Chinese prostitute gangbanged in male prison

Buxom, tall, and marmoreal, Tina Hu, originally from Shanghai China, now works in a massage parlor in Flushing, New York, a hubbub of Chinese community. She arrives work at 9 AM and works almost non-stop until 10 PM, only takes half an hour for lunch, and then another half an hour for dinner. When she’s not serving customers, she’s always bustling around the massage parlor: mopping the floor, taking out trash, cleaning massage beds, organizing accounting books, answering phone calls, etc.

Despite of the grueling 13 hour work shift, “life is so much easier in America,” according to Tina, “I have never enjoyed so much freedom.” She wiped away the sweat from her forehead with the back of her slender, white arm and sighed with a stoic smile on her face.

Her customers consist mostly of manual laborers from Mexico, mainland China, and other third world countries. They love the touch of her delicate fingers, and enjoy the view of her slim, curvy body and they lavish her with tips and small gifts hoping to be able to play with her voluptuous breasts. Once in a while, she would receive a Caucasian customer and she was always overjoyed. “Today, I met a pure-bred white American man. He spoke a lot to me but I was only able to understand a little bit of what he said.”

Like most Chinese women, she too dreams of finding a white American man for love and romance. Language barrier, however, stifles her into a silent prison.

“It’s not something that I think American people understand, or even be able to imagine. To most Americans, what had happened to me in China would be straight out of a horror movie. Doesn’t the US constitution say that no citizen shall be subject to cruel and unusual punishment? Well, there’s no such a thing in China.”

Nonchalantly, as if telling the story of another person, she continued, “I used to work in a massage parlor when I was in Shanghai. When the raid happened, a dozen police in uniform stormed in and took all of us to the police station in handcuffs.”

It is estimated by experts that at any given moment, more than 300 million Chinese women engage in implicit or explicit prostitution around the globe, coerced or voluntary. Prostitution is illegal in China, but also ubiquitous. Police raids of prostitution rings are rare, but when they occur, most often due to political pressures from the top, they occur as extremely brutal crackdowns, meted out as means to break the will of the general populace into submission, often in the name of upholding morality.

“They yelled, shoved and beat us, and then told us not to move. If we moved, they beat us again. Many of my colleagues were completely naked and they beat us like we were animals. After we were beaten into submission, we were all ordered to put our hands up with our faces against the wall. If anyone dare to resist, they beat you again.”

The concept of human dignity and, for that matter, the concept of human rights itself, are completely foreign to the Chinese state of mind. Things that are considered too cruel to be done to animals in the United States are routinely and mundanely done to humans.

“I was serving a customer at the time, and both me and my customer were told to stand against the wall. My customer didn’t have any clothes on. I only had my pants on but I had taken off my blouse and bra. I was viciously kicked in the stomach by the police and I begged him to let me grab my bra but the police officer shoved me to the side and yelled DON’T MOVE OR I WILL BEAT YOU AGAIN. After a few minutes another police officer, this time a petite female officer came in, holding a camera and took pictures of me and my customer naked. They were going to use the pictures as evidence against me in court.”

“My stomach knotted as they pushed me out of the room and I could barely stand up straight. I still didn’t have my bra and blouse and I was pushed down the corridor in plain view of everyone who passed by. I thought they would not let me go out naked like this into public, but I was wrong. I tried to hold my tears but the humiliation was so great I started to cry. A female police came over. She twisted my nipples with her hands and grinned. If you had so much dignity as to cry now, why did you become a prostitute, you shameless whore. Get into the car now before I twist your nipples off.”

Tina continued to massage me as she recounted her sorrowful tale. I felt her thin, elongated fingers delicately caressing my smooth inner thighs and a rush of warm feeling flowed through my entire body.

“Do you ever get female customers?” I asked her.

“Yes, but not often. You are one of my first this year. Most of my customers are men. Horny men. They come here to ogle at my breasts and if they tip me big, I show them my breasts. And sometimes I let them play with them, if I liked them. Are you a lesbian? Sorry I ask, but the last female customer I met was a bisexual Chinese woman with a lao-wai husband.”

She moved her hands close to my thighs and gently pushed downward and the connective tissues of my legs sent the sensation directly to my vagina.

I remained silent for a brief moment and then peppered her to tell me more about her ordeals in China. “What happened to you in China is such a travesty against humanity. What did they do to you once you were at the police station?”

