A secret romance between a Chinese sex slave and her Japanese master during World War II

A secret romance between a Chinese sex slave

and her Japanese master during World War II

Note by Jennifer Suzuki:  She was a petite, elegantly dressed Japanese woman in her later twenties.  We had met over lunch.  Me and my white boyfriend; she and her white boyfriend.  She looked elegant, but her dress was conservative and plain, without any urban panache and yet radiant with modesty and intelligence.  Her boyfriend was much taller than she was, overbearing, muscular, with crew cut dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, the type that looked like an American marine.  Indeed, she hailed from a very prestigious background, a family consisting of professors and famed surgeons and her boyfriend worked for the American military.  Over lunch, she handed me a leather-bound notebook within which were yellowed and crumpled pages full of scribbled Japanese, but closer looks yielded that at least half of language was actually written in Chinese.  According to her this was the notebook kept by her grandmother but she couldn't understand what was written because most of it was written in very scriptive Kanji characters and some of the Japanese grammar was so irregular and garbled that it didn't make any sense; but if one read them using Chinese grammar then in which case they made perfect sense.  With painstaking effort, relying on my knowledge of both Chinese and Japanese I had translated them into English.  She had told me later on that she had always hoped that what was written in it was entirely fabricated and that the whole thing had been a hoax or a joke.  I still clearly remember her words: “Please tell me it's a joke.None of this is true!”  For what is worth, I had contained this “joke” as my first confession of a submissive east asian woman because it—if it's true—dates the oldest.

Being Sold

       My parents sold me to a Japanese businessman when I was 16 years old. Our family was starving to death and if they did not sell me they would have sold one of my younger sisters, or they would have cooked me or one of my siblings. Cannibalism was very common at the time. It was not just in Nanjing, but all over China, people were starving to death if they did not already die on battlefields, so at least at the time selling one of the children was the only way to survive for the whole family. Initially they wanted to sell the youngest daughter, but she was only 8, and she would not be able survive; selling her was the same as killing her.  It would have been more humane to kill her. I volunteered to my parents to be sold, but they refused; I was the prettiest one, even had an education in an international school set up by Christian missionaries. 

       I knelt before my parents and begged them to sell me in stead of my younger sister. I studied Japanese when I was in school before I dropped out. I could more likely to survive than one of my younger sisters and even if I don't survive I have no regret either, because I had to do everything to spare my other sisters. At least by selling me I would give my family a dim hope of survival, a tiny window of opportunity to live and even to have a better life, only Heaven knows. All else could have led to miserable deaths, not just for me, but for the whole family. I just turned 16 and my breasts were buxom and firm; I had a very thin waist, a wide hip and sexy long shapely legs, plus my creamy white skin and silky long hair, I was confident I can be sold for a better price than my younger sisters. With tears in their eyes my parents brought me to a market place a few blocks away from my house and placed a wooden plaque over my neck that reads in Chinese:”for sale”.  It was a street where people sold and brought all kinds of things: knives, vegetables, raw meat, cooked food, kitchen utensils.  The sidewalk was crowded with vendors so I stood closer to the middle of the street.  On the ground beneath my bare feet my father scratched out words using a stick stained with tarpit: “16 years old, virgin, speak Chinese language, Japanese language, good cook, very obedient, submissive”. My other siblings were playing on the sidewalks and they were too young to know what was going on. To my left there was a butcher selling pork and all the pigs were skinned, their feet, tongues sliced-off, and they hang upside down with iron hooks dug into their flesh.  I turned my face to the other direction to avoid seeing them.  Several people walked by, looked at the sign hanging in front of my breast, and walked away. Finally a Japanese business man came over and asked to examine me. He was a bespectacled man with a short beard and a handsome rugged face, wore a western gray coat and leather shoes and his whole body radiated high western cultivation. That day was very cold. He spoke Chinese with a very heavily accented Japanese voice; if you don't listen closely, you might as well think he was speaking Japanese. He asked me with his horrible Chinese: “Can you speak Japanese?” I said yes in Japanese and bowed my head toward him. He then asked me in Japanese “What's your name?” And I answered him in Japanese: “I don't have a name. You can give me a name after you buy me.” I had a name of course, a name given by my parents, but I did not want him to call me by the same name my parents called me. My father came up next to me, pushed my head back into the bowed position and told him: ”She is very obedient and very good cook. She is still a virgin too. You can check her inside her pants.”  The Japanese buyer didn't say anything back to my father—I wondered if he really understood what my father said since my father spoke a very thick accented local dialect—redirected his attention to me and asked me, again in Japanese: “Take off your clothes and let me see your body.”

       I turned to my dad and told him the man wanted me to take off my clothes and examine me.  My father nodded, said “You have to do what he asks,” and turned his face to the side.

       I did as I was told, in front of my parents and siblings and in the middle of the road. It was in the middle of winter in Nanjing, but I was used to the cold. I didn't have much clothes on anyway. I didn't have shoes at the time either. I took off the “for sale” sign in front of my chest as well to give him a complete view of my body. When I took off my clothes several passerby stared at me, but most people just minded their own business like nothing happened. They were used to seeing naked Chinese girls being sold. 

