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BDSM Romance/Erotica Novels involving Asian females

My Sexual Submission to White Power: The Diary of an Ordinary Chinese Woman’s Transformation from an Obedient Asian Wife to a Masochistic Chink Slut by Claire Liu

Shanghai Baby by Wei Hui

Asian Women in Love by Claire Liu and Michelle Liu

Philosophy of White Man Worship by Emily Chin Lynch

Adopted Asian Daughter by Jessica Wang

Confessions of Submissive East Asian Women: a philosophical novel on BDSM, interracial love, dominant White men and submissive east asian women relationships by Jennifer Suzuki

Training of Inferior East Asian Women by Jennifer Suzuki

Romantic Rape of Nanking: War Crimes of Love by Jennifer Suzuki

Century of White Worship by Jennifer Suzuki

The Origin of My Obsession

When I was in high school, being one of the few Asian girls, I was feverishly pursued by many white boys. Even though secretly I was very much attracted to them, I was scared to death at the same time and I never had the courage to accept their advances. I rebuffed them, acted as if I was offended, but in reality I very much craved and enjoyed their attention.

I remember going home once and I heard a guy saying, “When I grow up, I’m going to China. Because there are so many Chinese women in China and they all love white American guys.” The other white boys chimed in and said the same, how so many Chinese women will marry white American men for green cards, how “We are all going to China to bring hot Chinese wives to America to bang them like sluts.”

Their conversation made me feel very embarrassed, and yet simultaneously it rekindled a question to me that I was never able to answer, a question that all Asians sort of knew in their heart of hearts but sometimes were just … kind of … embarrassed to admit. Whence this attraction between white guys and Asian girls? I know as an Asian girl that I’m simply irresistible to many white guys. And of course, some people would say that those white guys have yellow fever, Asian fetish, etc. On the other hand, there are many, many Asian women who absolutely love and worship white men so much so that it has become an open secret and so much so that it has become a fact so well known that people would rather shamefully conceal it. …

I remember once overhearing a conversation my mom was having with a girlfriend of hers, a divorced single mother from Shanghai who lived in New York. She bragged about the beautiful landscape on Long Island, the quiet neighborhood, and most specially, the beautiful people. “They are all white! So beautiful. I want to go live there. I want to buy a house there.”

When I was in college I shared a suite with three other Asian girls and one white girl. The white girl was the only one who had a boyfriend, a tall white boy with a full beard. One night, when the white girl was out of town, the white guy put his moves on one of my Asian roommates. My Asian roommate wasn’t considered beautiful by Asian standard. Her skin was dark, her eyes were small, and she was short and her legs bowed like a typical Japanese. But something about her attracted the white guy, what, to be honest, I wasn’t sure. The white boy was tall, over six feet, over a foot taller than all the Asian girls in the suite, and also much taller than any of the Asian boys. His brown beard made him look ruggedly handsome. His girlfriend, the white girl, was tall also, around 5 feet 8 at least. They towered over the rest of us like two aliens with long slender limbs and giant torsos.

Long story short, that night he caroused his way into our room and started to cajole and tease my roommate, a shy and reserved Asian girl who had never been with a boy before. With honeyed words, trinkets and gawds, trifles, nosegays and sweetmeats, messengers of strong prevailment in unhardened youth, he filched her heart and seduced her to bed with him. He said he has always been secretly attracted to Asian girls. Something about her made him tingle whenever he saw her. My roommate later said that she has experienced a joy that she had never experienced in her entire life up to that point. “It was love,” she said. They went to bed together and I heard her moans. Like all the rest of us, she was a virgin at the time. But unlike the rest of us, she was made a woman that night.

It was my first time to know a girlfriend of mine having actual sexual experience other than merely fantasized.

Ever since she became a changed person. She started wearing high heels; she pierced her ears and wore earings; she put on perfume and painted her face with makeup. Soon, words started to spread. The boyfriend of the gorgeous white girl deflowered an Asian virgin, in the suite 203.

I suppose we all knew her love was doomed. There was no way that he would leave his drop-dead gorgeous, blond-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend, to be with her, a lowly, nerdy Asian girl. Even so, she still felt happy during that period of time. She felt loved, and she loved, even if that love was doomed to be sad. She did everything he demanded of her, and she even asked one of my other Asian roommates to join her in a threesome, just for him. Both of them were virgins before he deflowered them. “Two Asian virgins deflowered by a white guy who already has a girlfriend, a white girl”, so the rumor spread.

Ever since, I have been obsessed. I always wondered, how come Asian girls are so easy when it comes to white men? Why are those Asian girls, supposedly chaste, seemingly virtuous, studious, obedient to their parents, reserved and observant of their traditional Asian culture, become so cheap, so slutty, so whorish, so easy prey to the charms of handsome, tall, gentle white men?

That was my freshman year in college. By my sophomore year, my other roommate, the only other remaining Asian girl from suite 203, also had a boyfriend, an international student from Portugal. He was far from good looking. He was short; his teeth was crooked; he had black hair, and his skin wasn’t even very light. He had those swarthy Mediterranean features, as one of my white girlfriends explained to me. I accidentally bumped into them on the bus and she introduced him as her boyfriend, which surprised me since she had never told me about it. She seemed embarrassed. I don’t know. Maybe it was I who felt embarrassed. She didn’t talk much. After the first semester she moved off campus with her boyfriend and I rarely saw her again.

At some point I started to connect the dots. I was reminded of my aunt Julie, who at the time—before I entered college—was in her late twenties and was gorgeous. When I applied for colleges, she accompanied me to my interview for MIT. While I was being interviewed, in a coffee shop, sitting across a narrow aisle, my aunt was being “hit on” (I suppose that’s the correct nomenclature to describe what I saw) by a white guy. After the interview, I walked over to tell her that we can go and I saw them exchanging numbers. She told me the guy was a lawyer and went to Brown University and he asked about why she was sitting there alone by herself. She told him about my interview for MIT. My aunt came from a very prestigious family in China. Her father worked in the politico bureau of the Chinese Communist Party and her mom was the Vice Chair of the Beijing Board of Education. She herself got her MBA from Purdue University and worked as an operations manager for NYU. Being not only gorgeous and absolutely beautiful, but also wealthy and well-educated, of course she had many suitors …

Jump now to two years after that uneventful event. My aunt was moving out of her old apartment and we were helping her. And I saw that white guy again. I just realized that he wasn’t very tall, only around 5 feet 7, which is very short for a white guy. Most of the white guys I saw on campus were well over 6 feet. He was rather good looking, but given how most white guys are very good looking for us Asian girls, he probably didn’t really stand out among white guys. My aunt saw me staring at him and told me that “you can talk to him.” I honestly don’t know what she meant by this at the time, but it was what she said, and so I started talking to the white guy, hesitantly. The white guy didn’t seem to want to talk much either anyway. When my aunt was off to carry some more boxes and was out of sight, the white guy led me to a corner of the bedroom and showed me a box and in this box was a large, brown spider covered with hair. He was very excited to see how scared I was, and, leaning close to me, with an evil smile on his face, he whispered in my ear: ”At night, when we have sex, I would tie Julie to the bed, and put this on her body. Then she does anything I ask of her.” I was shocked, but trying to be polite, I smiled awkwardly. When Julie walked in, I smiled at her with that kind of smile that showed that I sort of knew what was not supposed to know. She glared at the white guy and didn’t say anything.

From what I could surmise, I guess my aunt Julie was also engaged in some sort of SM relationship with her former white boyfriend, just like in the novel Shanghai Baby. Art imitate life or life imitate art? I don’t know, but it seems that many Asian women engaged in relationships with white men are also engaged in SM relationships. And just like in the novel, Julie has had a long time Chinese boyfriend who was still living in China. A few years later, she married that Chinese guy. Like most Chinese men, he is very much hen-pecked and “pussy-whipped”, if I’m using the expression correctly. And no, he never knew about Julie’s past relationship nor about her submissive role in the bedroom with her former white boyfriend. Julie had warned my mom to never let me bring up about that white boyfriend in front of her Chinese husband.

Having an Asian ride your White Cock requires constant supervision.

An Asian is not used to a cock this big and so when it enters her for the first time you can bet you will hear a loud scream as she cums like a 20-dollar-Chinese whore. She won’t know how to maneuverer your cock in her cunt, as she squirms in pain trying to crawl away and she won’t be able to slide every inch of your cock inside her and she will be constantly shifting positions to try to accommodate you in anyway she could think of, unable to gain comfort or satisfaction.

As you watch your big white cock slide in and out of her tight Asian cunt, you can see her hole being stretched wider than normally possible and it will feel so right.

Because remember, though Asians may be smart, once she gets a white cock inside her, she loses all her cognitive functions, ends up lost in her lust and becomes a stupid white-cock-obsessed whore.

So you will need to guide her and make sure she knows she is serving you correctly.

Good Asian requires good training. Good Asian needs to be constantly reminded of her purpose in life. Only then can white men help Asian achieve any worth in her life and help her become a better slave for the enjoyment of the White Race.

Asian slut seduces her future father-in-law

I was having dinner at my future father-in-law’s house when my fiancé got a call from his work place. His boss asked if he could take an extra night shift and he agreed. He didn’t have time to drive me home, so we decided that I’d stay the night in his old room, a small bedroom on the second floor, right next to his dad’s master bedroom. It wasn’t the first time. He and I had slept there before so it wasn’t an issue.

As night fell I slipped in my pajama shorts and a thin, loose-fitting, white T-shirt. Even though the shirt was a bit big, it was hugging my breasts showing my nipples and my body. I was feeling sexy, so I sent a naughty text to my fiancé.

I was watching Netflix in the bedroom room when John, my future husband, the love of my life, the master of my universe, started to voice-chat with me.

He said he was bored and asked me what I would do to his dick if I were there with him. Smilingly, I explained how I would tease him by licking and kissing his cockhead until he would grab my hair and slam his entire cock down my throat. When he was done with my mouth he would force me to stand up and bend over his desk as he did whatever he pleased with my holes. My pussy was getting so wet as I dirty-talked to him and I said that I really needed to be fucked. Badly. I would do anything for him to take me right there and then.

After he had cum, we stopped sexting. Technically he was still at work, so he actually was supposed to be doing something. I was feeling pretty thirsty after all those talking so I thought I would get a glass of water from the kitchen before slipping back under the blankets and then I was going to be getting myself off.

It was about 2:00 A.M.

I figured his dad would be fast asleep. Therefore I didn’t care to put my shorts back on. Wearing just my T-shirt and underwear, I snuck into the kitchen. While the water was running from the tap, I felt a hand gripping my hair and another hand caressing my butt. A warm, whiskey-smelling breathe of air tickled my ear as I heard the words: “So, you would do anything for a good fuck?”

I just froze, paralyzed by the shock of being groped and not understanding what was happening. John’s father abruptly yanked me by the hair from the sink and I fell to my knees only held upright by his tight grip of my hair. It hurt so bad I thought it was gonna fall out. I tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Suddenly his cock was in my wide-open, scream-less mouth. “Lick it,” he said. I tried to shake my head. “Lick it,” he repeated. “Lick it like the good Asian slut you are”.

He pulled out and I quickly closed my mouth and tried to get free, but it was hopeless. He proceeded to smear his precum on my lips. After my lips were fully covered by his precum, like a glossy lipstick, he told me to open my mouth. When I refused he took a big black paper clamp and pinched my nose so that I couldn’t breathe. Finally, I had to gasp for air and that was when he jammed his cock right down my throat. I felt disgusted and gagged a little as his cock was deep in my throat.

He face-fucked me for about 15 minutes making my eyes tear up and sometimes he would stay in deep for so long I thought I’d pass out. The father’s cock is so much bigger than his son’s. When I finally got to breathe properly I coughed and cried and asked him to stop, but he just answered that he knew I liked it and needed a big white dick inside me.

He pulled me up, turned me around and bent me over the sink, shoving my head under the still-running, ice-cold water. His hands pulled down my panties, and I was so wet I could feel my own juice between my thighs. Even though I was scared to death and crying my eyes out, being forced to blow him got me really horny. Plus I was already soaking wet from earlier.

