After US-Japan Alliance defeats China in World War III … Chapter 2

Chapter 2 The State Brothel of Nanking

The sun was setting on the old China, after World War III, and the New China is constructed, under the benevolent guidance of Japan-America alliance.

Although prostitution was illegal under the Communist China, Chinese women always constituted the largest component in the sex-trading market around the globe, and under the new governance of Japan and America, Chinese women have finally been freed to do what they have always wished to do—prostitution.

The City of Nanjing, the city that had witnessed three large scale massacres in recent Chinese history (during the invasion of Mongols, the invasion of Manchus, the invasion of the “long haired” barbarians, otherwise known as Taiping rebellion), is not only known for providing comfort and entertainment for Japanese soldiers during world war II, but also, she has transformed herself after World War III, so that all conquerors—both Japanese and American—can enjoy all that she has to offer.

Red light districts have been constructed all across the New China, but, by scale and by its elaborate and intricate design, the Nanjing red light district takes the cake. It is estimated that nearly 30 million Chinese females of breeding age are employed in its state-owned brothels in the “Southern Eastern China”, clustered around Shanghai, Nanjing, Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Anhui. And nearly 5 million are in Nanjing alone.

Security cameras surround the Nanjing brothel district, its mega-billion dollar compound ensured no female escaped. Each Chinese prostitute working inside the brothels had a small coded sensor embedded under her skin, which could be used for detection in no more than ten feet away.

Built by the multi-billionaire Takamoto Trumpf, the “State brothel of Nanking” is known for its magnificent golden color and famous for its empyrean service. As soon as a guest arrives, a young Chinese woman dressed in skin-tight qipao and high heels would run up to the car and open the door for her guest. Meanwhile, the door attendants (ten Chinese females lined up at the gate) bowed obsequiously and stood at rigid attention, hands clasped behind their heads. Their breasts were bared in the open view and each one were wearing a set of nipple clamps as decorations.

The reddish glow of the setting the sun painted the eastern sky and the warm light from gas lamps bathed the yellow streets. Three Japanese men in business suits walked and talked: “Did you know the daughter of Huawei has been arrested and sentenced to four weekends of service here at the Nanking Brothel? I sure would like to use that chink bitch.”

“They are whoring her on the street, across the Shanghai Road. Let’s go check her out.”

As soon as they turned the corner one of them yelled: “There she is!” pointing to a slim, young Chinese woman, standing in front of a large stucco wall, and next to her were a dozen other Chinese females. They wore uniform skin-tight qipao and steel collars around their necks. The three Japanese men crowded around the lone female whose qipao was torn.

“Is your name Annabel Yao? Your father is the CEO of Huawei, correct?”

Annabel flushed with shame at being seen by people who knew her. One of the men said, “Well look here. Never thought you were the type, but it does make up for your little tits!”

Her face and chest grew even rosier as another said, “Let’s get a room for a few hours. I bet the precious daughter of Huawei will show us what she has learned.”

She nodded weakly, shifting from one foot to another, as a trickle of sweat dripped down between her small yellow breasts.

Behind the three Japanese men a tall, muscular white American man shouted, “This one only cost a bit more,” as he yanked on the collar of a slim Chinese female with a long pigtail. “You are ours for two days, bitch,” as he tore open her qipao revealing her large breasts.

“And we will take this one to the pain cell!”

Wide-eyed, she protested, “No, please. I’m here only for a week. I’m just a college student. I’m not ready for that.” She yelped as he slapped her left tit, leaving an enormous red hand print. Lifting her up over his shoulders, he carried her away like a trophy.

As the big white American man took his oriental whore to the pain cell, just a few meters away, another Chinese woman was trying to talk to someone inside a car pulled to the curb. Its window was rolled down and she placed her hands on top of the car and leaned forward. A hand reached out and groped her breasts through her qipao. She blushed as her hanging udders were roughly stroked and held like a piece of meat being weighted and judged. Then another hand came from the car. She lifted up the hem of her qipao revealing her bold pussy and the hand’s fingers moved up and down the slit.

“Please sir. I need to make my quota or else they will whip me again. I’m a half-price bitch. Let me serve you and your friends. I’m very good at sucking cocks. If I don’t meet my quota they will sentence me to a year in re-education camp.

“Let’s see it all,” a rough voice with a strong southern American accent came from within the car. She blushed but complied, pulling her qipao all the way to above her chest, revealing her naked body.

“Spread your legs and hold your pussy open.”

She spread her legs and using her thumbs and index fingers she splayed open her shaved labia. A few passers-by gathered around her to watch her and laughed and made fun of her in her public degradation.

A Japanese man holding a machine gun suddenly appeared from behind her, spoke to the driver in a few words. The window in the back rolled up as the Japanese man pushed the almost naked Chinese whore and commanded her to walk to a door. She walked with hands at the back of her head, elbows back, her qipao dressed still pulled over her chest.

Soon the Japanese man returned, with the Chinese whore “in tow”. Her qipao dress and high heels disappeared. In stead she was totally naked except for a set of ankle chains, her wrists were shackled to the back of her waist chain and a ball gag was inside her mouth. Two tight elastic bands encircled each tit, biting deep into her flesh. The bands forced her breasts to become bulging like cones.

The car trunk popped up. She was lifted up, placed on her belly and re-shackled in a hogtie.

Despite of the hogtie and gag, one could plainly see her shaking her head and hear her muffled pleas, “Noooo, noooo. …”

The truck lid slammed down and the small crowd of Japanese and American solders laughed, except for the Chinese whores still on display on the street. The Chinese whores knew there might be no return from a ride chained naked in the trunk of a stranger’s car.

Every Chinese “street whore” had to fill a daily quota. For most of them it took twelve to sixteen hours, but the plain-looking and older ones need to take longer, and they had to work harder to attract customers and they offered themselves to every opportunity. Many of those Chinese street whores used to be secretaries in big corporations, school teachers, daughters of powerful Chinese tycoons, bu in the new China, they are just common prostitutes, and they soon learned to hold their labia open to strange white-Japanese men, and say with blushing humiliation, in English: “My Chinese cunt is really tight. Please fuck me.”

The curious American soldier asked the Japanese man with the machine gun what happened, and he explained, “The Chinese bitch you just saw used to be an adjunct lecturer at University of Alabama. The men in the car were her former students. One of her former students, a native of Alabama enlisted and was awarded the purple heart during World War III and he pointedly came to Nanking just so he could find his former Chinese teacher. He has brought her contract out and arranged for her to come to work for him on his plantation.”

“Which plantation?”

“The plantation of gooks. On the border of Vietnam.”

“I’ve been to those plantations. The conditions there are way harsher than even the prisons here.”

“Yep, she had been sold in slavery.”

“Ah yes, this is the thrill of victory that every noble and ruthless higher race of men have anticipated.”

“Ah yes, and the agony of defeat belongs to those inferior chinks and their women.”

“Ah yes, their women is perhaps their greatest and only positive contribution to the preservation of the human race as a species.”

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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