       He ran his fingers from my neck to my breasts and he pinched my nipples with his hands. My nipples were hard and erect from the cold weather; they stood at attention, almost begging to be touched. His smile became wider and it looked now more like a grin than a smile, he said, this time in Chinese, apparently at my father who was standing a few steps behind me now: “Your daughter has very big titties.” That was the first time anyone touched me there and if I didn't bite my lips hard I could have not repressed a loud moan from my throat. 

       ”Cheap boned!” It's a Chinese expression for women who are easy; it's the equivalent of calling me a slut. My mother apparently has interpreted my body language and she gave me a very rough smack on my bare ass as she said it and shot me a dirty look. I didn't realize that when he flipped my nipples between his fingers I had lifted my heels a little, and my chin leaned forward toward him. I became aware of my mistake and tried not to react to his touch as much as possible. Several of my siblings playing on the sidewalk saw my mother smacking me and had curious looks on their faces.

       The Japanese man told me to open my mouth, spread my legs, pry open my vagina with my own hands, and do the same with my anus, as he prodded all my orifices with a metallic device. My father was looking anxiously on and tried to assure him: ”She's never had sex. She's very pure.” Putting the little metal device back into his pocket, he then told me to sit on the ground with my legs open as he crouched down and pulled my vaginal lips to the side and examined my hymen with another hand. He made sure that indeed I was a virgin and once he stood up again he said to my parents in thick accented Chinese that he would buy me. He brought me with two loaves of bread handed over to my parents. 

       He was a tall man and when he embraced me and pressed my naked body into his, my face was engulfed into his chest. The cold and rough surface of his coat made me further realize my nakedness and when he lowered his head to kiss me the stubs of his beard cut into my face.

       Then the unexpected happened. Right in front of my entire family he laid me down on the ground and started to unzip his flyer. I looked at him with dismay. He said he wanted to take my virginity right now. My father tried to intervene but before he even took a step forward the Japanese businessman took out a pistol and harked him to stand back. The gentle look on his face disappeared and all of a sudden as if he was a different person now, as if a devil inside him had emerged. His eyes wide, his teeth exposed, his nostrils inflated, he had all of a sudden transformed into a beast, a beast ravaged with unhindered desire to do as he wished, as if he were a god, pure evil reincarnate. Anything, anyone, human beings or animals, that stood in his way must be demolished. I was dumbfounded, at the time, by the revelation of his true animal nature; how someone who at first seemed so intelligent, so gentle, cultivated, and well educated, all of a sudden behave like a mad brute, like a fiery teethed beast of prey. 

       At this point I knew if I did not do what he wanted, he would have killed my father, and even my mother, and then more Japanese soldiers would came in, and the Kempeitai would take them away, would torture to death my whole family and even arrest all the Chinese that witnessed the crime scene. No one would be able to escape. Every little hope dashed. I waved my hands at my father and said: ”I am already sold dad,” quickly lay down on the ground and lay there begging him to do to me whatever he wished with me. To him, I begged, in Japanese: “Sir, please leave my family alone.”

         This instance my parents had gathered all my siblings and my whole family stood against the wall and watched as I was mauled on the ground by a stranger who just brought me for two loaves of bread. I lay on my back, staring at the sky, all the fantasy of romance dashed; his penis protruded out of his flyer and using his hands he guided its invasion into my body as his teeth gnawed my tits like a dog and pumped in and out of my cunt. There were blood and semen mixed together. I felt his semen inside me, some oozed out and ran into my anus, and I felt disgusting. Other Chinese nearby just watched; some had sympathetic looks on their faces, some their expression blank, and some pretended as if nothing had happened. No one came to my rescue.  No one thought perhaps it was wrong that he could humiliate me in front of my parents even if I was a pig and no one came forward to stop him. It didn't take him long to finish and afterward, I wanted to gather my clothes to wear again but he said I didn't need clothes anymore so I left my clothes to my siblings some of whom were still naked and had no clothes to wear. He tied a rope around my neck and led me off from my parents as if I were a cattle taken to be slaughtered. My mother cried out and tried to take me back, but my father grabbed hold of her as she screamed and my entire family wept while the Japanese businessman led me away with a big grin on his face. He told me from now on I will address him as Master; in Japanese a wife also called her husband "Master", so that was like a silly make belief play for him because he wanted to make believe he was my husband. Maybe it meant he really did have feeling for me. 

       He led me naked out of the market place and into the big streets of Nanjing. I felt nervous, hopeless, humiliated and angry, at being deflowered right in front of my parents. I could feel his semen leaking out of my sex as I walked and little bit of my own blood was smeared on my bare thigh. There were a lot of people on the streets and everyone watched me and I felt my face burning with shame. When a group of Chinese beggars (mostly young boys) passed by me out of instinct my hands tried to cover my private parts. He noticed I was trying to cover myself, came over to me, knocked my hands off my breasts, grabbed my nipples with both hands, pulled them and twisted them. He yelled at me, then told me: “Do not cover yourself pig!” His voice had become coarser and louder, and scarier. He twisted them and held them for several minutes. My hands grabbed over his, not really to resist, since it was hopeless, but more to plead for mercy. I sobbed in an effort to appease him and my initial screaming had given away to desperate pleadings and pitiful begging for mercy. In my state of panic I forgot to say it in Japanese.  I remember I said “dui bu qi” first and then quickly corrected myself and said “gomen nasai.” And when he didn't let go of me I said: “Please forgive me sir, Master. I will not cover myself anymore. I will do as you say sir, Master.”