He laughed and said he knew I would love it and that I was “just another submissive asian slut” and needed to be good to him. He ran his cock up and down my pussy and asshole. John’s father had been divorced twice and his third wife was also Asian.

Not knowing when he was going to put it in or where he was going to put it was both terrifying and exciting. Suddenly he was forcing his dick into my pussy, thrusting hard. He grunted and moaned and I felt a sting of pain as he put his thumb in my ass. I pleaded “no” several times but he kept his finger there as he fucked me. Without warning he pulled out and shoved his entire cock in my asshole.

I screamed from surprise and insane pain, but he only seemed to get even more excited by that. He spanked my ass hard, several times, to get me to scream louder. Then he started to breath more and more heavily until he pulled his cock from my ass and came all over my butt. He slapped me on my butt cheek a last time, turned off the tap and just walked away.

I remember trembling as I headed for the bathroom. The ugly black paper clamp was still clamped to my nose and it made me look like a clown. I took it off and my nose had turned beet-red. My hair was all wet. I turned around and saw big red finger marks on my ass. After cleaning myself up and recovering from the shock of what had just happened, I went back to bed and masturbated and came several times to what had just happened. I knew I should have felt disgusted. I was scared and deeply hurt while it was happening, but thinking about it afterwards just made me so horny.

For that entire night I was unable to sleep.

As the morning approached my heart was pounding hard. My face was blushing red and hot to the touch. I kept on thinking back to what happened and by the time it was about 7 A.M. I think I dozed off to a light sleep. And I dreamed a weird dream of John and his father using me at the same time. I felt so dreadful. Then I realized it was just a dream. I wondered how could I ever see both men eye-to-eye again. As I dozed off to sleep again I was nudged awake and I saw John standing right next to me with his cock out. I was startled, but recollected myself after realizing it was my love. Without saying another word he shoved his cock in my mouth and face-fucked me. It was now day time and the sun was beating hot on our naked bodies, reflecting off a golden sheen. Memory of what had happened the previous night made me emotional and I started to tremble and tear up. John didn’t seem to notice as he turned me over on the bed and started to fuck me in my pussy. I was moaning loud and almost screaming as I came. After several more minutes John came too and fell asleep laying on top of me.

I lay awake still wondering how I could face him and my future father-in-law, as my hand slipped beneath the crushing weight of John and started to finger myself again.

Confession of an Asian cum dump

Lisa

Gender: female

Age: 32

Height: 5 ft 2

Nationality: Japanese

Occupation: College Faculty at Manhattan School of Music, Associate Dean for Assessment & Programs

Relationship status: single

Hobbies: sucking white cocks and swallowing every drop of their cum

I randomly discovered this blog and I thought I’d make an confession and let you know something that makes me feel like a piece of inferior asian meat, a cheap slut and a horny cumdump.

I’m not really an Asian slut who sleeps around with a lot of white guys. I do not actively seek out white guys to have sex with, but it just naturally happened–that every guy I’ve ever been with has been a white guy. I have wondered why, and I don’t really know, not that it has mattered to me all that much. I’ve lived, studied, worked in America for a little over ten years now. Since day one of my sexual history with guys, I’ve always swallowed all the cum that’s ever been shot in my mouth, and licked up and swallowed all the cum that’s been somewhere else on my body.

I guess this started just because it’s kind of the way I “learned” to have sex—when I gave my first blow job the guy said “Oh yeah baby! Swallow my cum,” when he was about to orgasm.

So I just did.

At the time I felt it was impolite to do otherwise.

And then I did the same thing for the next several times we got together. Then, when we started having sex, when he was about to cum, he would—more often than not—pull out, pull the condom off his penis, straddle over my face and jerk off into my mouth. And sometimes, when some dribbled out to the side of my mouth or something, I would wipe it up and swallow that too.

It just seemed like the natural way to clean up.

So this just continued over the course of the next few boyfriends I had, then at one point I was with a guy who especially liked to cum on my face and on my tits and so forth, which made it a little more of a process. One night as I was doing cleanup, he told me how much he loved the way I swallowed all his cum, because previous girls had mostly wiped it off with a towel or something, and he told me how turned on he was every time he had sex with me. Because he knew when it was over I would swallow his load.

I asked if those previous girls were Asian and he said no.

I guess I didn’t fully realize until, back then, how much of a turn-on this was for guys, so I leaned into it more, and whenever we were making plans to get together, I would say stuffs like “I really need your cum tonight, can you come over?” or something like that, and he loved that, and I would beg for his cum while he was fucking me, and say “thank you” after I was done swallowing.

And it started to become a real turn on for me as well, so I have pretty much kept on with all that for every guy I’ve been with since.

Now I’m in my early 30s and sometimes when I masturbate I try to visualize all the cum I’ve ever swallowed collected in like a big jug sloshing around, and I feel like a complete psycho because I’m getting off not on images of guys or cocks or being fucked but just on this big pool of semen. It makes me orgasm really hard. Soooo … yeah there’s my confession, good to get it off my chest, so to speak.

White God in Shanghai

Chapter 26

Miss Chink wakes up with a jolt. She has just fallen down some stairs in a dream, and she bolts upright, momentarily disoriented. It is dark, and she’s in White God’s bed alone. Something has woken her, some nagging thought. She glances over at the alarm clock on her bedside. It is five in the morning, but she feels rested. Why is that? Oh—it’s the time difference—it would be five in the afternoon in New York.

Holy crap … I need to take my pill.

She clambers out of bed, grateful for whatever it is that has woken her. She can hear faint notes from the piano. White God is playing.

This I must see.

She loves watching him play. Naked, she grabs her bathrobe from the chair and wanders quietly down the corridor, slipping on her robe and listening to the magical sound of the melodic lament that’s coming from the great room.

Shrouded in darkness, White God sits in a bubble of light as he plays, and his hair glints with burnished copper highlights. He looks naked, though she knows he’s wearing his PJ bottoms. He’s concentrating, playing beautifully, lost in the melancholy of the music. She hesitates, watching from the shadows, not wanting to interrupt him.

I want to hold him.

He looks lost, sad even, and achingly lonely—or maybe it’s the music that’s so full of poignant sorrow. He finishes the piece, pauses for a split second, then starts to play it again. She moves cautiously toward him, drawn as the moth to the flame … the idea makes her smile. He glances up at her and frowns before his gaze returns to his hands.

Oh, crap, is he pissed off that I’m disturbing him?

“You should be asleep, Chink,” he scolds mildly.

She can tell he’s preoccupied with something.

“So, should you,” she retorts not quite as mildly.

He glances up again, his lips twitching with a trace of a smile.

“Are you scolding me, you little chink slave?’

“Yes, my White God, I am.”

He frowns once more as a trace of irritation or anger flashes across his face.

With me? Surely not.

She ignores his facial expression and very bravely sits down beside him on the piano stool, placing her head on his bare shoulder to watch his deft, agile fingers caress the keys. He pauses fractionally, and then continues to the end of the piece.

“What was that,” she asks softly.

“Chopin. Prelude pus twenty-eight, number four. In E minor, if you are interested,” he murmurs.

“I’m always interested in what you do.”

He turns and softly presses his lips against my hair.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Play the other one.”

“Other one?”

“The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed.”

“Oh, the Marcello.”

He starts to play slowly and deliberately. She feels the movement of his hands on his shoulders as she leans against him and closes her eyes. The sad, soulful notes swirl slowly and mournfully around Ms. Chink and her White God, echoing off the walls. It is a hauntingly beautiful piece, sadder even than the Chopin, and she loses herself to the beautify of the lament. To a certain extent, it reflects how she feels. The deep poignant longing she has to know this extraordinary White God better, to try to understand His sadness. All too soon, the piece is at an end.

“Why do you only play such sad music?”

She sits upright and gazes up at him as he shrugs in answer to her question, his expression wary.

“So you were very young when you started to play?” She prompts.

He nods, his wary look intensifying. After a moment he volunteers. “I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”

“To fit into the perfect family?”

“Yes, so to speak,” he says evasively. “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?”

“I need to take my pill.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Well remembered,” he murmurs, and she can tell he’s impressed. “Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour and then another half hour tomorrow mroning. So eventually you can take them at a reasonable time.”

“Good plan,” she breathes. “So what shall we do for half an hour?” She blinks innocently at him.

“I can think of a few things.” He grins salaciously. She gazes back impassively as her insides clench and melts under his knowing look.

“On the other hand, we could talk,” she suggests innocently.

His brow creases.

“I prefer what I have in mind.” He scoops her onto his lap.

“You’d always rather have sex than talk.” She laughs, steadying herself by holding on to his upper arms.

“True, especially with tiny chink slaves.” He nuzzles her hair and starts a steady trail of kisses from below her ear to her throat. “Maybe on my piano,” he whispers.

Oh my. My whole body tightens at the thought. Piano. Wow.

“I want to get something straight,” she whispers as her pulse starts to accelerate, and her inner goddess closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his lips on her.

He pauses momentarily before continuing his sensual assault.

“Always so eager for information, Miss Chink. What needs straightening out?” He breathes against her skin at the base of her neck, continuing his soft gentle kisses.

“Us,” she whispers as she closes her eyes.

“Hmmm. What about us?” He pauses his trail of kisses along her shoulder.

“The contract.”

He lifts his head to gaze down at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes and sighs. He strokes his fingertips down her cheek.

“Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?” His voice is low and husky, his eyes soft.

“Moot?”

“Moot.” He smiles. She gapes at him quizzically.

“but you were so keen.”

“Well, that was before. Anyways. The rules aren’t moot. They still stand.” His expression hardens slightly.

“Before? Before what?”

“Before …” He pauses and the wary expression is back.

“More.” He shrugs.

“Oh.”

“Besides, we’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”

“Do you expect me to?”

“Nothing you do is expected, chink.” He says dryly.

“So let me be clear. You just want me to follow the rules element of the contract all the time and not the rest of the contract?’

“Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules—all the time. Then I know you’ll be safe, and I will be able to have you anytime I wish.”

“And if I break one of the rules?”

“Then I’ll punish you.”

“But won’t you need my permission?”

“Yes.”

“And if I say no?”

He gazes at the chink for moment, with a confused expression.

“If you say no, you’ll say no.”

She pulls away from him and stands. She needs some distance. He frowns as she stares down at him. He looks puzzled and wary again.

“So the punishment aspect remains.”

“Yes, but only if you break the rules.”

“I’ll need to reread them,” she says, trying to recall the details.

“I’ll fetch them for you.” His tone is suddenly businesslike.

Whoa. This has gotten serious so quickly.

He rises from the piano and walks lithely to his study. Her scalp prickles.

Jeez, I need some tea. The future of our so-called relationship is being discussed at 5:45 in the morning when he’s preoccupied with something else—is this wise?

She heads into the kitchen, which is still shrouded in darkness. Where are the light switches? She finds them, flicks them on, and pour water into the kettle.

My pill!

She rummages in her purse, which she left on the breakfast bar, and finds them quickly.

One swallow and I’m done.

By the time she finishes, White God is back, sitting on one of the barstools, watching her intently.

“Here you go.” He pushes a typed piece of paper toward her, and she notices that he’s crossed some things out.

RULES

Obedience:

The Chink will obey any instructions given by the White God immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Chink will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the White God excepting those activities that are outlined in hard limits (Appednix2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

Sleep:

The Chink will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight seven hours’ sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant.

Food:

The Chink will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed listed of foods (Appendix 4). The Chink will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.

Clothes:

While with White God, the Chink will wear clothing only approved by the White God. White God will provide a clothing budget for the Chink, which the Chink shall utilize. White God shall accompany the Chink to purchase clothing on ad hoc basis.

Exercise:

White God shall provide the Chink with a personal trainer four three times a week in the hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agree upon by the personal trainer and the Chink. The personal trainer will report to the White God on the Chink’s progress.

Personal Hygiene/Beauty:

The Chink will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Chink will visit a beauty salon of the White God’s choosing at times to be decided by the White God and undergo whatever treatments the White God sees fit.