“I fought back. I kicked a male police officer in the groins. I yelled: I didn’t do anything wrong. And then this very menacing police officer came over and told me if I continue to act this way, they will throw me in the men’s jail and let all the male prisoners gang bang me. I didn’t think they would dare to do that. I shouted: You don’t scare me. I’m not some peasant girl from the countryside. I’m a native of Shanghai. Both of my parents are from Shanghai. We are urbanite. We have our rights. So this officer, who was the head of all the other officers, slapped me in the face. But it wasn’t a very hard slap. I think he might actually have had romantic feelings for me. The slap wasn’t nearly as bad as the punch in the stomach I had endured during the initial raid. So I looked at him in the eyes and spat at him. Then he said: that’s it. And he put his hands in the air. They needed to teach me a lesson, he said, then they led me to the other section inside the police station, where all the male criminals are kept and threw me inside a common cell with ten of them.”

“Oh my god! That’s horrible. That really happened?” I explained to her that even though I speak Chinese, I have never lived in China. My mother was Chinese. I was born in Japan, and I emigrated to United States when I was in high school. Everything that I know about China I knew from reading books, talking to some classmates and friends from China. At which point, she interrupted me, and raised her hand over her head, as if giving a sworn testimony, and said, in her usual soft voice, that everything she said was the truth and nothing but the truth. “Surely, truth with some embellishment,” I thought to myself, and kept my incredulous eyes burrowed into the massage bed.

“Is that your husband?” She asked me, pointing to the tall, muscular white man laying on the other massage bed. I giggled. “Sort of. He’s the nicest person.” She remained quiet. I felt the sense of her envy. “You are so lucky,” she blurted out eventually, sotto voce, after a long period of silence. “Did they really gang bang you?” I averted her compliment, blushing secretly, hoping to avoid discussing the fact that secretly the white man is not just my husband, but also my master.

“They were just as shocked to see me as I was terrified to see them. For nearly an hour we just stared at one another. The timid ones were actually afraid to be anywhere near me and moved to the other side of the cell. But then the captain came over and said to those men: you will be awarded if you teach her a lesson. The most hideous prisoner came out of the corner and started to grope me. I screamed and bit him. The police officer was watching and yelled from behind the iron bars: you are going to let a woman beat you? Are you a coward? She is a cheap whore. She sells her body to foreigners. Do you know that?”

Laying on my back, I sensed she was looking at the back of my head as she paused briefly.

“Then the guy punched me and I tripped over and the back of my head hit against the bench. For a second I felt I might have lost consciousness. Then he grabbed me by my hair, lifted me up and threw me on the ground again. All the while the other guys just watched. I regained consciousness and started screaming, but then he struck me on my head with his bare fist again, multiple times. I vaguely remember hearing him screaming: is my Chinese dick not good enough for you, you cheap whore. I went silent and he started to rip off my panties. It was actually a very expensive panties from Victoria’s Secret. A customer from Germany had brought that for me at the time. I really liked it, but it was ripped to shreds. I was bleeding from my nose and the side of my mouth. I knew resistance was futile at that point. I felt his tiny Chinese penis sticking inside my vagina and I groaned. All the other guys standing around started to strip off their clothes. I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

I turned my head to look at her and promptly said, “No, not at all. This is the most interesting story I’ve heard this year. Please continue. I will get an extra hour and tip you more just so I can hear you finish your story. It is so sad to hear such a tragic story at the very beginning of a new year … but, please. Don’t stop.”

“You know what’s funny.” She laughed, “those guys literally took off everything, even their shoes and socks. They were all completely naked and they crowded over me and were desperately trying to get their skin to touch mine. Some of those guys probably hadn’t seen a woman in years. As I was laying on the ground, one guy started to grope my breasts with his foot. He was just using his bare foot to tap on my breasts, and then pressed on it. A guy in front of me started to wipe away the blood from my mouth and nose, and he was very gentle. He told me to hold my nose to let the blood out. I sensed he pitied me and I put my head in his lap and big drops of tears rolled down my cheeks and he patted me on the head. Then I heard the police yell from behind the bars again: Why are you pitying a whore? You pity her again, I beat your ass, fucker. Immediately he stopped and started to try to stick his penis inside my mouth. It was already very hard and after he pumped it back and forth just a few times, I felt a gulp of liquid shooting into my mouth. I knew he was just following orders. The police had ordered me to be gang banged. They had no choice. If they didn’t do what the police said, they would be punished.”