       I know how pathetic and disgustingly fawning I must seem, but this was the only way for me to survive. Any Chinese who showed a hint of resistance would be promptly killed, and in death I could only wish for a speedy death. When he finally let me go, big red marks were left on my breasts around my bruised nipples. All of a sudden he became gentle again and said to me in a normal voice: “I can understand you fully well in Chinese, but only speak Japanese from now on.”

       Across the street a large crowd of Chinese, men and women, old and young, stood there and watched, murmuring to themselves. He told me to walk with my hands clasped behind my back and if I tried to cover my breasts again he would slice them off. Those beggars continued to stare at me. Without turning around, as he walked in front of me, he said: ”Let everyone enjoy the sight of your big breasts. I love showing off my big breasted slave to others. You shameless mesu buta. And from now on your name is mesu buta.” That's the Japanese word for a female pig.

       Sometimes he seemed gentle and understanding, sometimes cruel and ruthless. Sometimes I felt maybe he was schizophrenic.We walked over a distance of a few blocks and every block was scattered with Chinese dressed in rags staring and watching as he led me. I wondered why they didn't come over and help me. I wondered what they were thinking when they saw a naked Chinese woman, tied to a rope, led by a Japanese businessman, as if she was a cattle, to be slaughtered. My fellow countrymen's cold, callous, hopeless looks heaved onto my despair. 

Chinese Restaurant

       He led me all the way into a Chinese restaurant, a two floored building with yellow roofs, red walls, and a big board that read: "Special Chinese Cuisine". Japanese soldiers stood by the gate, chatting and smoking cigarettes. They surveyed my body from head to toe and smirked. I kept my eyes down. I was scared to death of what they might do to me. Probably because I was with my Japanese Master they did not approach me. On the doorstep a small plaque read in Japanese, English, French, and Chinese:"Only Japanese allowed inside". I didn't know why they didn't stop me from going in, but then I realized that I was no longer considered human. Once inside two Chinese girls knelt by the door, greeted my Master by prostrating to the floor. Another Chinese girl brought us to a table in the main lobby. It was a huge lobby accommodating hundreds of people. There were Japanese businessmen dressed in suits as well as people dressed in military uniforms. They were boisterous and they chattered by screaming. Occasionally out of the thick clamor, I heard high pitched shrills coming from upstairs that sounded like the squeals of pigs. Master ordered me to kneel on the floor by my chair, and tied the other end of the rope to the leg of the table. A Chinese waitress, no more than a few years older than me, her hair in a bun adorned by a delicate silver hairpin, walked over to our table. She was dressed in a red open front mini qipao; the front was secured with a button adorned at the collar, leaving her creamy white arms, shoulders, upper back bare, and there was a triangle opening in front of her chest; the hem of the silk dress stopped at mid section above her knees and when she walked the long slits on both sides split and showed the side of her hips, almost revealing her bare ass. I always wanted to dress pretty when I was in school, and I was a bit jealous when I saw her, looking so pretty and so delicately dressed. And I was ashamed; I was the only one completely nude in a restaurant full of clothed people, but I was immediately corrected in my assessment. There were at least a dozen naked Chinese girls kneeling in similar position at the end of the lobby, their backs against the wall right next to the stairs leading to the second floor. They had their hands behind their backs, their feet folded beneath their thighs, and they seemed to be sitting very straight and protruding their chest as if on purpose to exhibit their bare breasts They were very far away that was why I didn't see them at first. Besides there were so many people at the restaurant.

       The waitress's Japanese was very bad and she struggled to understand my Master. I kept my head low not willing to draw attention to myself. I stole glances around the restaurant when no one was looking. About 50 or more Chinese waitresses dressed in the same mini qipaos served Japanese clients, bustled among tables; carrying plates, food, cups, pots; walking fast, or standing stiff; bowing deeply, or kneeling on the floor bowing to the ground. Across the aisle  a waitress was collecting dishes and a Japanese business man lifted up the back of her dress, revealing her bare ass. I can still remember some of the remarks that were thrown around during the commotion. They jestered at her, saying: “The most tender part of a Chankoro mesu buta is her ass.” “But you have to cane her ass with a bamboo stick to make it more tender.” And “Does your Chinese father enjoy caning your bare ass at home?” Traditional Chinese women, in the 1940s, especially the ones from backward rural areas, didn't know about wearing bras and panties; only more educated and westernized Chinese women wore panties and bras. I could sense she must be flustered but she did not flinch as she continued to collect dishes. Some were wearing bright colored high heels and some were bare feet, but they all managed to walk as fast as possible. 