Personal Safety:

The Chink will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger.

Personal Qualities:

The Chink will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than White God. The Chink will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognized that her behavior is a direct reflection on the White God. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of White God.

Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by White God.

“So, the obedience thing still stands?”

“Oh yes.” He grins.

She shakes her head amused, and before she realizes it, she rolls her eyes at him.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Chink?” HE breathes.

Oh, fuck.

“Possibly, depends what your reaction is.”

“Same as always,” he says, shaking his head, his eyes alight with excitement.

Miss Chink swallows instinctively and a frisson of exhilaration runs through her.

Holyshit. What am I going to do?

“Yes?” He licks his lower lip.

“You want to spank me now.”

“Yes. And I will.”

“Oh, really?” She challenges, grinning back at him.

Two can play this game.

“Are you going to stop me?’

“You’re going to have to catch me first.”

His eyes widen a fraction, and he grins, slowly getting to his feet.

“Oh really, you little chink slave?”

The breakfast bar is between Miss Chink and White God. She has never been more grateful for its existence than in this moment.

“And you’re biting your lip,” he breathes, moving slowly to his left as she moves to hers.

“You wouldn’t,” she teases, “After all, you roll your eyes.” She tries to reasoning with him. He continues to move toward his left, as does she.

“Yes, but you’ve just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game.” His eyes blaze, and wild anticipation emanates form him.”

“I’m quite fast, you know.” She tries for nonchalance.

“So am I.”

He’s stalking her in his own kitchen.

“Are you going to come quietly?” He asks.

“Do I ever?”

“What do you mean, you little chink?” He smirks. “It’ll be worse for you if I have to come and get you.”

“That’s only if you catch me, my White God. And right now, I have no intention of letting you catch me.”

“Chink, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direction contravention of rule number seven, now six.”

“I have been in danger since I met you, my White God, rules or no rules.”

“Yes, you have,” he pauses, and his brow furrows.

Suddenly, he lunges for her, making her squeal and run for the dining room table. She manages to escape, putting the table in between. Her heart is pounding and adrenaline has spiked through her body.

Boy that is thrilling. I’m a child again, though that’s not right.

She watches him carefully as he paces delibeartely toward her. She inches away.

“You certainly know how to distract.”

“I aim to please. Distract you from what?”

“Life. The universe.” He waves one of his hands vaguely.

“You did seem very preoccupied as you were playing.”

He stops and folds his arms, his expression amused.

“We can do this all day, hink, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do.”

“No, you won’t.”

I must not be overconfident.

She repeats this as a mantra.

“Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you.”

“I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about my touching you.”

His entire demeanor changes in a second. Gone is playful White God, and he stands staring at her as if she has slapped him. He’s ashen.

“That’s how you feel?” He whispers.

Those four words, and the way he utters them, speak volumes.

Oh no.

They tell her so much more about him and how he feels. They tell her about his fear and loathing. She frowns.

No, I don’t feel that bad. No way. Do I?

“No, it doesn’t affect me quiet as much as that, but it gives you an idea,” I murmur, staring anxiously at him.

“Oh,” he says.

Crap. He looks completely and utterly lost, like I’ve pull the rug from under his feet.

Taking a deep breathe, she moves around the table until she is standing in front of him, gazing into his apprehensive eyes.

“You hate it that much?” He breathes, his eyes filled with horror.

“Well … no,” she assures him.

Jeez—that’s how he feels about people touching him?

“No, I feel ambivalent about it. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it.”

“But last night, in the playroom, you …”

“I do it for you, my White God, because you need it. I don’t. You didn’t hurt me last night. That was in a different context, and I can rationalize that internally, and I trust you. But when you want to punish me, I worry that you’ll hurt me.”

His eyes darken like a turbulent storm. Time moves and expands and slips away before he answers softly.

“But I want to hurt you.”

Fuck!

“Why?’

He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs.

“I just need it.” He pauses, gazing at her with anguish, and he closes his eyes and shakes his head. I can’t tell you,” he whispers.

“Can’t or won’t.”

“Won’t.”

“So you know why.”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“If I do, you will run screaming from this room, and you’ll never want to return.” He stares at her warily. “I can’t risk that.”

“You want me to stay.”

“More than you know.”

Oh my.

He gazes down at her, and suddenly, he pulls her into his arms and he’s kissing her, kissing her passionately. It takes her completely by surprise and she senses his panic and desperate need in his kiss.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me, and you begged me not to leave you, in your sleep,” he murmurs against her lips.

Oh … my nocturnal confessions.

“I don’t want to go.” And her heart clenches, turning itself inside out.

He is in need. His fear is naked and obvious, but he’s lost … somewhere in his darkness. His eyes are wide and bleak and tortured. The chink can soothe him, join him in the darkness and brings him into the light.

“Show me,” she whispers.

“Show you?”

“Show me how much it can hurt.”

“What?”

“Punish me. I want to know how bad it can get.”

“You would try.”

“Yes. I said I would.”

“You are so confusing.”

“I’m confused too. I’m trying to work this out. And you and I will know, once and for all, if I can do this. If I can handle this, then maybe you—“ Her words fail, and his eyes widen. He knows what she is referring to. For a moment, he looks torn, but then a steely resolve settles on his features and he narrows his eyes, gazing at her speculatively as if weighing up alternatives.

Abruptly, he clasps her arms in a firm grip and turns, leading her out of the great room, up the stairs, and to the playroom. Pleasure and pain, reward and punishment—his words from so long ago echo through her mind.

“I will show you how bad it can be, and you can make your own mind up.” He pauses by the door. “Are you ready, you fucking chink?”

She nods, her mind made up, and she’s vaguely lightheaded, faint as all the blood leaves her face.

He opens the door and still grasping her arms, grabs what looks like a belt from the rack beside the door, then leads her over to the red leather bench in the far corner of the room.

“Bend over the bench,” he murmurs softly.

Okay. I can do this.

She bends over the smooth soft leather. He’s left her bathrobe on. In a quiet part of her brain, she’s vaguely surprised that he hasn’t made her take if off.

Holy fuck, this is going to hurt … I know.

“We are here because you said yes, and you ran from me. I’m going to to hit you six times, and you will count with me.”

Why the hell doesn’t he just get on with it? He always makes such a meal of punishing me. I roll my eyes, knowing full well he can’t see me.

He lifts the hem of her bathrobe, and for some reason, this feels more intimate than being naked. He caresses her behind, running his warm hand all over both cheeks and down to the tops of her thighs.

“I’m doing this so that you remember not to run from me, and as exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me,” he whispers.

And the irony is not lost. She was running to avoid this. If he’d opened his arms, she’d run to him not away from him.

“And you rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that.” Suddenly, it’s gone—that nervous edgy fear in his voice. He’s back from wherever he’s been. She hears it in his tone, in the way he places his fingers on her back, holding her—and the atmosphere in the room changes.

She closes her yes, bracing herself for the blow. It comes hard, snapping across her backside, and the bite of the belt is everything she feared. She cries out involuntarily and takes a huge gulp of air.

“Count, chink!” He commands.

“One!” She shouts at him, and it sounds like an expletive.

He hits her again, and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the blet.

Holy shit … that smarts.

“Two!” The chink screams.

It feels so good to scream.

His breathing is ragged and harsh, whereas hers is almost nonexistent as she desperately scrabbles around her psyche looking for some internal strength. The belt cuts into her flesh again.

“Three!” Tears spring unwelcome into her eyes.

Jeez—this is harder than I thought—so much harder than the spanking. He’s not holding anything back.

“Four!” The chink yells as the belt bites her again, and now the tears are streaming down her face.

I don’t want to cry. It angers me that I am crying.

He hits the chink again.

“Five.” Her voice is more a choked, strangled sob, and in this moment the chink thinks she hates him.

One more, I can do one more.

Her backside feels as if it’s on fire.

“Six,” she whispers as the blistering pain cuts across her again, and she hears him drop the belt behind her, and he’s pulling her into his arms, all breathless and compassionate

And I want none of him.

“Let go …. no …” And she finds herself struggling out of his grasp, pushing him away. Fighting him.

“Don’t touch me!” She hisses. She straightens and stares at him and he’s watching her as if she might bolt, eyes wide, bemused. She dashes the tears angrily out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, glaring at him.

“This is what you really? Me, like this?” She uses the sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe her nose.

He gazes at her warily.

“Well, you are one fucked up son of a bitch.”

“Chink,” he pleads, shocked.

“Don’t you chink me! You need to sort your shit out. White God.” And with that, she turns stiffly, and walks out of the playroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

Sex-starved Shanghai slut begs a white man to fuck her.

She was expecting a delivery from Amazon today and, due to the gradual up-tick in poverty and crime as a result of the coronavirus pandemic, stealing has been a huge problem and so she was following the driver’s progress on her phone. She would see that he was now … seven stops away … four stops away … one stop away … and she now saw him pull up to the side road near her house.

I couldn’t possibly have planned this; not in a million years, she swore to herself. The delivery man was a young Caucasian man in his mid-twenties, handsome—beautiful, with steely long legs, strawberry blond hair, and deep-blue eyes. She couldn’t resit. It has been months.

Her body screamed: “I need a cock. A white cock. This delivery man’s cock. I need his cock like I need my next breathe.”

She opened that door as the handsome young white man set down the parcel. She could tell something startled him. It was my ferocious look, she thought, my cock-starved stare. Unable to believe herself even, she blurted out: “Hi, Sir! Wanna … fuck me?”

She would never be able to forget the next thing that happened for the rest of her life.

He lifted his left hand, looked at the wrist watch, then lifted his eyes and made a face as if he was thinking: Hmm, I don’t know if I have the time; and in stead of saying what he was thinking, he merely said, “Really?’

“Yes!” She said. She—similarly confused, exasperated, frustrated, and desperate—pulled down her own blouse like a bitch in heat, popping out to the cold December air her round, perky breasts, and to which he replied: “Ok, but it has to be quick.”

A man telling me in advance he was going to be quick, she thought to herself, in horror, no man has ever said that to me. But she was unable to think. She shut the door behind him and got on her knees to pull his cock out and started sucking on it. As soon as the cock was hard, she pulled down her jeans to her knees and got on all fours in front of him. She was rubbing her clit as fast as she could. I can try to cum while he’s fucking me, she thought to herself. His steely white meat was pumping into her yellow flesh raw, then—

Then his phone rang. Oh my god, you are answering it, she thought to herself again, as her eyebrows furrowed, while you are ball-deep inside me—bareback! This is the first time it has ever happened to me!

He hung up and said: “I really can’t stay much longer.” He resumed pounding her and she managed to cum a split second before he finished. He started pulling out before he even stopped cumming, so a lot of his semen spilled on her clothing and her carpet. Then he zipped himself up and ran out of the door.

And then, there was her: on the floor on all fours, with a stranger’s cum running down her legs and soaking into her carpet. She felt like such a piece of yellow trash for needing to be fucked so badly that she would give herself to the first white guy she saw and letting him use her on the floor of her own house and leave without even saying—“thank you …”

She started to cry, and said to herself, “And yet I loved it!”

She stayed on the carpet, still, on all fours and made herself cum a few more times fantasizing about other white guys coming in through her unlocked front door and just helping themselves to the pathetic chink slut inside. Nobody ever did, but she would have been very welcoming if they had.

Dumplings made of human flesh

“… one lives a super-normal life, like the Chinese. That is to say, one is unnaturally gay, unnaturally healthy, unnaturally indifferent. The tragic sense is gone; one lives like a flower, a rock, a tree, one with Nature and against Nature at the same time. If your best friend dies you don’t even bother to go to the funeral; if a man is run down by a street car right before your eyes you keep on walking just as though nothing had happened; if a war breaks out you let your friends go to the front but you yourself take no interest in the slaughter. So on and so on.”

~ Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

It is said that there is something inherent in the nature of the Chinese, the cold, pathological indifference to the suffering of their fellow human beings, their own compatriots, even their own neighbors as long as whatever is happening does not concern themselves or their immediate family members. Western observers only get glimpses of it and mention it in passing, sporadically in their writings, but it is the Chinese themselves who are the most virulent critics of their own salient national trait. Xu Lun, the leading figure of modern Chinese thought, famously described this sociopathic apathy of the Chinese as the tradition of cannibalism, a result of rigid, deep-rooted and cannibalistic Confucianism.

