The next day at school was uneventful, just another ordinary day, and it brought me one day closer to my dad's return.
"Son, I'll be teaching politics at the neighboring Second High School for a week starting next week. Your dad will be back by then, so ask him to pick you up when he has time," my mom said during dinner, putting down her chopsticks to look at me.
"Okay, got it. When is Dad coming back?" Second High School was just a few blocks away from our school, basically in the same school district, so it wasn't unusual for teachers to be temporarily transferred there. I didn't think much of it.
"Either the day after tomorrow or the day after that—this Sunday or next Monday. Which outfit should I wear to pick up your dad?" Mom pulled out a pile of clothes from the closet, fiddling with dresses and the like.
"That one, it looks nice," I pointed to the white chiffon dress she was holding. It was completely different from her usual style—much younger and very pure-looking.
"Alright! I'll wear this one, then!" Mom loved the dress too and agreed immediately before going back to picking out other clothes.
"Oh, right, son, help me apply some safflower oil later. I twisted my waist the other day, and it's really hurting today," Mom said, rubbing her lower back.
"Sure~ Just call me when you're done picking your clothes…" I replied casually and went back to my room.
Back in my room, I continued waiting for Huazhou's paid photo collection while idly chatting in the group.
"That boss earlier was so tough. It took us forever to beat it!"
"Yeah… what a trash game, damn it!"
"…"
Everyone seemed to be chatting, but we all knew we were just waiting for the photo collection.
"The big shot has three models. I think the girl from last time is the hottest!"
"Right, her figure is just perfect… Even Teacher Sun, who has the best figure in our school, is about the same."
"I don't have any hope for the 'Grim Reaper,' but if Teacher Sun dressed up like in the photos, she'd definitely drain me dry!"
"That outfit Teacher Sun wore last time—the flesh-colored pantyhose and body-hugging skirt that just reached her knees, paired with high heels—was absolutely unbeatable. When she turned to write on the blackboard during class, her butt was so perky!"
"Yeah, yeah! It'd be amazing to have Teacher Sun just once!"
"Imagine Teacher Sun teaching class wearing only flesh-colored tights or black stockings!"
"Just teaching isn't enough! Pin her down on the desk and let the whole class take turns with her! Grab her stocking-clad butt and fuck her tight pussy! Fill her womb and asshole with cum!!" The group chat grew more and more heated.
"Stop, stop, stop!!! Don't say any more, or the group will get banned!!" Seeing how worked up everyone was getting, I quickly intervened. Strangely enough, watching my friends fantasize wildly about my mom, I no longer felt the initial anger or urge to defend her. Instead, I could vividly imagine the scenes of her being taken by the students. Maybe something had already changed deep down.
"Ding~" Just as I was thinking, my email chimed. The new paid photo pack from the big shot at Huazhou had arrived. This pack was quite small, with only about 30 photos—a mini pack, really—and featured just one setting, which left the group members a bit dissatisfied. They vented their frustrations in the group chat.
The content of the photo pack was pretty much the same as what was previewed: the woman's interpretation of two different roles—the "S-type student" and the "M-type teacher."
The first half of the photo set showed the woman in a student uniform: a navy-blue-and-white pleated skirt outfit. She wore a collared white T-shirt on top and a navy-blue uniform skirt below. While this classic, youthful attire should have looked harmonious on her, it somehow didn't. Instead, it felt mismatched! The clothes, seemingly a size too small, appeared to constrict her. The T-shirt couldn't contain her ample bust at all—only three of the five buttons could barely be fastened. Her large breasts looked suffocated, squeezed together to form a deep cleavage. As for a bra? That was completely out of the question; there simply wasn't enough room to accommodate one. Her purplish-red nipples were faintly visible through the sheer white fabric of the T-shirt. On her legs, she wore knee-high white student socks and brown round-toe women's leather shoes, with her hair tied up in a high ponytail. Since she was playing both roles, it was impossible to sense any narrative from the photos. Looking at the woman striking aggressive poses against thin air—now stepping on the lectern, now standing on a desk—it felt as though she was trying to intimidate nothingness. The photo quality was undeniably high, but I couldn't immerse myself in the image of a student rebelling against her teacher. I flipped ahead to the teacher section.
The latter half of the set, comprising a dozen or so photos, showed the woman in a more fitting uniform: an all-black outfit that suited her far better than the student attire. She wore a form-fitting black skirt that fell about 10 cm below the knees, with sheer black stockings hugging her well-proportioned legs. The glossy black patent leather heels perfectly matched the image of a queen in my mind. Unfortunately, this "perfect queen" in the photos was depicted like a bitch on a leash, tied to the steps beside the lectern. In one shot, she arched her beautiful leg backward with force, as if urinating like a dog, allowing urine to seep through the sheer stockings covering her crotch—no panties in sight. Another memorable photo showed her squatting on the lectern, standing on tiptoe, forcefully spreading her legs to fully expose her black-stocking-clad pussy to the imaginary audience below. Her face was a picture of utter degradation, with a strand of drool dripping from the tongue she stuck out like a bitch.