       At another table, a group of Japanese soldiers were teasing a very pretty Chinese waitress—most likely just 12 to 14 years old, with big round eyes and creamy white skin—they groped her and fondled her breasts as she stood there with her hands holding several cups full of beer, her head lowered into her bosom. Then they lifted up the front of her qipao and tucked the hem of the dress into her mouth, and, screamed in Japanese: “Hold it in your mouth like it's my cock!”

       She obeyed without uttering a word, and now they were fondling her bare pussy (she did not even have public hair); they pinched her cunt lips with their chopsticks, and slapped her on her bald pussy with their hands; another one with a cigarette even tried to burn her by waving the cigarette around her pussy area, but she moved her hips outward and tried to avoided being burnt while she begged for mercy with her eyes, never uttering a word. The humiliation went on for half an hour. She just stood there stoically, still with her dress lifted up and held in her mouth, sometimes her eyes bulged, staring at the wall, sometimes eyes cast down and was looking on the floor; and her soft small hands formed into fists behind her back. They took pictures of her with their cameras, and as they ate and drank, she stood there serving them drinks, enduring all the humiliation with grace and fortitude. 

       This was happening all the while my Master sat at his table relaxing and drinking tea, while reading a book, then a waitress came over with my Master's food, and I glanced up to her skirt and saw she was not wearing any underwear beneath her dress. I didn't know if it was part of the dress code of the restaurant or the apparent ignorance on the part of those Chines girls, for when she leaned in to put the plate on the table my Master reached underneath her dress and played with her pussy, and she forced a weary smile back at him. As my Master ate, I realized I was starving and how hungry I was. I looked at the food on his table with longing and sadness. I didn't dare to utter a word but when my Master looked at me, he must have realized my intention. So he asked me if I wanted to eat, and I told him that “I haven't eaten anything in three days.”

       He took hold of a slice of cooked pork between his fingers and lowered to me. I had forgotten how long it has been since I ate meat and none of my siblings have ever had meat to eat. I caught the meat in my mouth and felt a rush of pleasure and satisfaction as I chewed and swallowed. It was the most delicious thing I have had eaten in my life. I closed my eyes and tried to savor the taste for as long as possible. 

       As my Master ate, I saw at the end of the lobby a group of Japanese men came up to the naked girls kneeling against the wall.  One used a stick to poke at their breasts, and the other two talked to each other and laughed all the while feeling up the the girls' naked flesh.  Then they lifted up one of the girls and pushed her upstairs. All the others lowered their heads as she went up the stairs on her bare feet, her beautiful thighs and legs and ass revealed for the first time and her breasts bounced as she walked. At that moment I remember murmuring to myself: “She is so beautiful.” After the meal my Master continued to read, passing time on purpose while waiting for someone. Then several Japanese businessmen came down from the second floor, met with my Master, discussed something with him. They discussed the book he was reading, the war, and the Europeans. Of course I can't remember verbatim what they were saying but it went something like this:

       One of the Japanese businessmen: ”What does he say about Japanese?”

       My Master: ”Japanese is a noble race on par with the Germans.”

       ”In this book?”

       ”Not this one but in another book.”

       ”What does this book say?”

       ”Japanese is not mentioned, but the Jews, Frenchman and Chinaman are mentioned.  Those are the three distinct types of degenerate, sick species of human.”

       ”Is that why Nazis want us to help exterminate Jews for them?”

       ”That's none of our business.”

       ”What else does it say?”

       ”China ought be conquered by the future Master race.”

       ”It's surprising that a German said that. But does it mean by Japanese or by Germans. This is written in the 18th Century right?”

       ”Not surprising at all. I studied Chinese for the last ten years and I can see where a German gets his ideas from. However if the Germans want to conquer China now, they would have to conquer Russia first, that will take them at least a decade, if they succeed at all. Russia is not a sick man like China and look how long it's taking us, but let's just suppose that they do indeed eventually conquer Russia, by that time we would have conquered all of Asia and we would have the resources, land mass and manpower to duel it out in China with the Germans or the Russians or the Americans.”

       ”Do you think the Russians are going to meddle in China?”

       ”I don't know. What I know for sure is this—if we don't take over China, someone else would.”

       “What's your opinion on the current situation?”

       ”The Americans. They are forcing us to a showdown.”

       ”They are trying to force us into a war with them.”

       ”Of course, China is a big pie and the Americans are not willing to see Japan eat this entire pie by herself.”

       ”Those belligerent Anglo Saxons! War and conquer are in their genes.”

       Then they all got up to leave, with me following behind them. It was only now that they have discovered me kneeling by the chair as they were too immersed into their conversation. And one of them said to my Master: “You got quite a big breasted chankoro today. Look at those big firm tits. Where did you get her? At this restaurant?” 

       And my Master replied: “No I brought her in a Chinese market this morning. She will be my personal mesu buta.”

       Then one of them said: “Well if you are not going to eat her, you will need this. Otherwise people would assume she's an unowned piece of meat and try to eat her.”

       And he handed to my Master a dog collar—it was formed by a series of chains with sharp edges turned toward the neck; it was actually a choke collar used only on very massive dogs. I knew it was for me but I still held out hope that it wasn't, that it was just a dog collar for a dog maybe outside the restaurant, but then my Master turned it over to me and told me to “put this on, mesu buta.”

