write this chapter, enough to remember how a life can begin—and end—in so many ways.