At this point my boyfriend said we needed to switch partners. The woman who was massaging him came over to massage me and Tina went over to massage my boyfriend. I told my husband what Tina told me, in English, and he was impressed. He said that he would tip Tina 1000 dollars just so she would go out to dinner with us. I translated what my boyfriend said to Tina and she said, “But I can’t go away. This shop is jointly owned by me and my partner. We put in a lot of investment into it, and so I really can’t go away.” My husband then asked her how much she makes in a day and then said he would double it. Impressed by his generosity, after the massage, Tina and her partner, Joy, another Chinese masseuse from Shanghai, decided to close the shop for a few hours and join us for dinner.

PART II

“They laid me on the floor and took turns using my vagina. While one man was pumping in and out of me, all the other men stood around me and groped me. A few men were holding onto each one of my limbs and they were rubbing themselves all over me. I constantly felt liquid being sprouted on me and I knew it was their semen. They mauled at my nipples so much I felt pain for many days afterward and my vagina was used so many times that I was not able to sit properly for weeks. The most disgusting part was when I felt semen running down to my anus. I knew it was their semen pumped inside my vagina and it was oozing out. And the whole time that police officer was standing behind the bars and goading them on. I wanted to curse his entire family.”

“Did you enjoy the gang bang?” I was shocked by what my boyfriend said and I didn’t know if I should translate it to Tina. I sat there motionless, looking at him, at his big, blue, dreamy eyes and felt a rush of shame and romantic ecstasy. He looked over at me with those mesmerizing eyes and told me to translate for him. I hesitated, but I knew if I disobeyed him I would suffer, so I asked Tina, but worded in such a way as to be the least offensive. And to my surprise, Tina didn’t seem offended at all. She gave a coy smile, and said she didn’t enjoy it, but she was not terribly hurt as “you imagine I would.” A big part of the reason was she was not a virgin to start with. In fact, she had been with lots of men before, no less than a few hundreds. She had seen many kinds of penises. She smiled at my boyfriend, and looked at him in the eyes and said, in broken English, “Chinese men have small penises.”

My boyfriend gave out a hearty laugh and Tina bit her lower lip and smiled again.

The Flushing mall were flustering with Chinese people and many stopped in their tumbling, bumbling to-and-fro to stare at the handsome white man situated in a table surrounded by three young, beautiful East Asian women: me, Tina, and Joy. The men stared with anger and the women lowered their eyes with jealousy.

“Being gang banged is not something that I have not experienced. It would be more enjoyable if I had romantic feelings for those men. But what happened to me on that date was, to be more honest, very traumatic. The act itself was mechanical, robotic, and the very means by which it happened made me horror-filled. I would never willingly be gang banged by those men. If I had a choice, if I could choose the men who gang bang me, that would be different. The physical violence besides, the smell was the worst aspect. The smell was degrading. Those men were disgusting. They probably hadn’t showered in weeks. I could never get their smell off of my body. I felt sick just remembering that smell. There are many men in this world. And there are superior men and inferior men. Most men are inferior. I’d say the more populous and more numerous a race of men there are, the more worthless and inferior they are. Superior men are always rare. A white man, like you–blue eyes, tall, chiseled face, brown hair, white skin–I would say, is a superior man, and you are very rare.”

PART III

As a submissive Asian slut, I never disobey my white husband, no matter how degrading it is.

The next day we went back to the same massage parlor. My husband now had Tina’s cell phone number and he called her to set up an appointment. And this time, in stead of a full body massage, he ordered a foot massage. Tina knelt down before him and started massaging his left foot. Then my husband ordered me to kneel down and massage his right foot. A Chinese man–who apparently also works in the massage parlor–as a foot massage therapist peeped through the kitchen area in the back and then averted his eyes and cowered in the corner in front of the restroom. The sight of two beautiful Asian women serving one white man was too much for him. Then my husband ordered me to suck on his foot in front of Tina. Being trained as the obedient Asian slave that I am, I did it without flinching, and Tina laughed. A continuous, rattling, peal of laughter. She put her slender white arm against her mouth and the edges of her eyes wrinkled in mirth.

With my white master’s big white foot in my mouth, I glanced over at Tina from the corner of my eyes, expressionless. In the past, I had felt shame and humiliation, but now, I felt nothing. It had become a part of my life, to serve my white man, in any way he demanded.

After I had thoroughly sucked on my husband’s lily white foot, I lifted up my sweater and bra and used my breasts to massage his foot. “Would you like to do the same, Tina?” I asked her. She still couldn’t stop laughing, but nodded, and said, “Well, that would cost extra.” My husband nodded, and Tina revealed her luscious breasts to the view of me and my husband and started massaging his other big white foot.