       Another one laughed and said: ”Wait a minute, if she is a pig then how come you let her wear a dog collar.”  Everyone just laughed including my Master.

       I stared at him not knowing what to do. He reached down, untied the rope that was around my neck and replaced it with the dog collar. The sharp edges cut into my throat and I bit my lips hard trying to hold back from sobbing. He tugged on the leash and told me to crawl behind them.  Every tug brought pain into my throat. My Master explained to me: “This will be a mark of your status, mesu buta, of my ownership of you.  You are my pig now, and you will do as you are told or else those gentlemen will put you in on a fry pan. Now crawl behind us like a obedient chankoro pig.  You will be protected by this collar.” I repeated what he said and positively affirmed that I understood everything.

       One of the Japanese businessmen: ”A chankoro mesu buta that speaks Japanese so well.”

       My Master: ”Yes, that's why I'm keeping her.” We came out of the restaurant from the back door and I crawled behind them as ordered; in the backyard of this restaurant we saw a Chinese man with a small girl of no more than 10 years old cradled in his arms, eyes closed, motionless. Her head and naked legs dangled off his arms and swung lifelessly as the man walked toward kitchen of the restaurant where the dull numbing sounds of the butcher knife hitting against the chopping board came from. I felt my stomach churning with nausea and fear at the sight. Cannibalism at the time was rampant. Because of war, famine, drought, natural disasters, everyone was starving. On the first floor of the restaurant human meat were routinely mixed together with animal meat to pass off as pork, beef or lamb and served. On the second floor young Chinese girls were routinely roasted or cooked alive to serve Japanese clients. It was not a secret, neither among the Chinese nor among the Japanese. Master's jeep was parked outside the backyard of the restaurant. The restaurant apparently must have been partly, or most likely, fully owned, by Japanese, but operated by Chinese collaborators. He tied me to the roof of the jeep with several ropes. I was lying on my back on the roof of the car and he tied three ropes around me and the roof: one around my ankles, another one around my waist and still another one around my chest. He made sure the ropes cut deep into my skin and were taut. Then he and the other Japanese men got into the car and drove off. I never rode in a car prior to that point in my life. When the car started and jumped over the uneven road, I shut my eyes expecting the worst, and when the car made several sharp turns my whole body lurched to the side. At that moment I lost my bladder control and urinated on myself. I felt like to vomit also but because I was lying flat on my back, the vomit couldn't come out and I choked on my own vomit. I lost conscious some time later and when I opened my eyes again I was inside a factory outside the city of Nanjing.

Today is Master's Birthday

       Master Ishii turned 66 years old today and I myself am about to turn 28 later this year. The children are all in school and my Master is taking me to mountain-hiking this afternoon. Master has made a vow of silence to never discuss any event of the war to anyone, not his Japanese relatives, not his former associates, absolutely no one, except when he is alone with me, deep in the mountains, where no one can hear us. To him, I am always his most loyal and trustworthy slave, but most importantly Master and I both went through the war and it was our shared experience that has kept us bond together for the last 12 years. I am his only confidante throughout all those years. Despite of all the hardship that my master and I suffered, I always know deep inside he is a good man.

Factory

       There I caught glimpse of half-naked Chinese male coolies working inside the compound; emaciated to nothing but bones, they were all chained by their ankles; others confirmed they were only given a paltry portion of food a day, slept only a few hours if at all they were allowed to sleep and worked to their deaths. None of them survived. On the other hand, Chinese female slaves were led into office buildings, used for recreational purposes. My Master alone owned 200 of us, the youngest only 10 years old, and I was one of his slaves. Most of them could not speak Japanese, the few ones who can are used as slave secretaries for some minimal maintenance of the office and operational assistance though the big important tasks were only entrusted to Japanese themselves.

       The first day I was in the factory my Master ordered several men to take turns beating me as means to break my spirit or perhaps it was some kind of initialization ritual. All of Master Ishii's slaves had to be beaten like this on the first day. Several times I had passed out and in my semi-conscious state I heard the men who were beating me speaking to each other in Korean. Those were Korean conscripts. And according to Master Ishii, while most Japanese soldiers acted according to rules, it was the Korean and Chinese conscripts among the Japanese military that were truly savage and barbaric. I was still wearing the choke collar my Master gave me and he came to see me after my beatings and he said: “That dog collar will stay around your neck not just until the end of your life, but even into the afterlife, because I will still torture you even after my death, I will find you and torture you to your death in the afterlife. You will be my slave even if you reincarnate into a bug and I still crush you in your next life. Hate your life, you miserable chankoro sow. You are cursed to have ever existed.” 