Whatever the merits of Xu Lun’s remark might be, there are indeed many instances of cannibalism throughout Chinese history, and many on such large scale that it’s difficult for a westerner to fathom its scale.

During the period of five dynasties and ten nations (五代十国), it is said that one particular nation state in north-east China captured 10,000 concubines from the Sima royalty’s palace to be sold as sex slaves, and as the victorious army marched back to its northern capital, food shortage became a serious problem, and the soldiers began eating those concubines. Once the army had returned to its capital, only 5,000 concubines were still alive. The rest were all eaten by soldiers.

In north-western region of China during the same period, a nation state famously kept “two-legged sheep” for its army. “Two-legged sheep” were human females captured during war. When there was no battle to be fought, the soldiers ravished those females for pleasure to boost their morale, and when they became hungry, they cooked them for food.

During the interregnum between Ming and Qing dynasty, several warlords ruled China, and one particular man, by the name of Zhang Xianzhong, was legendary for his level of cruelty, even by Chinese standards. He kept thousands of concubines in his palace. They were not allowed to wear anything to cover their genitals and walked around in his palace half-naked, with beautiful clothing on the upper half of their bodies, and completely naked below the waist. This was to ensure that whenever Zhang was in the mood, he would have unimpeded access to their vagina. After he had sex with one of his many concubines, he sliced off her breasts and vagina, cooked and ate them.

As I lay on my bed and listened to countless stories of cruelty beyond the limits of human imagination narrated coldly, objectively by historians, I felt my limbs numb and I was unable to move, partially paralyzed by fear, partially stunned by those incredulous historical records. Surely, even if those things were made up, who would have the imagination to make those stuffs up? So they must have been real!

There were many, many more: such as how, after capturing a city, Zhang would gather all the females in the city, cut off their breasts, vagina, and feet, and pile them into different piles, so there would be several small mounds made of human parts. Then he would bring his favorite concubine over and let her observe with him. When she said, “it was so pretty, specially those women’s dainty feet.” Zhang said, “but your feet are the prettiest,” and proceeded to cut off her own feet and placed them on top of the mound made of human feet. Those human parts all became Zhang’s troops’ food ration.

Speaking of cannibalism, one cannot possibly omit the story from Chinese classic literature Outlaws of the Marsh, a story known to all ethnic Chinese, in China, within the greater China region, and in overseas Chinese communities. A restaurant hotel uses human flesh to make dumplings for travelers. Wusong, the main protagonist of the story, finds a human nail inside the dumpling.

As always, fiction is merely an imitation of real life. There has been at least ten reported cases of restaurants using human flesh in modern China since 1960. The problem is, CCP (the Chinese Communist Party) refuses to release details on any of the cases, so what we are left with are merely urban legends, rumors, hearsays, and no real accountable sources to back up any of the stories.

One account of cannibalism verified and reported in the western hemisphere that I know of is by Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times. According to a Japanese soldier stationed in Manchuria during World War II, there was a Chinese street peddler who sold human flesh as pork. “I brought some pork from this Chinese street peddler and ate it. Then someone told me it was actually human flesh. I vomited nonstop for an entire day,” according to Nicholas Kristof’s recount of the Japanese soldier’s recount of the event.

For what is worth, according to stories posted on the internet, allegedly a dumpling restaurant in Beijing served human flesh in 1982.

The story goes as follows:

A customer has an argument with the restaurant owner. The owner accidentally kills the man. Without any place to hide the corpse, the owner decides to butcher the remains, slices all the flesh off its bones, mixes them in with pork to use as fillings for his dumplings. The taste of human flesh turns out to be so delicious that the restaurant business is booming. Many customers especially likes the taste of those fresh, sweet-tasting meat inside the dumplings. “Not as greasy as the other pork.” “More tender than regular pork.” “I don’t know what kind of meat you are putting in those dumplings, but it’s so damn good!” The customers allegedly tells the restaurant owner. Because the taste of human flesh is apparently so delicious the owner of the restaurant goes on to kill several more people to make his human-fleshed dumplings, including a husband and wife from Xian, and a factory worker from the outskirt of Beijing. Eventually a medically doctor eats his dumplings and felt something odd. “Why does it smell like dead people?” The medical doctor allegedly says to a neighbor. According to the story, because the doctor deals with corpses all the time, he is able to detect the distinct smell of human corpse that no other people is able to detect. The doctor calls the police, and the police raids the restaurants and finds a human leg in the freezer.

Another restaurant that used human flesh for dumpling fillings allegedly took place in Chifeng, inner Mongolia, 1988. A couple’s daughter died and was about to be cremated. Before cremation, the mother accidentally touched her daughter’s remains inside the body bag, and felt it was empty. She felt weird and asked the staff to open the bag for her to see her daughter’s remains one more time and was shocked to find out that someone had sawed off her daughter’s legs. She called the police. After investigation, the police discovered that the staff in the funeral home had sold her daughter’s legs to a local restaurant. The restaurant, one of the oldest and most well-known in all of Chifeng, coincidentally, also sells dumplings, and was famous especially for its dumplings. Further investigation revealed that the restaurant owner had been buying human flesh from the staff of the funeral home and using them as dumpling fillings for over seven years.

1960, Tianjin: A local restaurant was famous for its dumplings. The owner was Mr. Wang, a middle-aged bachelor. A perpetual loner, he came to Tianjin and lived in a single apartment by myself, without any relatives in the city. According to Mr. Wang, he had a wife before but his wife ran off with another man but “I feel content living by myself now.”

Everyday he started to made dumplings at four in the morning, begun to sell his dumplings by six, and by eight o’clock, all his dumplings would be sold out. People would fight over one another to buy his dumplings. Everyday he only made 500 dumplings, never hired any helper, and never had any apprentice. People thought his secret recipe was handed to him by his ancestors and he had no intention to let anyone else outside to know.

One day a woman came to the police station, complaining that after eating Mr. Wang’s dumplings, her son nearly choked to death with a small fragment of a bone inside the dumplings. The police dismissed the woman, merely said that the staff from the sanitation department would give Mr. Wang a warning. An elderly police officer took over the bone and said the bone looked weird. “It doesn’t look like an animal bone.” At his insistence, the bone was taken for forensic examination and when the result came back, the whole police department dropped its jaw to the flower.

The bone turned out to be the fragment of a human toe bone.

At Mr. Wang’s place, the police unearthed a basement filled with the remains belonging to seven different people. According to confession, Mr. Wang killed beggars who came to his house begging for food, then dismembered their bodies and used their flesh to make dumplings. He said he has also eaten his own dumplings made of human flesh, and he didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. “Besides, nobody ever got sick from eating my dumplings, and I’ve been using human flesh to make my dumplings for over two years.”

Nanjing beauty turned into KFC

September 2014

Nanjing, the provincial capital of Jiangsu province, China, the ancient capital to six different dynasties, witness to countless historical atrocities, is today one of the largest city in Southern China, on par in terms of GDP to Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Shanghai.

Eerily similar to our story about Dao Aiching, our story begins with a beautiful young female being carved into many pieces …

At Nanjing’s famous Toulejia Food Street, cleaning staff noticed something strange. Over a period of three consecutive days, enormous amount of cooked meat was discarded in the industrial-sized common garbage dump. Given that the location was a food street, clustered by dozens of restaurants, many of which would throw out hundreds of pounds of processed food in a single day, strange it may be, but still within bounds of reason.

However, within the cleaning staff was Mr. Gao, a Vietnam war veteran.

According to Mr. Gao:”I have seen thousands of corpses. I have seen people being hacked, burned, and maimed. And when I saw the meat inside the bag, I just knew it was human.”

The large plastic garbage bag containing the cooked meat had loose seams and a piece of it fell out out of the bag. It was a large chunk of well-cooked meat, with ketchup smeared all over the smooth surface. As Mr. Gao picked it up and was about to toss it back into the bag, he paused and said to the other staff: ”What kind of meat is it? It’s not chicken. It’s not pork. It looks like a human thigh.”

As the realization shocked Mr. Gao, he immediately called the police.

The police arrived within a few minutes and confirmed that they were indeed human flesh.

In total, police recovered two dozen garbage bags all filled with hundred pieces of human flesh. Forensic examination indicated that flesh has not only been cooked, but also frozen prior to being cooked, and might have been frozen and cooked, frozen again, and then cooked again.

“The entire process would have taken at least ten days,” according to the police report.

Putting the pieces together, forensic investigators identified the remains of a young female in her early twenties. No human head was recovered. Her body was white and smooth. Her breasts were buxom and her nipples perky. Her hips were wide and rotund.

The perpetrator seemed to have no knowledge of human anatomy. Much of the cutting was done by brute force with no particular skill.

Surveillance camera revealed a person in dark clothing, wearing a baseball cap and a mask over his face, throwing those plastic bags at the garbage dump.

There was one piece of fingerprint on the rope tying the bag, but a search for the fingerprint returned no result, indicating the perpetrator did not have any prior criminal history.

The police focused on the fact that remains had been frozen, and searched for all transactions involving freezers. However, given the mega-city status of Nanjing, it was impossible to trace every single buyer of freezers over a period of several months. It lead to nowhere.

Particularly puzzling was the fact that no human head was recovered anywhere.

And who is the young female? No one reported any young woman missing that fitted the description of the victim.

The case became cold for two years.

October 2016, a couple in their late forties came to Nanjing from Yanchengshi, the rural area of Jiangsu, and reported that their daughter, Hee Chingching, has been missing for two years. After identification, the remains indeed matched that of Hee Chingqing. At the time of her death, Ching was 20 years old, and was working in Nanjing as a prostitute in an unamed high-end KTV club.

According to the mother, Ching has stopped called home two years ago, and instead would send a few text messages stating that either she wanted to move to a different city or she had no mood to talk. When the couple tried to call their daughter, her phone would either be deactivated or no one would answer. The father said that “Ching has always been a very stubborn child. She never listened to us, and did whatever she wanted.”

During the two years, Ching’s parents continued to make efforts to contact Ching, but she never responded, only sending text messages once in a while. Fearing some ill-foreboding, the parents traveled to Nanjing to look for her. In Ching’s apartment, the parents found that while all her furnitures were still inside the room, her expensive jewelries, bank cards, phone, and laptop were all missing. At the time they still thought that their daughter was traveling or “eloped” with someone.

The father said, “When Ching came home, she wore very revealing luxury-brand clothes and had all kinds of jewelries and fancy stuffs, so we sort of knew what kind of job she did in Nanjing. I forbade her to go back to Nanjing, but she wouldn’t listen. She said she will go back to Nanjing even if I break her legs. We have no control over her.”

As early as January 2015, the couple had tried to report their daughter’s missing to the police, but rural province is very different compared to big cities such as Nanjing. The police there are very lax and won’t even make a police report. “If you make a police report, then you have to solve the crime. So they often talk you out of making police reports.” The father said, “They told me because my daughter was still sending me text messages, so she was not missing. We had to wait for two years before we can officially declare her to be missing.”

For more than a year, the middled-aged couple had been living in Nanjing searching for their daughter.

Due to the two year gap, police investigation became very difficult. Surveillance do not keep record for two years. Also trying to reach Ching’s former friends have now become difficult. Since she worked in high-end KTV clubs, most of her associates were either fellow prostitutes or johns, many of whom are very shy around the police, to say the least.

Eventually, they were able to track down a former prostitute-friend of Ching who lead the police to investigate Mr. Chiao, a senior level industrial engineer working in a large state-owned enterprise.

Mr. Chiao came from a well-educated family. Both his parents are college professors. Mr. Chiao is mild-mannered, slightly chubby, and spoke in a soft and submissive voice. Initially the police was suspicious whether he was indeed the murderer.

A lengthy confession and the gathering of material evidence sealed the case airtight.