From the corner of my eye, over the slit left by the curtains, I once again saw the little Asian man peeping in our direction. I motioned to Tina, who got up and fully closed the curtain. Then she went kneeling back down and proceeded to massage my husband’s feet. “Most Chinese men are genetic garbage. I pity the women who breed with those men.” Tina sighed. And I agreed.

Pulling his pants to his waist, and revealing his gorgeous white cock, my husband in a hushed voice beckoned both of us to suck his cock. Eagerly I obliged. Unable to resist, Tina followed me and we shifted on our knees to where my husband’s big white penis was and started suckling on it like two baby birds fighting for food from mommy bird. We suckled until he shot his load inside my mouth, and I shared his cum with Tina. “This is the kind of service a superior man deserves,” I told Tina as she gulped down part of my husband’s cum. “I remember you telling me that there was a bisexual Chinese woman who brought her lao-wai husband to the spa. Did she …” “Yes, just like this.” Before I had a chance to finish, Tina interjected with a smile on her face.

The next day we went to the massage parlor again, and my husband had Tina strapped to the massage bed and fucked her bareback. Her pussy was very tight, my husband said afterward. That might be due to the size of my husband’s cock, actually, since all Asian vagina seem tight for white men. Tina confessed, it’s been many years since she had sex, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. My husband tipped her another three thousands dollars and we left. She texted me thanking me for bringing my husband to her life.

PART IV

“Come live with us. We will have you gang banged again, but with handsome white guys only” was the text my husband wanted me to send to Tina. When we met Tina, she seemed offended. “You need to be more careful when you send text. My partner was sitting right next to me and he saw the text.” “Joy?” I asked. “No.”

To our surprise, the little Asian man who was cowering in the corner near the bathroom inside the massage parlor was Tina’s partner. He was short, middle-aged, and morose. They had romantic feelings for each other. “Do you have sex with him?” My husband asked. “No.” She replied. My husband, being a naive, white American man, was shocked. He could not believe that a man would be romantically involved with a woman, and not be getting sex. In fact, Tina says, “he put down 70 percent for this massage parlor. Joy and I only put down 30 percent.” “Oh, so you guys are only business partners.” “We live together too.” “What do you mean you live together?” “We live inside the same apartment. We sleep on the same bed.” “But you guys don’t have sex.” “No.” I explained to my husband that it is actually very common in Chinese culture for a man to be in a relationship with a woman and not be having sex with her. There are things called sexless marriage, loveless marriage, too. “What does he do?” “He is a foot massage therapist. He washes customers’ feet and give them foot massages.” “Why are you partner with him?” My husband was confounded. “You rather live with him than come living with us? Do you have kids with that man?” “No, of course not. I don’t even have sex with him.”

Over the course of several weeks, my husband had propositioned to Tina that she come living with us. She would be cared for, all her expense paid and she would have monthly allowances, and in return she had to become a sex slave to my husband, doing all his bidding and providing sexual flavors to him and whomever he chose. Tina did not seem impressed. She was eager to provide whatever sexual services we demanded, while inside the massage parlor, and of course my husband tipped her generously for all her service, but she declined repeatedly to become an in-house sex slave, as I was. She seems content living the life she has now, serving lowly, inferior customers from third world countries, living together with a Chinese eunuch, and making however much money she could. On several occasions, she confessed, that she was moved and almost had wanted to say yes. “Please stop. Your offer is so generous. I feel the youthful tremors in my heart again.” And yet, in the end, she did not have the conviction or the courage to become what she truly wants to be, or, to borrow a religious phrase, accept Jesus, who in this case would be my white husband, as her personal savior. “I’m so glad to have met you,” she said. “Really?” My husband was incredulous. “Yes. I hope we stay in touch.” And with those words we parted.

