Lost in thought, I walked toward the door, only to realize that my own arousal was stirring...
"Sam, I'm back." I pushed open the front door and called out into the house.
Hearing no response, I slowly made my way to the staircase. Just then, I saw Sam appear at the top of the stairs, holding a towel as he wiped the floor. He looked at me with his honest, simple expression.
"Hmm," I replied, watching Sam's earnest appearance. If I hadn't just witnessed him assaulting Mom with my own eyes, I would have believed this damn "N-word" was genuinely kind-hearted.
Watching Sam pretend to clean the stairs, I really wanted to go up and beat him up. He was truly worse than an animal. Our family had treated him so well, and yet he had assaulted Mom? Mom must be suffering so much!
"Where's Mom? What did you do wrong to get punished by her?"
I had to hold back, swallowing the suffocating anger, pretending not to know that Sam had just assaulted Mom in her room. If Mom found out that I had discovered what Sam did to her, how could she ever face me or Dad again?
So, the best approach was for me to completely forget what had just happened—treat it as if it never occurred, as if I had seen nothing.
"Well, Zihan... Mom got angry with me during lunch today because I ate with my hands again. I didn't mean to be unhygienic—it's just a habit, and sometimes I forget what Mom has told me."
Sam looked at me as he wiped the floor, his dark body slowly moving down the stairs. Seeing his sincere and simple expression, which didn't seem like a lie, I almost believed him.
As he wiped his way toward me, wearing athletic shorts and a black tank top, the bulge in his pants swayed with his movements. At that moment, it looked so large, so long.
"I'm sorry, Zihan. I owe you an apology. While you were away, I should have taken better care of Mom instead of making her uncomfortable."
Sam looked at me with genuine sincerity. My lips twitched slightly. This damn "N-word" was such a good actor. If it weren't for my mom, I would have beaten this beast to death already.
"Yeah, you shouldn't have made Mom angry. Dad told us to take good care of her."
I spoke, feeling deeply annoyed by Sam, yet forced to interact with him. I couldn't act too strangely—this "N-word" was too sharp, and he would notice.
"Okay, Zihan. I'll remember what you said, and what Dad said. I'll take good care of Mom."
Sam stood up, his dark hands clutching the towel into a fist, looking at me with determination.
"Alright, I'm tired. I'm going to take a nap."
I needed to calm down now. I didn't want to see this "N-word" anymore.
"Okay, I'll finish up here and take a nap too."
After saying this, Sam headed toward the bathroom. I rolled my eyes, watching his back coldly, then opened the door to the first-floor bedroom and lay down on my bed.
"Mom must have been forced by Sam. Sam is truly inhuman."
Staring at the ceiling, the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Should I call the police and have Sam arrested for rape? But if I did, what would happen to Mom? What about Dad? Would our family fall apart overnight?
After much thought, I realized Sam was an exchange student, an international friend from Africa. The authorities would likely just deport him. After weighing everything, the only solution was to find a way to keep Sam away from Mom. His exchange program would end this summer, and he would return to South Africa.
Thinking this, Sam pushed the door open and came in. I glanced at him, gradually feeling a hint of disgust toward him—he was destroying my happy, harmonious family.
"Zihan, why do you look so unhappy? Wasn't the date with the class monitor fun?" Sam grinned as he lay down by his bed, leaning his upper body against the high stack of folded blankets and looking at me.
"Yeah, it was fine. Maybe I'm just tired from playing," I said.
"Hehe, Zihan, did you manage to win over the class monitor like I taught you?" Sam winked at me with a sleazy, interested look, revealing his thick lips and wide mouth.
"Uh, no, we just talked and chatted."
I replied awkwardly. Although Li Xiaojun and I had already done it twice, thinking about the first time we made love, she didn't have the so-called "virgin blood." I wasn't sure if every girl had that, and I planned to ask my German book fan on that website about it later. I didn't want Sam to know I'd ask such improper questions, even though I hadn't been in touch with that German fan for a long time.
"Hehe, I get it. Zihan is too shy. Let me tell you, Zihan, you have to be bold with girls. Girls only like brave men—it gives them a sense of security."
Sam said to me seriously.
"Yeah, I know, Sam. Stop talking, let's take a nap. I'm exhausted." I didn't feel like talking to him for now, and seeing his dark-skinned body made me a bit disgusted.
"Alright, good afternoon, my Zihan." Sam blew me a kiss. I forced a smile and turned to face the window.
I could hear Sam rustling and turning in his bed below, probably chatting with his French girlfriend again.
Gazing at the lush green trees outside, I gradually drifted off to sleep without realizing it. In my dream, I felt a massive, dark consciousness, like a black fog, chasing after me, trying to swallow me into that eternal darkness. Just as it was about to engulf me completely, the heart-pounding relief of narrowly escaping jolted me awake from the hazy dream.
The bedroom on a summer afternoon was very quiet. A few bird calls drifted in from the big tree outside, and a gentle breeze occasionally blew through the window, carrying the rich fragrance of summer. The blue curtains swayed softly in the warm wind.