       His words cut me like broken glass, scratching into my soul. I did not understand why he would hate me so much. I did not understand why he would, despite of all his loving gestures, such as feeding me food, still be so cruel and angry toward me. At the time I felt he was evil and crazy. Recollecting now, I think he wanted me to experience his despair; he wanted me to feel the same pain that he felt every day. Master Ishii had a wife before, and his wife was killed by Chinese soldiers in North East China and his first born son was crippled during the escape, long before the full blown out war even started. That's why Master hates Chinese so much. And when he was particularly brutal to me, that was because I reminded him of “brutal chankoro soldiers” and when he was gesturing for sympathy and compassion, that was when I reminded him of his wife. I only found out about his wife after the war ended when Master brought me to Japan, and I felt very bad for my Master. After all, Japan is the most industrialized nation in all of Asia, and China is backward. If Japan did not invade China, Russia would have invaded China; Germany would; England would; America would. Even as we remember how brutal the war has been for both Chinese and Japanese, we must not fail to realize that Japan brought advance to China as well: they built roads and brought advanced technology to China. Japan wanted to make China strong so that China and Japan can jointly defend against the Russian Communists and the American imperialists. Without American interference, Japan would have never entered World War II. The cause of war has been the folly of all sides, not just any one particular side that ought be blamed. The Americans, Japanese and Chinese should all be blamed for the start of war. As a woman, as a wife, and as a mother, I deeply feel my Master is a good man, and nothing less, but the conditions of war made him into a brute; it was under the special circumstance of war that he became a monster. I do not believe my Master is a bad man, and I do not believe he is evil, never has been, nor ever will be. 

       Master Ishii ordered me to be tied facing down on a table, and I remember seeing a dark pot put on the table right next to my face; when I realized what was contained inside and it was hot coals and a heated branding iron, my head went blank at the realization and everything afterward felt as if it were a dream. I saw him picking the white hot branding iron up out of the coals and bringing to my face. Even today I remember it like a dream, a horrible dream. At the time I knew I was going to be branded; I have seen animals being branded before but I never thought I was going to be branded. Out of instinct for survival I tried to beg and I cried and screamed as loud as I could to no avail of course. I understood fully well, as my Master has explained to my thick head numerous times, that “you are an owned slave and I could have done anything I wished to you.” I knew that and even though I had accepted my fate, my instinct for survival still made me scream and beg for life. And when the branding iron moved out of my face and I felt the warm sensation on my buttocks, my head seemed to have fazed out and did not remember anything else after that. I woke up after I felt burning and itching on my buttocks. I wanted to scratch the area but my hands were firmly tied behind my back. I didn't know how long I have been tied on that table but when finally I was released, I twisted my neck as hard as I could and I saw the Japanese word for pig was branded on my left butt cheek. 

       I don't know how many days had passed but after the men took me off the table, my Master came over to me, he was wearing a white mask and he told me to kneel on the floor and thank him for branding me. I didn't know why I should thank him for torturing me but I did anyway, and bowed deeply on the ground at his feet. He was holding the silver scalpel and he used it to point at my breast. Even to this day I remember with fear and terror that instance when the cold scalpel touched my breast—when those words were uttered. Even now I shudder at the thought of what those words meant. I don't have the courage to imagine what he meant by those words. “I have used this scalpel to vivisect thousands of Chinese pigs like you and if you ever disobey me, I will send you over the experiment part of the factory and have you used for science. This branding mark signifies not just your status, but it also signifies to other Japanese that you are owned by a Japanese. You should be proud, that your existence has meaning now, as the subsistence and fodder for the Japanese Master race as it is in your natural predisposition. But most importantly, this branding mark tells other Japanese to spare you of life, so that you may not be mutilated or hacked to your death. Do you understand now how honored you have been to be branded? I could have you used for germ experimentation, have you eaten alive by ants, have you infected with bubonic plague, put you in a glass jar and watch you die a slow and miserable death. You stupid chankoro pigs, you have no idea how much sacrifice we Japanese have to made toward human progress.”

       I prostrated myself before my Master. Sometimes I feel ashamed of my slave-like behavior—I was too eager to please and I was too subservient and obsequious toward Japanese conquerors during the war—that others would think of me as being “cheap boned” as my mother called me or even a Chinese traitor, but I also know that if I did not behave in that way, I would have certainly been killed a long time ago. I can completely understand any stranger who is not familiar with me or with the situation during that time if they feel disgusted at the “cheap boned” way I behaved. In truth I cannot thank my Master enough for his generosity and grace, for were it not for him, I would have certainly died a long time ago and as my expression of gratitude, I live as nothing other than his domesticated pig, his cattle, wholly owned by Him, and will live only to serve and please Him and whomever He orders me to serve and please. At the time I did not think like I do now. At the time I was only 16 years old and all I did was to do everything to survive. Even though my Master made me do the most degrading things back then—like drinking his urine, and when I hesitated, he beat me; he beat me until I didn't flinch from drinking his urine anymore; he also made me lick a German shepherd's penis and he beat me until I didn't hesitate at his command; he led me into a public restroom and told me to eat his feces; when I begged for mercy another brutal beatings ensued until I caved in and licked up his feces with my mouth; he wanted to train me not to think but only to obey, as a complete subhuman Chinese pig—I have no other feelings than consummate love toward him and I do not think my Master is evil anymore. 