Author: jennifer suzuki

I have been a very confused—some might say very conflicted—girl ever since I can remember and I have always lived in a fantasy world of my own making. I was born in Japan, my mother is Chinese and my father is Japanese, and my father's mother or my grandmother was German Dutch, and I came to the United States as a teenager and lived and went to school in Maryland, and worked in New York. I lived in fantasy worlds since I was a teenager and I have always done so, sometimes so deep in my own fantasy I forgot my own identity. I no longer knew who I am. Physically I look more European than asian. My father is of mixed heritage—he has white blond hair, but he also has some distinctly Japanese features. On the other hand my features mostly resembled my grandmother, who was a full blooded European woman. Which was not something that really bothered me. Actually most modern Japanese look very European compared to the rest of asians. My father was a sadist, and my mother, on the other hand, was, in my opinion, a masochist with no self respect. Growing up, seeing my father beating my mother was almost as frequent as having dinner, and when not beating her, she was constantly being humiliated and degraded, like having to serve dinner to him naked on her knees or being tied to an utility pole only in her panties during the winter. At first I believed my mother was a victim, a unfortunate human being in the hands of a cruel evil man, but as I grew older I realized that it was my mother who enjoyed being treated this way. The initial realization made me feel she was a disgusting, perverted, sick person, but as I grew older I began to have the almost identical sexual fantasies that my mother lived and experienced through. I began to think that my mother was the luckiest woman on earth since apparently she had found a man who understood her desires and could give them to her. My dad studied and worked in America before, and during that period he desperately wanted to marry a white woman, and vehemently pursued several white women, but was unsuccessful. At the same time Japanese women were unwilling to marry him. Maybe because just like him they were looking to marry into the white race, or maybe because he had sadistic tendencies. Out of options he settled to look for a Chinese woman. Statistically, marriages between Chinese women and Japanese men have been quite common, and I personally knew quite a few couples just like my mother and father. Even here in America I knew several Chinese women who had Japanese boyfriends and those women were actually quite proud of having superior Japanese men as boyfriends. Japanese in general look much more European compared to other asians and I suspect it was the putative European appearance that attracts other asian women. Of course Japanese are not Europeans, no matter how much we try to become European, just as Jews will never be fully accepted as White Christians. I think Jews and Japanese have a lot in common. We were both persecuted by Europeans, the Jews by Germans, and Japanese by Americans, yet we both come to love our white Masters. Jews weren't officially considered white until very recently, and I think as time progresses eventually Japanese will be categorized as white in the future, though Jews and Japanese will always know that they are still inferior to their Nordic Masters. But as always the Jews will be Masters over the Arabs and the Japanese will be Masters over the rest of Asia. There is no other meaning to life, other than the degree of domination. I had an older sister who looked fully asian, as opposed to me who looked much more European. And ever since childhood I have always known for a fact that I was treated better by everyone else because of my distinctly European appearance. In school classmates would be hesitant to tease me because they always thought my father might be an American or an European man even though they knew my mother was Chinese but somehow they still were afraid of me solely because of my European appearance. The thing was that in Japanese naming system, my mother's last name automatically gets attached to mine, so for example, my name in Japanese would actually be "Suzuki Liu Jennifer", because my mother's maiden name is Liu; this way everyone would instantly know my mother is Chinese. On the other hand my sister was bullied almost everyday by upper classmates because she looked very Chinese. They made fun of her hair and clothes and told her that she looked like a Chinese pig and I had seen boys pulling down her pants and laughing at her for having a "Chinese vagina". I was a very young girl back then and I felt ashamed of having her as a sister so in school I didn't talk to her at all. When I was 12 years old, she committed suicide by hanging herself in her closet. I know this because I was the one who discovered her body. My parents would have never told me about her death if I did not saw her dead body by myself. And ever since her death a dark cloud formed over my head and throughout my teenager years I was constantly harrowed by thoughts of suicide. It was not until I was much older that I learned suicide is infectious and that had been why I was constantly thinking about suicide. The realization made me try not to think too much about death, but no matter how much I try I can never get her image out of my head. Sometimes I feel she still haunts me because I didn't talk to her in school. My parents divorced when I was 14 and I went to live with my mom in China for two years. Contrary to popular beliefs, I had never experienced any form of racism or discrimination against me when I was living in China. Most people assumed that I was an European girl and the aura of being European seemed to make me inapproachable, like the shield of Athena covering me from head to toe. Even when I was in school, when classmates would know my father was Japanese because of my last name, I had never really felt any discrimination, though I did feel they were kind of afraid of me. I had never realized how much being White meant until I was in America: the symbol of power, domination, and superiority that being White implies. Being White is being the entelechy of all that is beautiful, good and righteous. Which is strange because my nationality still is, in actuality, Japanese and as I grew older I started to look more