I turned to look at the bed below and saw Sam sleeping with his mouth open, breathing heavily. He looked tired and was deep asleep.
I took out my phone to see if Li Xiaojun had sent me any messages on WeChat, but it was silent. I aimlessly swiped through the screen, unsure who to confide in about the frustration in my heart.
For some reason, I clicked on my dad's Moments. Successful in his career, he occasionally posted about the joy of securing another project under his leadership. I secretly felt happy for him—after all, he worked really hard. But then I thought about how Sam had bullied my mom, and my heart sank.
Almost as if guided by some unseen force, I scrolled to my mom's WeChat and opened her Moments. There were no recent updates from her—mostly just reposts about bank benefits or promotional activities.
Bored, I closed WeChat and, feeling equally aimless, opened TikTok. I scrolled through videos of young women posing seductively, showing off their fair, long legs. Before long, I stumbled upon a video from "Mumu Xizi"—my mom's TikTok account. It was a video she had posted two days ago of us camping at a farmhouse. She looked beautiful in her selfie, with only light makeup, yet her appearance was stunningly gorgeous. Her demeanor was as pure and extraordinary as a white lotus in water—untainted by the mud yet unadorned by the clear ripples.
"Wow, beautiful sister, you finally updated! I've been waiting so long!"
"Milf alert, looking curvier—I love it!"
"Hey beautiful, hope to get to know you."
"Beauty, start a livestream someday, I'll send you gifts."
"Sis, your figure is amazing, your husband must be so lucky!"
"This kind of elegant lady, hehe, you guys don't get it—one word, those who know, know!"
Watching comment after comment appear under Mom's video, yet she never replied to any of them, I realized Mom uses Douyin purely to document her own beautiful life.
I gave Mom's video a like and continued scrolling through other videos. After getting bored, I turned around and felt annoyed just looking at Sam's dark face from the bed. So, I went back to my phone. Thinking about it, it had been a long time since I last logged into that website—the mysterious one only I knew about.
With that thought, I opened the app and logged into that communication platform that seemed to bring the whole world together. Looking at the familiar interface, that inexplicable sense of restlessness surged from within, spreading to every cell in my body.
It had been a while since I last visited the site, and I noticed there were hundreds of private messages waiting for me. I knew they were all from my readers and fans on that platform. Lying in bed, I opened those messages and began reading them slowly.
"Author, I really enjoy the novel you wrote. Let's chat sometime—looking forward to your reply. —John from Ireland."
I smiled, feeling a wave of joy inside. So, this is where my happiness lies.
"Master, I'm here to borrow some inspiration. I've also started writing a novel called 'Wife's Form' and have begun updating it. Hoping for your guidance. —Nine Thousand Years from China."
Being called "master" by a fellow writer is truly gratifying. I grinned contentedly, feeling immensely satisfied.
"Author, are you planning to start a new book? I'll always support you! —Kaiser from the U.S."
So, I even have fans from across the ocean eagerly waiting for me to write new stories. I pursed my lips, thought for a moment, and replied to him or her with the idea for the second novel I'd been wanting to write.
"Thank you for your support. I do plan to write a new novel, 'XXX's Grace.' Stay tuned."
I sent the reply, secretly resolving to start writing once Sam finishes his exchange program in China and returns to South Africa.
After that, I continued reading many more private messages—some about exchanging ideas, others expressing support and admiration from fans. Gradually, I forgot about the unpleasantness of the present.
Scrolling further, I finally came across the messages from Frank, the German friend I hadn't been in touch with for a long time. He had actually sent me several private messages, the latest one just a few hours ago, around noon China time. It felt like we were on the same wavelength—just as I thought of him, he had already reached out.
Seeing so many messages from him, it seemed he had sorted things out with that female teacher, and there must have been progress with that "Gallic hen" Frank mentioned. Hehe, thinking about it made me look forward to what he had to say in his replies.
I casually clicked on the latest message he sent me, which turned out to be a video. However, the video was somewhat dark, and the camera was shaky. Frowning, I dragged the progress bar to the middle, and the scene gradually became clearer. Still, due to the dim lighting, I could only make out the general setting. Yet, it was enough to shock me—because the video Frank sent me was of a sexual encounter.
In the video, a pale female buttocks—no, I should say a plump, snow-white female buttocks—was being penetrated by someone with darker skin. Although the movements were slow, and there were none of the beautiful moans from the woman or the heavy breathing from the man I had imagined, I could see a male genital fully disappearing beneath that snow-white, rounded buttocks. To be precise, the penis vanished between two tender, pale cheeks. As the man slowly moved his body, I knew that the snow-white buttocks was being penetrated by that penis.
Had Frank already succeeded with "the Gallic hen" or that teacher? Since this was the latest message he sent me, I had no idea what was going on.
I glanced at Sam, sleeping like a dead pig with his mouth wide open under the bed, put on my headphones, and turned the volume to the maximum, trying to listen for the beautiful melody in the video.