       Since I spoke Japanese, I was assigned to work in the main office, and those who can't speak Japanese were tied up in the public restroom and used as comfort women for Japanese soldiers. "Comfort women" is an euphemism invented to describe the Japanese women who worked in the brothels; the Chinese women were referred to as public toilets. 

       In the morning from 5:30 to 2 I served as a servant in the main office, cleaning, cooking, washing and serving food to the Japanese workers in the factory; in the afternoon from 3 o'clock to 5 I provided entertainment for Japanese workers, and in the evening from 6 to 12 I provided entertainment for Japanese soldiers stationed outside the factory. And from 1 to 4 I provided entertainment to the Kempeitai or the Japanese police. (I did not regularly provide sex to my clients because I was solely owned by Master Ishii. I played traditional Chinese music, danced, and also provided conversation; I was kind of like a Japanese geisha. And I only provided sex to those associates who were close to Master Ishii, like Mr. Takeda and a few others. Japanese understood this when they saw my collar, which is a sign that the slave is owned by a Japanese, and the “pig” branding mark in particular told them that I belonged to a very important Japanese man.) In the morning. I was given a dress to wear to look presentable and occasionally Master taught me more about Japanese culture and etiquette. Although I knew I was a sex slave, even back then I was very grateful to my Master for giving me a dress to wear and teaching me Japanese manners. I had been naked from the morning he brought me from my parents until two weeks after I arrived to the factory. I felt less and less like a human during the process. The clothes at least made me feel a slight sense of dignity even though I knew I had no dignity as a human in the eyes of Japanese. 

       Every morning in addition to just cleaning the hallway and cooking, I was sometimes called in the main office to clean. Every time I went in there would be a different Chinese girl in the office. Master Ishii had a guest who apparently enjoyed seeing a woman penetrating herself with a dildo. So everyday in the morning he ordered a Chinese girl to crawl up on his desk, and on top of the desk was placed a dildo, and she impaled herself on that dildo. It was not a dildo we have today. The dildos back then were made out of wood, and had iron spikes on them.   It was a horrendous sight. The girl would crawl onto the table with tears, then when she sat on the dildo, she screamed and yelled, and she was required to bounce up and down on the dildo so it went in and out of her cunt and there was blood everywhere. But they enjoyed seeing her hurting herself, and they especially enjoyed making her do it herself. They usually had either her parents or someone she loved hostage and told her if she didn't do it they would kill her parents or her loved ones.  It was horrible, she would yell and scream and yet she would not stop bouncing up and down on the spiked dildo. After they had enough fun of seeing her mutilating her own cunt, they ordered her to do the same to her anus. And when she couldn't do it anymore, they pushed her up and down the spiked dildo. Every time I saw it I felt like dreaming; I felt like I was in a terrible dream that I can never wake up from.

       Almost everyday I saw young Chinese girls been raped and then tortured mercilessly by Japanese soldiers in the field outside the factory. There were always many Chinese watching but none of them dared to come forward and fight back. The young girls screamed and cried with horror throughout but no one dared to come to their rescues. Those soldiers would tie them up and mutilate their cunts, and laughed at each other as if it was all part of a game. Once a young mother and her daughter were trapped and caught. They were both raped. When the mother tried to intervene to save her daughter, they dragged her away and warped her up in barbed wires and hanged her off the wall. They used a barbed wire to tie her wrists behind her back and brought the remaining part of the wire to the front by bringing it up from below her cunt, so the wire cut right in between her cunt—when her hands moved the barbed wire chafed at her cunt. And they used another barbed wire to tie around her chest and they joined the two pieces of wires together in front of her breasts. They made sure the barbs cut directly into her nipples so her breasts looked like they were cut in half with her nipples crushed beneath the barbed wire. Finally when they were done tying her up they hanged her up on the wall using a hook. The more she struggled, the barbs cut deeper into her flesh and in her struggle her breasts and cunt became bloody mess. Her nipples were chafed off in the process and the barbed wire cut so deep into her cunt the wire had completed disappeared, only the blood from her cunt constantly dripping down along her highs. The blood ran all the way down to her feet and dripped off to the ground by the her big toes. Meanwhile her daughter was gang raped and mutilated on the ground in front of her. Her screams were loud and scary but those soldiers didn't seem to be bothered at all. They seemed to especially enjoy her screaming. They especially seemed to enjoy when they sliced off the flesh of the girl and then threw the severed piece on the young mother's face as they broke out into boisterous laughters.