Terrible! Absolutely terrible—that was my first impression after viewing this set. I couldn't immerse myself in the shooting scenario at all, nor could I feel the charm of either character.
"Damn! What a scam!"
"Are these photos even for real?"
"I'm never buying from this person again. What kind of crap is this?" Complaints and curses erupted one after another in the group chat.
I didn't respond, because along with the photo pack email, there was also an invitation sent to my inbox: "I apologize to all friends who purchased this photo pack. Due to the model falling ill during the shoot, this photo collection was ultimately not completed. I have decided to hold a performance with the model at the Riyuan Theater this Sunday for everyone. Friends who can attend will have the opportunity to interact with the model in person. For those unable to attend, I will also livestream the event. Riyuan Theater address: No. 166 Shanghai Road, XX City. Your exclusive invitation code: SXDMG12229. You will receive a Riyuan Theater mask with this email. Please strictly wear the mask when entering. Sincerely, Huazhou."
So the model was injured, which explains why the quality of this photo collection was so poor. He did set up a compensation plan, but unfortunately, our photo pack was crowdfunded. This kind of on-site viewing opportunity is something I can only keep to myself privately. Though I feel a bit sorry for my classmates... Also, Shanghai Road? That's next to the love hotel I've been to before! Even though I already knew Huazhou was from this city, being able to attend the performance in person was something I never expected.
I quietly noted down the invitation code and hurried to the living room to apply a pain relief patch for my mom.
"Mom, are you free on Sunday?" I cautiously inquired about her plans.
"Nothing during the day on Sunday, but I'll go shopping at the supermarket in the evening. Your dad is coming back on Monday, so I need to buy some daily necessities for him. Why?"
"Nothing, nothing. What time are you leaving? And when will you be back?"
"Around seven or eight in the evening. Do you want to go out and have fun?"
"Hehehe... Mom, you really know me." I chuckled awkwardly.
"...Just this once, for your dad's sake. Be gentle when applying the patch, you little rascal!"
Having achieved my goal, I quickly retrieved the mask from the mailbox downstairs to prepare for Sunday's performance. The mask was a dual-tone gold and silver, with golden feathers and silver mask decorations. The bird-like design felt somewhat familiar to me. I scrolled through the countless complaint-filled chat records in the group, feeling a bit guilty, and finally decided to refund some money to the group members to settle the matter.
When Sunday came and my mom was at home preparing lessons, I left the house in the afternoon and headed straight for Shanghai Road. I arrived early at the theater entrance, but when I got there, I was stunned. The supposed theater entrance was tightly locked behind a large iron gate, and the surrounding walls towered high, making it impossible to figure out how to get in. Unable to find an entrance anywhere, I could only wait across the street at a café, sipping coffee and fiddling with the mask in my hand.
I don't know how much time passed, but the entire street had grown dim, and the streetlights along the roadside began to flicker on one by one.
Suddenly, the iron chain lock on the theater's main door shook violently, then was unlocked by a man in a suit wearing a mask. Immediately afterward, ten burly men—five on each side—lined up in a V formation. A pure wooden ticket booth was brought to the center, signaling that entry was now permitted. There were no exhibition signs or other identifiers. Such a magnificent theater standing on Shanghai Road inevitably drew frequent glances from passersby. Unfortunately, every curious look was met with an even fiercer glare from the ten burly men, forcing onlookers to avert their eyes.
As night deepened, a dozen or so masked guests, dressed in various styles—some formal, others casual—filed through the ticket booth and entered the theater. Well, my hoodie probably doesn't stand out too much then, I thought, adjusting my own mask as I made my way to the booth. The entry process was surprisingly simple. Despite my initial nervousness, I was relieved to find that verifying the invitation code was all it took to gain admission.
There was only one path inside—a narrow, winding walkway lined with glowing light strips. At the end stood the entrance to the Rì Yuān Theater, where a server, the only person in the venue without a mask, greeted guests with a smile. He opened the theater door and gestured invitingly. Following his lead, I stepped inside.
The theater was dimly lit, with seating arranged much like a cinema, though the spacing between seats was noticeably wider. Dozens of people sat quietly, waiting in silence. Four cameras were positioned around the theater, likely for live streaming. On stage, a massive projection screen displayed a rotating slideshow of Huāzhōu's photography collection—the women in the portraits as captivating as ever.
After about fifteen minutes, the theater plunged into darkness. The central screen slowly rose, signaling the start of the real performance.