However, there was no such melody. Instead, to my confusion, I heard snoring. Could it be that the woman was snoring?
Could it be that Frank had drugged the woman and raped her while she was deeply asleep? A shiver ran down my spine.
The video continued to play, but the next moment, it was a picture with the caption, "First ejaculation of an exciting night!"
Then I saw a penis wearing a condom lying limp on the man's abdomen. The skin tone of this abdomen was somewhat dark, almost as if the person were of Black descent.
Could Frank also be Black?
Frowning, I looked at Sam under the bed again. How could there be so many Black people in this damn world, and why had I encountered two of them all at once?
The video kept playing, but the brightness remained dim. The words "Second ejaculation" abruptly appeared on the screen. This time, it wasn't a picture but a video. "Mmm... huff..." A faint, almost feminine moan-like nasal sound came from the video, accompanied by the man's restrained breathing. The man's abdomen pressed tightly against the plump, snow-white buttocks, trembling a few times before a thick, white ejaculation filled the condom. The penis slowly slid out, limp, from beneath the woman's buttocks. Although I couldn't see the full outline of the penis, the condom-covered glans was as large as an egg. I swallowed hard. How big and long was Frank's penis? I felt a pang of worry for the woman, whether she was the teacher or "the Gallic hen."
What puzzled me, though, was that there was still snoring in the video. I couldn't understand why there would be snoring.
Just as I saw the progress bar nearing the end and thought the video was over, another picture appeared at the very end, accompanied by the caption, "Third ejaculation. Too tired. Going home to drink chicken soup to replenish."
The image still appeared to be in the same location, but the background of the video had brightened considerably. A woman's pale buttocks were visible, clad in light-colored panties that had been shifted to one side and pulled open. On the fabric of her underwear, thick, freshly ejaculated semen was clearly visible, and the amount seemed substantial. It dripped from her buttocks onto the bed, trailing viscous, milky strands. The man's lower abdomen was pressed closely against the woman's hips, and his large glans—damn!
Only then did I notice that the sizable glans of the penis was not wearing a condom. From the dark, egg-sized glans and its urethral opening, thick, milky residual semen still oozed.
The video Frank had sent me ended with this somewhat shocking image. I adjusted my breathing and swallowed hard. Frank was definitely Black. I needed to reply and confirm with him—a Black man had fucked a white woman. I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for this Frank from Germany.
"Frank, are you Black? In the video you sent me, did you manage to get with the 'teacher' or the 'French hen'? Anyway, no need to say more—you're impressive, Frank."
After replying, I thought about continuing to read the earlier messages he had sent me. Just then, Sam turned over, stretching out his two dark arms and rubbing his large, pale eyes with his hands.
"Oh, Zihan, you're awake." Sam stretched lazily, sat up, and glanced at me, looking thoroughly rested and comfortable.
"Mhm," I replied coldly.
"Zihan, by the way, what time is it?" Frank quickly grabbed his phone to check.
"Huh?" I looked at him curiously.
"Oh no, it's almost five. Mom asked me to go to the supermarket to buy groceries for dinner. I need to hurry."
Sam acted as if he were being chased by a ghost. He hastily got up, threw on his clothes and pants, and rushed out the door. From waking up to closing the front door behind him, it took less than a minute. Seeing how afraid he was of his mom, I couldn't help but chuckle quietly to myself, though the unease from earlier in the afternoon hadn't completely faded.
"Alright, I'll just keep an eye on Sam and make sure he doesn't interact with Mom alone," I thought to myself, lying back in bed to continue reading Frank's earlier messages. I'd get up once Sam returned from the supermarket.
I scrolled to the bottom of Frank's replies—there were only five or six messages. It seemed Frank had made rapid progress, but I still didn't know whether the woman he had penetrated was the "teacher" or the "French hen."
"Bro, ever since I threatened the teacher, she hasn't spoken to me for days. Bro, your novels are so impressive—can you teach me how to get the teacher to pay attention to me again? Sigh, I didn't mean to threaten her that time. Who knew she'd be so lonely, masturbating in her office? Anyway, what's done is done. Bro, when you see this message, please reply and tell me what to do."
That message was from two weeks after Frank had threatened the female teacher to give him her bra. It seemed that after threatening her, the teacher had started avoiding him.
This message was accompanied by a picture of a tall, fair-skinned woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, standing in a classroom and lecturing like an angel. She held a pointer in her hand, proving that teachers in the East and West are quite similar, especially female teachers. This fair-skinned teacher had an unbelievably voluptuous chest and a slender figure, dressed in a dark blue professional suit. Beneath the skirt were a pair of long legs clad in black stockings, yet she wore a pair of red high heels on her feet. White women naturally possess an innate beauty, and I couldn't help but swallow my saliva. No wonder Frank had gone so far as to threaten this woman for her bra. Could it be that the video Frank sent me was of him having sex with this woman?
I actually felt a little anticipation.
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