After becoming a senior-level industrial engineer, Mr. Chiao was frequently invited to high-end KTV clubs by wealthy clients and he became acquainted with Ms. Hee Chingching. Enamored by her beauty, Mr. Chiao kept her as his concubine, secluded her in a luxury apartment in the wealthiest district of Nanjing for his own enjoyment. However, at the time Mr. Chiao is already married and has a daughter. Ms. Hee not only demanded large sums of money from Mr. Chiao but eventually started to demand that he divorce his current wife and marry her instead. Whenever she was not getting what she wanted, she threw tantrums and threatened to reveal their affairs to his wife and parents. Mr. Chiao is by nature docile, submissive, and cowardly, and caved in to her every demand but, as her demand became more and more outrageous, Mr. Chiao reached a tipping point. One night, after a particular grisly fight between the two, Mr. Chiao strangled Ms. Hee.

He kept her remains inside the bathroom, brought a freezer from a local store, had it delivered to her apartment. The delivery man was inside the living room while Ms. Hee’s corpse was in the bathroom. After the delivery man left Hee’s apartment Mr. Chiao dragged her corpse out of the bathroom and stuffed it inside the freezer and then went and brought a set of butcher knives and several large pots in preparation to dispose the body by cooking her. However, realizing that the smell of cooking human flesh might be too strong and invite suspicions from neighbors, he decided to do it at a different location. He rented a vacation house in a remote country area outside of Nanjing metro area and had the freezer along with Ms. He’s corpse inside delivered there via a rental mini-van. Then he started the process of cooking her. He dismembered her in a total of two hundred small pieces. Cooked each piece for over a day. Then fried. As he was cooking her flesh, he added in soy sauce, and ketchup, and other ingredients to make it appear like KFC-styled chicken meat. The entire process took him fifteen days to complete. Then he had her remains shipped back to her apartment, inside the same freezer, via the same rental mini-van. And later dumped her remains in separate garbage bags in the nearby Toulejia Food Street.

Regarding the missing head.

Mr. Chiao testifies that he had boiled Ms. Hee’s head until nothing was left except for the skull and her brain. He then carefully took her brain mass out of the skull, dumped it into the sewer, and locked the human skull in a safe, along with her ID, bank cards, and clothes. The safe, whose password is only known to Mr. Chiao, was then given to a work-associate. Mr. Chiao told the work-associate that it contained some very important work-related documents and cannot be opened without his permission.

He later sold the freezer that was used to store Ms. Hee Chingching’s remains to a local restaurant at the Toulejia Food Street.

Nanjing University, China, January 1996: freshman college student Dao Aiching was found carved into 2,000 small pieces. Her remains cooked, neatly stacked in plastic bags and scattered around the city of Nanjing.

Nanjing University, China, January 1996: freshman college student Dao Aiching was found carved into 2,000 small pieces. Her remains cooked, neatly stacked in plastic bags and scattered around the city of Nanjing.

Reality is always stranger than fiction.

Due to insomnia, I have been listening to some podcasts to help me fall asleep, and one particular podcast, a documentary of true crimes that happen in China, turned out to be so interesting, so thrilling, so gruesome that it had kept me awake for entire nights.

This story, that of Dao Aiching, is one of the hundreds of stories that I have listened to.

There are even more interesting ones and when I have time I will translate the best ones into English and share them with my western audience. My last post, pear garden’s underground palace, was a literal translation of two separate true crime stories reported in China.

It is said that China only reports solved crimes. It is very rare that you get an unsolved crime, such as this one about Dao Aiching, reported and the only reason that it was reported at all was because it was so extremely gruesome it was nearly impossible to cover it up.

There are many, many stories about people going missing and years later their corpses were found stuffed in freezers, their remains cooked and eaten.

Those murders that happen in China, the forbidden East—so mysterious, so extremely cruel, and on such massive scales the most horrifying western thrillers written by the most creative writers of the Occident pale in comparison.

A couple and their children sleep next to a small room with a freezer locked with chains and inside hides the remains of a corpse, for four years. A man who kills his wife and keeps her remains for … 11 years. A man who has been “hunting”, butchering, and eating his victims for 20 years, who is frequently seen pushing a cart with mysterious cargo in the middle of the night, strolling his neighborhood like a ghost. A woman who has poisoned to death her brother-in-law’s three children, her sister-in-law’s four children and their livestock—dozens of sheep, hogs, and ox, over a period of ten years. A rapist who sliced off the genitals of women after he rapes them and got away with it for five years. Each story seems more unbelievable than the next. Each story seems to undo the next for its level of depravity, its descent into unimaginable terror.

This particular case that I write about now happened on January 19th, 1996. It took place in Nanjing, the provincial capital of Jiangsu, an area known to produce the most beautiful women in all of China.

The victim was Nanjing University’s freshman student Dao Aiching.

Ten days after she went missing, her body was found carved into 2,000 plus pieces, cooked, neatly stacked into medium-sized plastic bags and scattered around the neighborhoods near Nanjing University. The first report of discovery was made by a middle-aged housewife who claimed to see a black plastic bag in the snow outside of her house. When she picked it up, she thought she saw chopped pork meat inside. She went home to take the meat out and discovered severed human fingers hidden under the thick layers of meat. After nearly passing out, she called the police. And she was so agitated that she was not able to speak coherently for several hours.

Another location of discovery was in a garbage dump. Cleaning personnel discovered a bag full of cooked meat discarded near Huajiao road. Human breasts were discovered in the bag.

The police overseeing the case said that they have seen cases involving dismemberment, but dismemberment of more than 2,000 pieces was a first since the end of World War II.

Because the victim’s body has been cooked, there was little evidence of forensic value to use for the detectives. Even though over thousands of police were involved in the case, to this day, it remained unsolved.

The murderer—whoever he or she or they is or are—has never been caught and roams freely on the surface of earth.

According to what I can recollect in the podcast, they said the murderer was most likely to be either a doctor, a cop, or a medical scientist. “No ordinary human has the ability to carry out such intricate level of dismemberment, under the extreme duress of killing another human being. The murderer has some extraordinary psychology. All the flesh was meticulously severed, cooked, and neatly stacked, like sushi platters. He must have had very competent knowledge of human anatomy and possibly had experience dissecting human corpses.”

The police investigated all the people in this respect but to no avail. Aiching was a peasant girl from rural province of Jiangsu. She has never had any romantic relationship, and has just been in Nanjing for less than a year. It was unlikely to be a crime of passion. So, perhaps, it was random. But her friends had said that she was a very shy girl who never talked to strangers. So it was must be someone she knew. Maybe a professor. Or a classmate. The person must be very gentle-looking and well-educated in appearance in order to gain her trust.

Three roommates of Aiching were asked to identify her corpse, but the police was hesitant. “It’s difficult even for a trained professional to look at the body and not want to vomit. How can those 19 year old girls look at it?” One of them became so shook up even before going into the morgue and refused. Another stopped at the entrance. Only one was brave enough to go in. The grisly sight was so overwhelming she saw only a tiny bit before she rushed out and started to throw up.

After some research on the internet, there is actually one account in which the author claims that the case actually had been solved just within three weeks of initial discovery. The perpetrators were a couple who worked as doctors and medics in the Chinese military PLA (People’s Liberation Army). They in fact had confessed to killing Dao Aiching. But the police were unable to find any material evidence form a complete chain of evidence to prove their case in court. The district attorney therefore refused to prosecute due to lack of evidence. Eventually the couple was released from jail.

The author further claims that the couple in fact had connections to high ranking officials within the PLA and that was the real reason they were never prosecuted. Within a year after they were released, the couple fled to the United States and never returned.

Source and reference: [graphic warning]

google 南京大学碎尸案

https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E5%8D%97%E5%A4%A7%E7%A2%8E%E5%B0%B8%E6%A1%88

https://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%8D%97%E4%BA%AC%E5%A4%A7%E5%AD%A6%E7%A2%8E%E5%B0%B8%E6%A1%88

http://www.xxdao.com/c/141896.shtml

The Pear Garden’s Underground Palace 梨園の地下宮殿

Many years later, after the truth about his atrocities surfaced and became known to the wider public, the reporter, working for the Japanese national newspaper wrote down the following sensational subtitle: “He kidnapped women from China and Korea, turned them into sex slaves in his underground palace. Like an imperial emperor, he entertained by torturing, maiming and mutilating his victims. When he got bored, he killed them.”

TRUE CRIME DOCUMENTARY

translated from Japanese

On April 23rd, after being sentenced to death, Mizuno Ken was executed in the Fukuoka’s Sawara-ku’s northeast district. With a crisp gun-shot sound reverberating through the clear, fresh air of the bright noon, Mr. Mizuno ended his bloodthirsty criminal life, but his atrocities still lingered like a dark cloud that refused to dissipate, especially so for the local Chinese women who had come to Japan to work and study. Whenever they were reminded of the mournful ghosts floating in the pear garden, their hair bristled up and their bodies trembled uncontrollably.

Above the pear garden, over the quiet night sky, a young woman’s pleading shot across the air, “Please save me. I need to go to school.”

Mizuno Ken was the owner of the largest pear garden in the Fukuoka prefecture, a well known businessman with many connections in the trade of agricultural export to China, Korea, and Taiwan. Six years ago, on a shimmering, aestival day of March—just the season when pear flowers blossomed, sitting in front of his pear garden—thousands of pear trees had the entire place covered with luscious green leaves—as the snow-white pear flowers floated whiffs of fragrance in the air, Mr. Mizuno pondered the implementation of an evil scheme.

Spending over the span of a year, with elaborate planning and intricate design, he built a secret underground palace in his own pear garden. From the outside looking in, it was a wooden shack, plain, simple and commonplace. Nothing special, you would say if you saw it. However, the interior was complex, maze-like, and spacious. The underground palace had two structures. The shack above ground served as a cover-up, but once you remove the wooden plank covering one of the corners in the shack, you would see an opening, and following the long, serpentine path spiraling downward, you would be led to the menacing underground chamber.

Once inside, you would see an upholstered king-sized bed with mahogany on one side, a throne made with golden frame and beige velvet right in the center. A few other household items all neatly displayed on the other side of the wall: the most distinctive ones being knives, hem ropes, industrial grade duct tapes, a pair of heavy-duty scissors, a steel-grip plier, and a forged iron fire tong.

Anyone who entered this underground chamber never came out alive.

Mr. Mizuno called this secret location his “梨園の地下宮殿”, (the pear garden’s underground palace).

“The palace has been built, the only thing missing are beautiful, young women.” Darkness, like a furnace of foul reeking smoke, filled the chamber. Mr. Mizuno sat on his throne and pondered, “If only I could get a few beautiful young women to accompany me inside my palace, how wonderful that would be! There will be delicious fruits during the day, and voluptuous, sensual females to play with at night. This is the heavenly paradise that Mizuno Ken pursues.”

Chen Xiao Jing was Mr. Mizuno’s first prey. At the time she was only 18 years old, immigrated to Japan with her mother from northeast China when she was ten. Her face was a perfect oval, white and smooth like porcelain, and long silky black hair fell to her soft creamy shoulders. Her virginal innocence, angelic purity, and dainty feet and delicate hands made Mizuno dying with lust the first time he saw her.

On March 22nd, 1998, as Mr. Mizuno was coming from the Hakata rail station he bumped into Chen Xiao Jing who was accompanied by three other Chinese girls. He walked up to Jing. After greeting her, he said: “The flowers in my pear garden are very beautiful. There’s a lot of small butterflies. And bees. Glow-worms at night. Oh what a wonderful sight! Do you want to see?”

Jing said, “I want to see,” and threw her book-pack to her friends and came to Mr. Mizuno’s pear garden. Seeing she had been completely isolated from her friends, Mr. Mizuno revealed a lascivious, evil grin that bared his carious teeth. He stripped Jing naked and pushed her into the shack, threatening her that: “If you scream, I will kill you.”

Chen Xiao Jing was 5 feet 2 and weighed 90 pounds; Mizuno Ken was 6 feet tall and 200 pounds. Years of farm work made him strong and muscle-bound.