asian. My hair has gotten completely dark and my looks started to resemble my mother's. I used to have very light-colored hair, but I just felt fortunate that I do not look fully asian like my sister was. When I saw this image [of a naked asian woman kneeling next to a black furred dog] in a Japanese SM magazine a few days ago, all of a sudden I remembered seeing my mother in a similar position when I was maybe just 5 or 6 years old. It was not a pleasant experience; it was an extremely scary and traumatic experience, and growing up I heard constant moaning and muffled screams coming from my parents' bedroom. Every evening was a nightmare to fall asleep. But knowing that many asian women were treated the same way as my mother had been treated somehow made me feel better about my own family. At least my parents were not as weird as they seemed, and while growing up I had gradually come to realize that many asian girls have the same masochistic tendencies as I do, but many were just very shy and wouldn't admit their secrets. So it seems there are many masochistic asian women out there who thrives on been humiliated and degraded just like the girl in this image; I don't know why but this image made me feel kind of normal. I have lived in the States for nearly ten years now and I have not talked to my parents, who had divorced, for several years, especially to my mother whom I had some very severe arguments with over the years, especially when she remarried after she went back to China. I was more fond of my father though I haven't really talked to him that much either because he too had remarried. Despite all the mean things I had said about my dad, he was always very gentle with me and never beat me. He beat my sister and my mother but never me and I suspect he was much more gentle with me because of my more European looks. I felt their divorce was a punishment for me, as if they had abandoned me and I never felt comfortable with either of them or their new spouses, whether it be in China or in Japan. My mother's new husband was a very cruel and domineering white man living in China and he never treated me with the same special treatment I received from my dad. And I remember one time when I went out with him people on the street mistook me for his wife and I felt so disgusted I never wanted to go out with him again and then he would yell at me and yell at my mom. I am glad to have gotten out of there. And my dad ... well let's just say I couldn't bear to coexist with his new wife either. The last time we talked was already 3 years ago. This image had brought back so many long forgotten yearnings. I miss my sister and my parents. The memory of my sister and my parents started to fade away, like wavering forms they passed before my clouded sight; their images have become a blur rise about me out of mist and cloud; their faces, and their figures have become shades of phantoms; I wanted to hold you close to me in that blessed fleeting moment when you reappeared to me in my dreams. If only I possessed the strength to draw you near. I wanted to forever remember you—you bear the images of happy days; your airy smiles still stir youthful tremors in my breast—but my memory faltered. It would have been simpler if I were already dead. I would never be seized again by those long forgotten yearnings. I shuddered at those thoughts; and a tear draws other tears. Crying is my only form of release; through crying I am channeled to the solemn and silent world of spirits; crying is my whispered prayer that lingers in a vagrant tone. I have no one to talk to. I live in solitary confinement. I have been driven to madness even though physically I stay put. My life—full of dolor, pain and suffering. Sometimes I wish I could end it. The only reason I continue to live is for otherwise I lack the courage to carry out that final act, to take me beyond and step into the unknown. It is so much better to have been never born at all, or at least to die an immediate death. How sweet and wonderful death would be. My dear Aya, I am so very sorry! A vast space of nothingness in the empty universe fills my heart. Everyday of my life I live in terror because of you. A family dog Growing up, I always felt lonely. My family dog was my only companion. He was a slightly larger than a medium sized dog, with grey and dark fur, and a nozzle that resembled a wolf. He was so cute, so adorable, and he was my only friend. I often played with him in my desperate attempts to communicate with another living being, like Madame Bovary sitting by her fire place in a melancholic longing for escape. I want out!, out of this nonchalant prison of thoughts, out of this cruel alienated society, out of these mind forged manacles whose clanking I hear like looming madness; the marks of domestication on their faces, marks of psychological slavery, marks of intellectual death; they are mere automatons, inanimate objects, so lifeless like straw men, hollow men, stuffed men. I can't bare to look at those miserable beings' faces. In a domesticated dog I see more humanity than the entire humanity. If only my family dog can take me away! And I will elope with him to a happy place, where there is no more sorrow, no more dread, no more cold metallic prison walls of the mind. My family dog was my only friend, and he was my only confidante. To him I entrusted all my deepest secrets. Sometimes I wished I was a dog: no more worries, no more sadness, no more consciousness, no more thoughts, just the need to satisfy my most basic instincts, lying by my owner's feet, worshiping him and completely dependent on him. Sometimes I wish I could have another dog just like the family dog I used to have in Japan. And he will be my husband. I will belong to him. I will be his bitch. I will obey him, crawl under his belly, gently caress his furs with my soft hands, and please him like I would please my husband. And he will be my beast and I will be his beauty. Albeit he will be a gentle beast, always so obedient to me, and yet always so much more aggressive, and animalistic; he will protect me from harm, with his sharp fangs and naturally endowed muscles for chasing down his prey; and yet he will honor me and obey me like a lover would. He will never be jealous, never be angry, as long as he is fed and watered. He will be my best friend.

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