The Sub Bottom Has Had Enough

[The main story is told in third person. It isn't finished yet, but I'll leave it here for now.]

I'm the timid shou in an old-school explicit novel.

No matter how strange the gongs' kinks are, I have to satisfy them all.

The first gong in this story is a bona fide old man. His wealth is staggering, but it can't conceal his perverted nature. He acts like a kind older relative, but whenever I make a mistake, he punishes me by whipping the soles of my feet with his belt. The more I cry, the more excited he gets.

The second gong is my late brother's husband. Before my brother died, he entrusted me to this man. He's obsessive and extremely controlling, and he treats me as a substitute for my brother. But he's impotent. Every time he forces me to put on my brother's clothes, he resents me for not being able to arouse him.

The third gong is my sinister, twisted boss. Because of his childhood experiences, he developed another personality. He has an extremely severe cleanliness obsession, yet he's also an NTR fanatic. He often sends me to other men, then complains that I'm filthy afterward and calls me a “slut.”

The fourth gong is my younger childhood friend, who has a sickeningly strong need to control me. To stop me from playing with anyone else, he locked me in a dark room for a whole day and night.

One day, the author suddenly told me, “This novel isn't making money, so I'm not writing it anymore. You and these gongs get along with each other.”

As it happened, I was sick of it too.

While the first gong was laid up with a fever, I took his belt and whipped the soles of his feet hard, until he started crying with his wrinkled old face. I called him ugly as I took several pictures with my phone.

While the second gong was drunk senseless with grief over my brother, I dressed him in women's clothes, hailed a taxi, and took him to a hospital specializing in men's health so a doctor could give him a thorough checkup. As the examination room door closed, I heard his feeble roars of anger turn into pleas: “Let go of me! There's nothing wrong with me! You, you can't touch me... Don't touch me...”

While the fourth gong was suffering from an eye condition, I sent his caregiver away. When the third gong asked to go to the bathroom, I ignored him until he wet the bed, then sneered, “You can't even hold your pee. What kind of man are you?”

After doing all that, I planned to start my life over, but the gongs, now “reformed men,” kissed me again.

The first gong glared at me in embarrassment, but his shoe-clad foot kept rubbing against the floor, and his eyes stayed fixed on the belt at my waist.

The second gong would pull me somewhere private, take off his coat to show me the beautiful red dress and black stockings underneath, then ask if I wanted to take them off because there was something even prettier underneath.

The third gong...

Theme: Treat others with sincerity