Like a starved beast tormented by sharp pangs of hunger, Mr. Mizuno raped Jing over and over again, quenching his dreadful, evil thirst. After the fourth time of ejaculating inside her vaginally, he groped all over Jing’s body with his hands—rubbing her breasts, fingering her vaginal opening until he became hard again—and penetrated her anally and ejaculated, this time directly into her rectum. Until he could no longer maintain erection, he proudly stood over Jing’s puny body and proclaimed: “Now you will belong to me forever.”

After the repeated rape, he shoved a gag—consisting of two steel claw hooks that artificially held the victim’s mouth in an open position—into Jing’s mouth so she could not speak. Then he used the hem ropes to tie her hands and feet together behind her back, so she was in a hogtied position. He put her into a large burlap sack, and ditched her into a hole that was dug up previously using a shovel. With a slab of concrete to cover the hole, he left and waited to use her for the next installment of rape.

Mr. Mizuno returned home, walked around his neighborhood, and did not notice anything unusual. He felt his heart stopped pounding so violently.

“Initially, my heartbeat was driving me crazy. My whole body was shaking. I was sweating so much. The front and back of my shirt were all soaking wet. I was looking at myself from the outside. An out of body experience. Jing was my first victim. I will never be able to forget her.” Mizuno Ken said according to police report.

Later that night, Mr. Mizuno returned to the pear garden, dug her out of the hole, removed the burlap bag so that she was half-sitting inside it. Taking off her gag—while caressing her naked body with one hand and using another hand to embrace her into his massive chest, he said to her, looking into her large, round, tearful eyes: “If you obey me, I will let you go.”

Jing was wrapped and confounded in mind-numbing fears. She stared pleadingly at Mr. Mizuno and nodded. Her pitiful state of weakness and submission provoked his bestial lust again and he inflicted on her young and poor flesh another round of brutal rape that lasted for five hours. During the process he bit into her flesh with his bare teeth. Her breasts, buttocks, and inner thighs were covered with bloody teeth marks. As he penetrated her both vaginally and anally, he lifted her body upward and then slammed her against the ground and the violent impact caused Jing to break her rib bones. There was fracture in her left arm. Her wrists and ankles were bleeding from laseration.

After the rape, once again, Jing pleaded with her abuser: “Please let me go. My homeworks are not finished yet. I need to go to school. Please let me go.”

Grinning, Mr. Mizuno said, “Forget about going home. The underground palace will be your home from now on, and your purpose in life hereafter will be to serve me, satisfying me in any way I desire. You are from now on my sex slave.”

He wrapped several layers of industrial grade duct tape around her eyes and mouth, only leaving her nose for breathing. Putting her back inside the burlap sack, he ditched her into the hole for the second time and put the concrete slab back in place.

The night—hateful, vaporous, foggy—was silent to the extreme, like a guilty burglar scared to reveal his crime. Suddenly, the ear-piercing siren could be heard. There were people shouting Chen Xiao Jing’s name. Groups of people holding flashlights were looking for her. Mizuno Ken also joined them. They went and searched, ran and cried, furious and begged, frustrated and mourned, angered and stomped their feet in the ground, until the morn, in russet mantle clad, walked over the dew of yonder high eastward hill.

The next day, around 9 A.M., Mr. Mizuno went over to his pear garden, dug Jing out of the hole, and gently tapped her, while shouting, “My sweet angel. My child.” His purpose was to wake her so he could molest and rape her again, but Jing never opened her eyes again. There were only streaks of tears crisscrossing her round and smooth cheeks that radiated with hatred over the bright sun. Hastily, Mr. Mizuno buried her corpse under his pear tree.

Ever since, the pear garden was covered by the shadows of something mysterious and terrifying.

Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.” The words Mizuno Ken carved on the stone spirit tablet for every woman he killed. Were they really so eager and so willing to leave the living behind?

The hot afternoon of a bright summer day. The glorious sun, scorching the earth with heat. The pear garden, filled with the buzzing of cicada. Beneath the ground, from the underground palace, stealthily, faintly, one heard the sound of laughter and crying.

Mizuno Ken was sitting on the golden throne in his underground palace while several completely naked, young East Asian females served him. Sometimes he made them sing for him. Sometimes dance. Sometimes massage his back. Sometimes massage his feet. When he was in the mood, he had sex with them. After he vented his lust, those naked females crawled on their hands and knees and begged for mercy. They prostrated before Mr. Mizuno and kissed his feet. And if any of them dared to annoy or disobey Mr. Mizuno, he used corporal punishment to maintain discipline. Light infractions involved whipping, spanking; wearing electric shock collars, handcuffs and ankle cuffs for extended period of time. Heavy infractions involved mutilation, dismembering, disemboweling.

In order to prevent escape, Mr. Mizuno ordered those women to be completely naked both day and night, making them live the most primitive lifestyle. And if he ever got bored with any of them, he killed them one by one, and buried their corpses under the pear trees in his garden, as pear trees’ organic fertilizers. Then he would start to hunt for his new prey. Kidnap them. Enslave them in his underground palace. Train them. Discipline them. Domesticate them.

Police: “Why only Chinese and Korean women?”

Mizuno Ken: “Because it’s easier to kidnap non-Japanese women. The Japanese police would not take lots of time and effort to look for non-Japanese Asian women. After all, many of them are illegally trafficked to Japan anyway. Nobody cares about them. I have seen beautiful Russian women too, but I was afraid white women will cause too much problem. East Asian women are cheap and exchangeable.”

A day in 2001, August, Mr. Mizuno was riding his motorcycle on the countryside road and he saw a gorgeous, young East Asian woman, around 30 years old. Immediately he went back home and changed to his van to start hunting for his prey. This woman was Li Xiao Cui, 29 years old. Due to marital disputes with her husband, she decided to come to Japan looking for work. Mr. Mizuno used the pretext of hiring her for a job successfully seduced her to come to his pear garden’s underground palace. When Cui realized that something was amiss, she started to run. Using a baseball bat, Mr. Mizuno hit her over the head, causing her to become unconscious. He then dragged her into the underground palace, stripped off her clothes, tied her hands and feet. Over the course of one week he raped her 15 times. In order to prevent her from escape, he did not give her any clothes to wear. And if she screamed, he put the gag over her mouth.

Police: ”How long did you keep Li Xiao Cui.”

Mizuno Ken: “I kept her for two weeks.”

“How did you treat her?”

“So, my everyday routine was—come into the palace, have sex with her, and, after I have sex with her, beat her. I beat her until I became aroused again. Have sex with her again. And repeat.”

“Then what happened?””

“Her whole body was covered with bruises. I used a plier to twist her nipples. I loved hearing her scream. I used the same plier to twist her clitoris. I got so thrilled from looking at her pitiful and painful expressions—the way her whole body trembled as soon as I held the plier in her face, the way she cried and begged me to stop—it was so hot. I’m different from other men. I get turned on by the sight of women in pain. After I fucked her vaginally, I fucked her anally. Even as I fucked her I used my leather belt to whip her ass. I used a lit cigarette to burn her nipples and pussy. I felt this calmness and unspeakable comfort and joy. After I cummed in her, I stood up and pissed in her mouth, but she spilled some of the urine on my legs, which made me angry. So I used a fire tong, burned until it’s red hot, and pinched her clitoris. Then it would be about daytime, and I would head for home. The next evening I would come back.”

“Do you ever feel remorse or guilt?”

“Initially, yes, but afterward, the feeling would cease.”

Another time, Cui cursed at him, so to punish her, Mr. Mizuno used a sewing needle and thread to stitch her upper and lower lips together, with a total of 12 stitches shutting her mouth completely. Then, he stitched her vagina shut by sewing her outer labia together, with a total of six stitches.

“I can’t even stop laughing as I remember it. The way she tried to scream as I sewed her vagina shut. She couldn’t open her mouth. She got tears and nose water all over herself.”

Unable to feed or properly urinate, Li Xiao Cui begged and pleaded with her tormentor for release. With brinish pearls dropping from her once bright eyes she mumbled: “Please. Please. I do anything you want.”

So Mr. Mizuno decided to get her anti-inflammatory drugs, hemostatic, and bandage for some simple first-aid. But Mr. Mizuno never stopped tormenting her. Very soon, she became mentally unstable: everyday, naked and shackled, she crawled to and knelt by the toilet that contained her own feces. Morsel by morsel, she chewed and gulped down her own excrement.

The pear garden under the veil of pitch darkness, the shifting kaleidescope of darkness: gentle breeze caressed pear tree leaves to a rattle noise. As if to savor a momentary glimmer of consciousness, a shooting star slid across the sky above the pear garden. Poor Xiao Cui. That night she was raped and tortured by Mr. Mizuno for the very last time. After her mouth, vagina and rectum were all pumped full of Mr. Mizuno’s semen—the seed of monstrous birth brought out of hell itself, he bound her left arm to left foot, right arm to right foot, duct-taped her mouth, and holding a girdling knife—used for pruning off tree barks—sliced off her breasts, vagina, and her thighs, until she stopped breathing. Thereafter, he dragged her out of the secret chamber, a trail of blood like a dreamy rivulet slithered and meandered on the ground, unwinding, curling, strengthening, circling, in irregular patterns toward the exit.

“The Ambrosial joy of power, and victory, I feel when I maim and kill those weak, and inferior Asian women. It’s quite inexplicable. It’s the feeling of heaven. I felt like a god. My pears are also so sweet and delicious because of them, knowing that each bite I took was fostered by the decomposition of their once sweet, fragrant and tortured flesh.”

Like the previous victim, Cui was buried under a random, indistinguishable, nameless pear tree in the pear garden.

Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li) was a voluptuous, young housewife with big, round breasts, a wide hip and upturned buttocks, and a slim dancer-like waist. Her eyes were large and bright; her lips juicy-red. Her face was as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew. She was 26 years old at the time, 5 feet 7, with a sweet, seductive voice that mesmerized men. One night, Mr. Mizuno kidnapped her into the underground palace. He stripped her clothes, and made her sing and dance completely naked to entertain him.

She swung her wide hips from side to side and waltzed to show off her salacious buttocks and shamefully-exposed pussy as she was singing to the tone of popular Japanese love songs. Using her long and slender fingers she massaged her own breasts, squeezed them, lifted them, then shook them. Her sweet, melodious voice reverberated the cold, damp, heinous room filled with death, torture, rape, and slavery. As she stood with her back toward Mr. Mizuno, she slid down and knelt on the floor, spreading her sensual, creamy thighs, and then, pulling her silky, long black hair into a pigtail, she humped the floor, her naked hip bouncing up and down like balloons and her breasts and her pigtail moved synchronously. Her bright red toenails and fingernails appeared brighter under the electric pale lamp. Still on the floor, slowly she turned around to reveal to him her welcoming pussy, and two streaks of tears like two vertical scars cut across her face.

Ken Mizuno: “As I watched her, I thought to myself, if I had not kidnapped her, and enslaved her in my underground palace, I would have been her slave, because her beauty had enthralled me. So I had to do what I had to do. I had to enslave her to free myself from the lust that was burning inside me.”

While she was crying, he was smiling from ear and ear, licking his lips and smacking them together from time to time. As he watched her erotic dance and listened to her love songs touched with the shade of melancholic boughs, he took another big bite into the lewdly over-ripened pear, masticating a big trunk of it in his open mouth.

After he finished eating, like a crazed beast, he used a knife to stab into Yan-Li’s lily-white feet. Blood splattered and flowed, as if her red nail polish became amoebas and multiplied. Then he said: ”From now on, you are my slave. You are to be naked. To serve me. And if you try to escape, I will dismember you. Cut you into five pieces. You will be left with only a limb-less torso, like a pumpkin.”

Yan-Li was so scared that her whole body shook uncontrollably. Her teeth were clacking non-stop. All her wits banished the frail sepulcher of her flesh. Like a shell of her former self, she let him reign freely and wantonly over her, without any resistance.

In the pear garden’s underground palace, she had entered an alternative reality, into a world where there was no longer any morality. No more humanity. No more bounds of law that held the civil society together. Only the most depraved sexual desire of sadism reigned.