As the curtain lifted, a man stood at the center of the stage, bathed in two spotlights. He stood around 183 cm tall, with a well-proportioned build, dressed in a matte-black suit made of a light-absorbing material that seemed to swallow the beams shining on him. His face was concealed by a golden mask, distinct from those worn by the guests, marking his elevated status. No doubt, I thought, this must be Huāzhōu.
"Thank you all for coming. I apologize for the mishap in the previous photo collection," the man said, his voice intentionally lowered—deep and raspy, without the use of a voice modulator.
"While my recent works have been well-received, the models' physical conditions have prevented me from fully realizing my vision. Therefore, I've decided to temporarily pause the shooting plans and shift to live performances. Allow me to introduce the newest leading lady of my portfolio—Xiùniáng." With a sweeping gesture, a tall, graceful woman emerged slowly from the side of the stage.
A completely naked woman walked up to Hua Zhou's side. Tall and well-proportioned, she stood about half a head shorter than him. Even without the exaggerated filters of photoshopped photos, her figure remained strikingly exaggerated, especially her breasts—a full 36D with no sagging whatsoever, standing firm and perky. The only flaw was a slender scar on her lower abdomen, likely from a cesarean section. I had almost never seen my mother naked in broad daylight, but I faintly remembered that she didn't have such a scar. I had vaguely known that the model was a mature woman, but seeing today that she had already given birth still surprised me. The woman, known as "Embroideress," was completely naked except for an SM hood covering her head, leaving only her mouth exposed. Even that exposed mouth was stretched open by a T-shaped aluminum alloy gag, her cherry-red lips wrapped tightly around it.
"Today's performance is a very retro one. I'm sure everyone has seen circus acts on TV or in movies, more or less!" Hua Zhou waved for the waiters to bring forward three spinning wheels.
"Today's star is Miss Embroideress, and the performance will be determined by the spinning wheels. For each round, one audience member will be selected to participate!" The man pointed to the three wheels, labeled: Outfit, Stockings, and Performance. Wherever the pointer landed, Embroideress would wear the corresponding attire and complete the assigned task.
"Without further ado, let's begin the first round~" Hua Zhou drew a number from the audience. "Number 13!" I glanced at my own number, "37," feeling a bit disappointed. A portly man from the second row stood up and walked onto the stage. He was likely only about 1.65 meters tall, standing nearly half a head shorter than Embroideress.
"Please spin the wheels, sir!"
Without a word, the hefty man vigorously spun all three wheels. After a moment, they gradually came to a stop, pointing to: RQ Racing Suit, Gray Stockings, and Free Domination. Hua Zhou instructed two waiters to fetch the outfit and accessories while handing the microphone to the man.
"What do you think of Embroideress?"
"She's a real slut. I want to fuck her," the man replied, his voice surprisingly soft and stuttering, lacking the weight of his physique.
Meanwhile, the waiters had dressed Embroideress and brought her back to the front of the stage. She now wore a white RQ racing suit with an ultra-high slit, the off-shoulder design revealing the elegant lines of her collarbones. The slit extended past her waist, forming a slender triangle at the crotch, where a few stray pubic hairs peeked out from the fabric. On her legs were a pair of matte gray pantyhose, the waistband visible above the high slit of the suit. She wore matching cream-colored platform heels, and with them on, she stood nearly as tall as Hua Zhou. Drool had begun to trickle from the gag in her mouth.
"Free Domination… that doesn't stop me from fucking her, right?" the man asked Hua Zhou.
"Go ahead, but be gentle. The model has injuries," Hua Zhou replied with a casual gesture.
After receiving permission, the beast that had long been suppressed within the fat man finally broke free from its cage.
Slap! Slap! Slap! The fat man pinned the embroideress onto the rotating platform and vigorously spanked her beautiful buttocks. The sharp, rhythmic sounds echoed through the theater, and even from two rows away, I could faintly see the slight trembling of her buttocks under each strike.
"Ugh!!!" While spanking her, the fat man forcefully tugged at the crotch of her high-slit RQ outfit. The delicate fabric was pulled so hard that it dug deep into her vulva, swallowed entirely by her pussy. The pubic hair that had been neatly concealed by the fabric now spilled out in disarray. The sudden force lifted half of the embroideress's body, causing her to rise slightly onto her tiptoes as she let out an involuntary moan.
"Can't handle it already, you bitch?" The fat man reached for her crotch, his fingers pressing against her clitoris through the fabric of her clothes and pantyhose.
"Ugh... Ugh!!!" A sharp, almost piercing cry tore through the venue as the embroideress's legs trembled faintly.
"Well-trained, aren't you, bitch? You can endure such intense stimulation." The fat man patted her buttocks approvingly, while Huazhou, standing nearby, cast an appreciative glance toward the embroideress.
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