“I remember when I was a little boy, I used to vivisect little animals like rabbits, rats, and frogs. And I felt immense joy after doing this. This secret desire that I have carried has been living with me for my entire life. I wanted to withdraw from the outside world so I could live in a world of mine own making, where I am a king, an emperor, a lord, a deity; where I have the freedom to freely torture, rape, maim, kill. I feel so happy. So satisfied. I have lived a life that most people don’t even dare to dream of. Only in their nightmares maybe.”

Police: “Do you have any humanity left in you? Do you not have a wife? Do you not have any children? How could you do this kind of thing?”

“Where will be your bright star if it were not for the darkness? Where is the glory of your god if there is no evil? I simply did something that any man would do when he had completely given a free reign to his desires. I simply am living according to my true nature as a man. I forgo the mask of morality and civil society that enslaves man and inhibits man’s most natural and most rapacious desire. I did nothing wrong.”

The police officer felt his skull numb.

“How did you meet Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li).”

“I met Yuki two months after I killed Cui. I was at a karaoke bar and I heard her singing. I like torturing women like her. Her body was so sensual and erotic. From her accents,I knew she wasn’t Japanese. So that fit my description. I went there everyday to meet her, showering her with gifts. From chatting with her, I learned she was married to a Japanese man. Now divorced. And a single mother. I told her I had a cousin, a doctor, still single, and very wealthy, and that one day we could get together for dinner to introduce her.”

“How did you kill her?”

“But she was tough. She didn’t want to obey me. I had to whip her everyday. I poured salt on her open wounds. I beat her in this way for ten days. There was not a single healthy patch of skin left on her body. But she still did not submit. The next day I used a piece of branding iron, burned red hot, to brand her. On her nipples and on her back. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Everyday of her life in the underground palace felt as long as a year. Yan-Li had tried to escape, but she never succeeded. After the branding torture, she eventually submitted. She called him her lord and master and obeyed his every command with an absolute obedience. One day, after Mr. Mizuno’s bestial desire was quenched, as he was lying on his king-sized bed, Yan-Li, her feet shackled to the bed frame, was kneeling by his side and massaging his body, and she said: “My lord, please take pity on me. My parents are old and bed-ridden. I also have a child who’s only 7 years old and needs to go to school. Please just let me go take care of them at home. Once everyone is taken care off, I will come back to be your most obedient and royal sex slave. Everyday I will serve you. I will satisfy you in anyway you wish. My good lord, my merciful master, please, okay?”

Mr. Mizuno laughed, then became angry, and said to her: ”Every woman that had ever walked into my secret chamber has never came out of here alive. If you want to live, this is how you will end up.” He pointed at the hangings on the far end of the wall. On that wall, plastered with pale white paint, were several dismembered female genital parts.

He pointed at them and beamed with pride.

“I have this habit, where, whenever after I kill a woman, I sever her genitals and hang them on the wall like trophies. This is to warn the other females in the secret chamber that their only way out is to serve me with devotion and obedience, or else, they will become another mournful 怨霊 (ghost) under the pear trees.”

A hazy Autumn night, the sky canopied in the kingdom of perpetual night. Dark clouds, moonless, starless. Frosty air piercing to the bones, deadened and distorted by the moisture of rain, quivering like arrows in the resonant, empty expanse of dread and terror where foul deformity and misshappen chaos reigned. The thunderstorm roared infants from their sweet dreams with tormenting sights of hell, and then, as sudden as it had come, the Furies left and all was quiet again.

Mr. Mizuno raped Yan-Li once again, and felt like it was time to let her go.

“I felt bored with her. She was not obedient. It was meaningless. I bound her hands and feet together. Stuffed a sock into her mouth, then using a needle and thread I sewed her mouth shut. A total of 12 stitches from upper lip to lower lip. Then I sliced off her vagina and breasts. She was in a lot of pain. She pissed and shat all over herself. It was good enough. I decapitated her. Dragged her headless body out and buried her.”

Asano-Yang Yuki (Yan-Li) was buried under the pear tree of the 6th row and 39th column.

Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.” written on the spirit tablet, located at pear garden’s south-eastern direction, third row, counting from the northern direction the 42nd column, for Wang Xue Mei. Second row, 12th column, the same spirit tablet, Yu Riyin (Rikio).

“I believe in Buddhism, so I would carve a little stone placard for every woman after I have slept with her. One, I want to remember them. Two, I hope their spirits will not torment me. Even though I conquered every single one of them in my secret chamber, their mournful and revengeful spirits often surround me in my sleep. Their images appear in front of my eyes. One night, I dreamed of them. I saw Xiao-Cui, Jing, Yuki, Mei holding my legs and arms, pulling me in all directions, and dragging me toward a cauldron full of boiling oil. I was scared to death. Thankfully I woke up and realized it was a nightmare.”

Did Wang Xue Mei really want to leave the living behind? In her diary she writes: “1998, after I graduated from technical school, I was full of hope for life. Infinitely bright and radiant everything seemed. But my failed marriage had such a severe impact on me. Once, I was sitting by the bank of Shinano river and I wondered, how much release I would obtain by letting the turbulent river swallow me alive! But then, I saw a seagull. She was struggling against the mighty and contentious river. The tumultuous waves looked as if it was going to drown her. But in a brief moment, she reappeared on the surface of the water, and slowly, rose toward the blue welkin. Humans should strive to live, with the same fortitude of the seagull.”

From then on, Mei decided to reinvigorate her courage to live and rekindle her belief in life, A day of 2002, September, she came to Fukuoka to discuss with her good friend Yu Rikio about starting a massage-parlor business, and when they were looking for a store-front, unbeknown to themselves, they had become Mizuno Ken’s hunting-targets. Once he learned about their intentions, he started to cajole them: “I’m the owner of the largest pear export incorporated in all of Fukuoka. Right now I need female technicians. You two seem bright and motivated. Why not come to my company and assist me in my administrative department?”

Mei and Rikio felt enraptured, as if a gift had fallen out of sky, but was still a bit hesitant. At this point, a truck full of pears stopped at the commercial bus station, and Mr. Mizuno waved at the two to come with him to take a look. He said, “Look! Those are all my pears, from my agricultural center.” As he said it, he waved at the driver who—recognizing Mizuno Ken—smiled and nodded, and from the cabin he reached in and grabbed out a two handfuls of juicy pears for the two girls. “Have a taste. They juicy and sweet.”

The gullible and innocent pair munched on the fruits as they followed Mr. Mizuno to doom, hand-in-hand, skipping and smiling, into the garden of evil.

The innocuous-looking garden, covered by pear trees, a green sea bearing fruit for the sustenance of life, under the sunset glow, seemed golden, hiding its heinous deeds underground. Its luscious pears, heavy, ripe and eager to fall to the ground, bent the tender and delicate twigs as if to the point of breaking.

Mei and Rikio worked for Mr. Mizuno for a few days and started to notice that something was strange about him.

“I don’t know what is it with this guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it. Everything about this place just seemed eerie and strange. Sometimes it sent chills down my spine just coming to this place.”

“Mr. Mizuno does seem a bit lascivious and leery. I assume all Japanese men are a little bit like that. But think about it. They are just men.”

“Oh my god. You are not saying you actually like this creepy middle-aged guy, are you?’

“Of course not.”

“We must be careful. Remember the proverb, a woman’s beauty will provoke a criminal’s heart sooner than money.”

“I know. Of course I know.”

“Do you? Do you know what he did to me the other day? He tried to grope my pussy.”

“He did the same to me.”

“What! And you!”

“I don’t mind him touching me that much though.”

“We must leave this place. He is not a good person. Call the police. Come on. We must—”

“Don’t. I really need this job. I haven’t had a job for over half a year now. I know how to deal with men. Maybe he just wants to have sex with me. Maybe I will get him to give me some money. My family needs money desperately right now.”

“Listen. I have a very bad foreboding about this guy.”

“I think he is a generous person. Perhaps just too solitary. The isolation of this place does that to people. Japan is a safe place. There are very little crimes.”

For an entire night Rikio tried to convince her friend Mei that something was wrong with the place and urged her to leave, to no avail.

“For my family I’m willing to sacrifice everything, including my dignity. What is the worst he is going to do? Kill me? Haha!”

Mr. Mizuno became aware that they were now suspicious of him and became more cautious. He tried his best to hide his true self. It was easier said than done. It was so hard for him to not stare at those two beautiful young women working in his garden—their soft, puny, white forearms stretching upward to reach his pears, bending over revealing their upturned buttocks. He imagined to himself the depraved acts that he was about to commit to them, and yet he had to control himself, to maintain the facade of benevolence and generosity over the deep, subterranean caverns of his murderous, perverted sexual desire.

The night of Mid-Autumn festival—Tsukimi’s moon, round, brilliant and pale, reminded Mei’s and Rikio’s relatives in China. Time’s deformed hands had written strange disfigurement into Mr. Mizuno’s face. He seemed more and more peculiar by the day. Like a frightened bird Rikio’s heart pounded, a sense of foreboding overcame her, and yet, Mei little suspected the false-worshipper. So guiltless she still securely gave good cheer and reverent welcome to her princely employer, whose inward devil outward harm expressed.

“Mr. Mizuno is hiding something. He is lying to us. He is—”

“We are paid double the usual wage, right?”

“I’m scared. He has ulterior motives.”

“He’s definitely a pervert. He reached his hands under my shirt and fondled my breasts again this morning.”

“We must leave, Mei! It’s too dangerous. We must call the police.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I confront him and extort some money from me for sexually harassing both of us.”

“Please, Mei. Let us leave!”

Later that night, with deft expertise and experienced ease, Mr. Mizuno kidnapped Rikio and Mei into his vaulty underground “palace”. Mei had forever lost her chance to a happy life. Rikio were vindicated of her suspicions all along, but everything was too late.

“I should have listened to you!”

“It’s too late! It’s too late!” Rikio cried to Mei from inside the cage.

Almost choking with his unresisted lust, Mr. Mizuno kept Rikio inside a steel cage with spindles on all sides, while he tied Mei to the bed, and, over the course of five days, raped both of them continually, repeatedly, taking breaks only when he needed to rest. Every time they tried to put on their clothes, Mr. Mizuno would make them take their clothes off again. Finally, he decided that they didn’t need clothes anymore, and had them kept perpetually naked in the secret chamber. And when Mei and Rikio disobeyed his commands, they received the most brutal beatings of their lives.

Every time Mei disobeyed Mr. Mizuno, he used a butcher’s knife to make a mark on her back, to remind her that she was now his slave. Her lily-white back, crisscrossed with bloody red cuts—a silent war of lilies and roses—testified to humanity her tales of sorrow and misfortune.

Mr. Mizuno’s methods of torture were varied and creative. He had Rikio hang by her wrists from the ceiling and let Mei flog her, watching her feet dangle and dance in midair. Then he would alternate. Suspend Mei in mid-air and let Rikio flog her. He smeared honey on his penis and made Rikio and Mei lick the honey off his penis, and when their oral sex abilities were not to this satisfaction, he whipped both of them with his leather belt.

One night, Mr. Mizuno sat in the alcove of the secret chamber, under the dim lamplight; meticulously, at full attention, using a knife he chiseled on the “spirit tablets” for the two new victims. The stone tablets, motionless and silent, squarish and thick, rested on the circular wooden table; irregular wave patterns were carved on them. Beneath the pattern, in a calligraphy-style imitating Morizawa, he wrote the following words: “Getting on the Death Table. Eager and Willing to leave the living behind.”

On the left side of the spirit tablets were another line of calligraphy, “Sukhavati are little sluts’ paradise.”

The next morning, when Mei was using the bathroom, she saw the tablets, and asked Mr. Mizuno: “Whose spirit tablets are those for?”

He replied: ”Every woman I have played with is my little concubine. Once they leave I will erect spirit tablets for them. After reincarnation they will all still be my little sluts.” After saying this, he embraced Mei, toyed her nipples, and carried her to his king-sized bed again.

Mr. Mizuno lived as an emperor as his “little sluts” alternated in pleasing him. He also enjoyed watching Mei and Rikio having lesbian sex to entertain him. As he penetrated Rikio, lifting her legs so her pussy was directly facing Mei’s face, he asked Mei, “My little slut, does this make you horny.” Mei replied: “Yes, my lord. You are so ferocious. Your little sluts are so enjoying it,” as tears leaked out of her eyes sockets like blood.

During the day, as he sat on his throne, Rikio knelt between his legs and sucked him off, while Mei put on a masturbation show for him, fingering herself, caressing her breasts, all the while singing and smiling, telling Mr. Mizuno how much she wanted to have sex with him, how much she enjoyed being a sex slave. “My lord, I need your penis in my pussy so bad. I ache for you. I would do anything for you. I love being your obedient little slut. I am your slave,” tearfully repeating the lewd sentences she was made to practice.

Life in the underground palace, besieged with horror and deformity, a perpetual dreadful midnight, waiting for a morning that will never come, filled with the foul stench of death—an air unknown on earth—this life had taken a significant tow on Mei. She was only 22 years old and yet her once pristine and sweet-looking face showed significant decrepitude. Her once black hair had become completely white. Her eyes, once bright, seemed deeply burrowed into her deathly pale face. She had become emaciated to the bones. She thought it over, and realized that perhaps Mr. Mizuno was going to replace her and Rikio with a new woman soon. He was more than likely to commit more bloodthirsty deeds to her, so why not put on a last fight.

Rikio had completely lost her mind. She had been locked inside the dog cage in the bathroom for the last several weeks, and was defecating and urinating on herself. Mr. Mizuno enjoyed watching her defiling herself in this way.

Around 8 P.M. the metal gate to the underground palace had been opened. Mr. Mizuno, holding a large brown bag, walked in. He said to Mei: “Come here. I brought some dinner and drinks. Let’s enjoy ourselves.” Mei thought that, after Mr. Mizuno got drunk, she would hit him over with a wooden stick which she had prepared and hidden, and then, she would be able to escape this airless dungeon of macabre. “No strong links of iron can be retentive to the strength of spirit,” she encouraged herself.

After about half an hour, Mr. Mizuno became drunk and rested on bed. Mei held the stick in her hand and swung it with all the strength in her body at the genital area of Mr. Mizuno, but with poor aiming, instead, she hit him over his stomach. Mr. Mizuno became furious. He kicked Mei over to the ground. Using nylon ropes he tied her hands and feet together and defiled her for the very last time. He stared at this woman for a brief moment, and then started the process of “gelding” (宫刑きゅうけい).

First he used a sharpened branch of the pear tree to stab randomly over Mei’s breasts, thighs, and vaginal area. Then he poured toilet water, mixed with urine and feces, down her mouth. Afterward, sticking a small towel into her oral cavity, he used needle and thread to sew her mouth shut. Then he used a knife to carve up her body, slicing off her breasts and vagina. Making a long horizontal incision in her lower abdomen, he removed her uterus by hand.

Seeing that she was still breathing, he started to disembowel her, using a butcher’s knife slicing open her body from the chest vertically all the way down to her vagina opening, exposing all her innards to the air, and then carved out her kidney, liver, and heart. Lastly, he cut off her head, dismembered her legs and separately buried them in the direct-southern area outside the underground palace, third row, from north counting 42nd, 43rd, and 44th column of trees. After he had Mei buried, he took out the “spirit tablet” and buried it along the corpse. Then standing up, he bowed three times.

Similarly for Rikio. Seeing that she was mentally incapacitated, there was no point in keeping her. He took her out of the cage, suspended her from the ceiling, and using a butcher knife, sliced open her body from the front, and with a bucket underneath, let all the blood in her body drip out of her. Then he sliced off the skin around her breasts and vagina. Without any more blood, it became easier for Mr. Mizuno to now carve out her kidney, liver and heart.

Police: “Was Yu Ryin (Rikio) dead or alive at this point?”

Mizuno Ken: “She was alive until her blood that was let out of her body filled the bucket. Mei stopped breathing some time after I carved out her heart.”

“You—basically—vivisected Wang Xue Mei?”

“I vivisected all my victims. It was fun when they were still alive. I felt a happiness that words cannot describe as I did that.”

Rikio was buried in the direct-north region outside of the underground palace, fifth row, from south counting the 89th and 90th column of trees. Again he buried the spirit tablet next to her and bowed three times.

The hallowed full moon, floating above the dark-blue sky, in deep, mysterious repose, as if an eye—that fly from their sights, in darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights—dripped to the ground its sorrowful tears. Suddenly, a cold, gentle wind blew across. Clouds covered the clear night sky. Showers of rain, in tiny drips, fell—left indelible imprints on the muddy soil.

A few minutes later, the pear garden was all quiet again.

_________________________________________________________

District Attorney:

Mei and Rikio were employees of Mr. Mizuno. Xiaocui was Mr. Mizuno’s neighbor. Xiaoliang and Yan-Li were acquaintances with Mr. Mizuno. If Zhang Yami did not escape successfully in 2003, it was likely that Ken Mizuno would still not have been caught.

Given the defendant’s pathological perversion, it was highly probably that he would have repeatedly committed similar crimes and would not have stopped voluntarily if he had not been caught.

Defendant’s wife, Mrs. Mizuno Natsuko, was fully aware of Mr. Mizuno Ken’s crimes. However, she was not the only one.

In 2003, as Mr. Mizuno was raping and beating Wang Yaya in his underground chamber, he did not have the intention to kill her, but was in stead planning to sell her. Mr. Mizuno once brought Wang Yaya out of the underground chamber, and handed her over to middle-aged bachelor Mr. Fukai and demanded a lump sum payment of 10,000 dollars. After seeing Yaya’s bruises all over her body, and hearing about her story, however, Mr. Fukai refused to buy her. In the face of Yaya’s repeated plead for help, Mr. Fukai refused to help her or to call the police, and instead gave her back to Mr. Mizuno.

Testimony from Mr. Yukio Fukai:

“She [Yaya] was crying herself into a bloody mess. She was kowtowing to me on the floor, banging her head on the floor like a crazed person, but 10,000 dollars is a lot money. The police will confiscate all my money if they find out. Besides, Mr. Mizuno is a scary person. If I call the police, he might kill me. I was scared of Mr. Mizuno. Everybody said he had connections with the Chinese mafia. Even yakuza were scared of those crazy Chinese. I told her I was going to send her back to Mr. Mizuno and she crawled to me and hugged around my leg like a small child, crying hysterically. Mr. Mizuno almost chopped off her wrists to let her go of me.”

_____________________________________________________

Once again, alone, Mizuno Ken sat on the golden throne in his underground palace, showing some signs of weariness, and yet still so full of pride. Slowly, he counted over again and again every female’s panties, bras, and severed body parts that were hanging on the wall, and spoke to himself as in a soliloquy: “You have accompanied me for the last five years. My underground palace—strict, secretive, forbidden to the outside wall—my accomplishment, my recipe for success. Let’s summarize.” He picked up a pen and small pocketbook, recollecting every young, beautiful female’s wonderful encounter with him. He summarized this formula in his note book:

Finding prey ——– Seducing and capturing ——– Enjoyment in my underground palace ——– dismembering and disemboweling ——– Pear garden burial ——– Finding new prey

Police: “How did you obtain Lin Yumi, Lin Yami, and Liu Nana?”

Mizuno Ken: “I did import and export with China, so I went to China on business trips very frequently. It was in Chongqing. Mrs. Wang sold me those three Chinese girls.”

Chongqing—mega-city of southwestern China, with the most-recently estimated population of 15 million, located within Sichuan province. If Shanghai is known as the harlot of the east, then Sichuan is the birthplace of Chinese harlots. It is estimated that a fifth of Chinese prostitutes came from Sichuan, where the local women are known to have petite figure, soft skin, and a docile and demure demeanor that melts the heart of men from all over the world.

Bright Spot Teahouse100 RMB [12 dollars] for 45 minutes. Only things you cannot imagine. Nothing those Chinese girls won’t do. Heaven-on-earth. The avant-garde of international standard.

Undeniably the fearsome spectacle of Chongqing would dazzle and amaze any foreigner who stepped into this forbidden and secretive sexual paradise of the Far East. The general population of its local men are revolting to look upon: gaunt, sallow, hideous, and short, living in abject poverty, and feeding on the bare minimum for survival; and yet, the local women—slim, seductive, sensual, mysterious, and shamelessly lustful. Like a vast cornfield that swayed this way or that by the winds of the ruthless tyrants that ruled over them, the local women are like a swirling harvest which are waiting for the scythe of any western or westernized conqueror to cut down and ruthlessly conquer; and as soon as they are cut down, a younger generation spring up again as dense as ever: a sea of faces, twisted, contorted, exuding through every pore of its skin weakness, oppression, misery, slavery, and sexual ecstasy derived through orgasmic pain and torture.

In 1995, Mr. Mizuno, along with a group of international businessmen from Japan, Korea, and Taiwan, traveled to Chonqing, China, where he became acquainted with local businesswoman and owner of Bright Spot Teahouse, Mrs. Wang Jiki, who, together with her other two sister, were colloquially known as “the three-sisters of Chongqing” by underground crime syndicate.

“I ordered four Chinese girls. They came in to my room, bowed to me, and then stripped themselves with the efficiency of soldiers. Without any facial expression, two girls knelt down in front of me to lick my feet, another one slid herself under my body and slithered her tongue around my asshole—I was sitting on top of her face. The fourth one buried her face in between my crotch and licked my penis and testicles. The one in front of me. I noticed her back was crisscrossed with welts. I remembered what the man in front said, only things you cannot imagine, nothing they won’t do, so I said to the one in front of me how much if I want some extra service—”

“How did you communicate with those Chinese prostitutes?”

“I speak fluent Chinese …”

From 1993 to 2011, the threesisters of Chongqing operated the largest known sex-trafficking network in south-west China, with over 300,000 Chinese women being coerced into sexual exploitation and sexual slavery. It is reported that many of the Chinese prostitutes who acted as witnesses were beaten to death in prison to cover up the true extent of the crimes involved.

“I witnessed a woman being beaten to near-death, and I was exhilarated. A woman in her fifties and a guy in his twenties—walked in, holding a set of ropes and a long wooden stick. The guy tied the girl’s hands above her head, and pulled her upward until only the tip of her toes touched the floor. The guy asked me what I wanted, and I said, I wanted to see her broken in half … She was completely naked from head to toe, and her skin was so soft, so tender, especially so when the stick landed on her flesh. She yelped and cried for mercy and instantly it made me hard. … The Chinese prostitutes—in front of me—who were licking my feet were also crying. I pulled the girl from under my ass up and let her sit next to me to watch. She played with my penis while I played with her nipples.”

Mr. Mizuni initially paid for a lump sum to smuggle ten Chinese women into Japan to be sold to him as sex slaves, but, once the snake-heads from Hong Kong arrived in Japan, Mr. Mizuno was told that one had died en route, five were robbed by triads to work in local Chinese-owned brothels in Tokyo, while another was kidnapped by a rival gang.

“So I only ended up with three. Even though I paid for ten. You can’t really trust those shady Chinese businessmen.”

“How did you kill Liu Nana?”

“I beat and raped her everyday. One day, she cursed at me, saying that you have done things beyond the evil of this world, you, your family, your children, and your grandchildren will all be cursed. I became furious and kicked her to the ground. Using the nylon rope I tied her hands behind her back and her feet to the bed-post, Then I sewed her mouth and vagina shut. She was in such great pain that her body started to convulse. She hit her head against the wall and blood was gushing out of the cuts on her head. After I made the stitches, I was very satisfied. I felt happy and calm. The next day she was losing her mind and smeared feces on her face, like she was taking a shower. Because she couldn’t eat, plus being insane, in two days time she was half-dead. Just lying on the ground, not moving much anymore. I still did not get enough of her, so I used the girding knife to slice off her breasts and vagina. While I sliced her, her whole body convulsed, like she was getting hit by electricity. Not exactly sure when she stopped breathing. I dragged her body out and buried her under the pear trees.”

Liu Yumi and Liu Yami were sold as brides to Mr. Masaki and Mr. Kokura.