Kempeitai

       Once Mr. Takeda, a Kempeitai officer, and a close friend of Master Ishii, came in during my service hour. He took off his pants and I gingerly licked his genitals, as he sat cross legged next to a small table drinking sake. (Only a few people were allowed to have sex with me because I was owned by Master Ishii as his personal slave.) His flaccid penis was curled in his lap, so from my kneeling position I leaned forward, and buried my face in his lap. He reached over with one hand, lifted up my dress and played with my pussy. Mr. Takeda and my Master were friends since childhood. He took out a large round glass jar, smilingly told me it contained the testes sliced off from “shina pigs”, cooked, preserved with vinegar. He had cut off their testicles and penises, cooked and preserved them inside that glass jar as if they were pickles. My heart sunk and my stomach churned with sadness and I couldn't control my sadness. I started to cry and my hot tears landed on Mr. Takeda's genitals as I cried, feeling the humiliation and shame burning my face into a pink red color, feeling being utterly dominated and feeling my own consummate, inferior slave status in front of him. I felt like a totally worthless domesticated animal. My whole body felt weak and I slumped on the ground and my face further buried in his crotch. After I thoroughly licked his testicles and his shaft, I gently pulled his foreskin with my teeth and carefully cleaned off the smega from head of his penis, swallowing everything and then I sucked on the tip of his penis and licked off any precum or urine. I was starving and I hadn't eaten much in 6 days and here I was pleasuring him by licking his testicles beneath his fat hairy stomach while he held a jar full of my countrymen's severed testicles. I felt my tears burning my eyes and when they rolled down my face burned my face. I felt my face burning and I felt the coolness of his penis against my face and I continued to use my lips to kiss the tip of his penis and he was further aroused. With a big grin he twisted off the cap of the jar, reached his hand into the vinegar water and took out a severed shaft of a penis—it was quite big, grey and dark brown color—he slapped the severed cock on my face and it was horrible, wet and disgusting. Then he put it in his mouth, bite off half of it with his teeth and chewed in his mouth. I couldn't speak with disgust, hatred and sadness. I continued to lick his penis and licked my own tears off his penis and tasted my own tears in my mouth.  Grinning, he told me: “This penis in particular had belonged to a particularly virile shina man.” When they caught him they broke his arms, skinned him and poured boiling oil over the parts of his body that were skinned off, and they grilled his penis with grill irons while he was still alive with his penis still attached to his body. He told me: "I had tens of thousands of those jars full of shina male pigs' penises and testicles and I sell them back to Japan as pickled cucumbers." I didn't know what to say but I certainly didn't want him to know I was angry so I kept quiet. Then he said I was very pretty and since I spoke Japanese well I can become a good slave and he didn't want to hurt me. He then said: "Usually after I had sex with a shina female pig, I will cut off her limbs and watch her slowly die in agony. I like watching shina pigs squirm and squeal after I cut off their limbs." As he said this, he twisted my pussy lips with his hand and I gave out a little whimper. He came inside my mouth and I swallowed all his semen. After he left, I sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes before the next client arrived.

       As I recollected those events, despite all the hardship and torture I endured, I am yet grateful for the Master I encountered. Though those words would never see daylight, and no one would ever hear them again. Heaven knows I could have died immediately if it were not for my owner Master Ishii. Those Japanese men who came down from from the second floor of the restaurant. If I were owned by any of them, after they raped me they would have cooked me and killed me already.

       There was a young Chinese woman. As the Japanese soldiers raped her, she continued to fight back. The soldiers stabbed her with bayonets multiple times but she still fought back. In the mix of those soldiers a Kempeitai stepped forward and said: “Hand her to me.” The Kempeitai were known to be very creative torturers. He brought her to the main dining room in the factory, where everyone was eating lunch on their tables; he tied her on an empty table, tied her hands and legs over her head, and stuck a funnel into her upturned vagina. Then with a water kettle he poured boiling water into her cunt. When he finished, there was a round of applause from all the Japanese, while the Chinese—there were Chinese cooks and Chinese sex slaves serving food including me—just  stood there in silence. The woman had lost consciousness but he was not done. He sliced off the Chinese woman's cunt lips and stuffed them in her own mouth and when she regained consciousness he made her chew her own flesh. Afterward several Chinese cooks were called in and they carried her into the kitchen and they were ordered to cook her and passed off her cooked meat as pork and distributed to the Chinese male coolies working outside and they were told it was pork. The chief who was Chinese, of course, knew it was a lie but he just kept silent. 

Public Toilet

       One day I overheard that Americans have declared war on Japan and all the military had to be shipped to South East Asia to defend against the Americans, including the 16th Unit, which was stationed in Nanjing at the time. And in order to boost morals, they decided to have a last hurray: they ordered all the Chinese women be brought to the main military compound for a party celebration, that included me and 200 other Chinese sex slaves belonging to Master Ishii, and a few thousand other Chinese females working in the factory on the outskirt of Nanjing. At the time I was still too young to understand, all I knew was that war was going on. I didn't know about politics or anything else, all I cared about was doing anything possible to survive. It was only after the war that my Master explained to me that the Japanese was fighting the Russian Communists from taking over China. But once America entered the war, and allied with Soviet Union, all was lost in China.  Indeed, for after the war, the Russian Communists came in and conquered all of China. The Japanese was, despite everything, trying to free China from the Russians.

       All the Chinese women were loaded into several trucks with open cabin. They stripped us naked in order to prevent us from escape and drove us off toward the Japanese main military compound. There I saw hundreds of military trucks loaded full of naked Chines girls no more than 12 to 15 years old being unloaded into the barb wired gates.  They were all crying and screaming, except me, because I have been well trained by my Master. 

       I was placed into a public restroom. On one side of the restroom were toilets (the toilets were just a wooden bunch with holes big enough to fit your buttocks over it), and on the other side was a urinal trough. The trough was not very deep. A Japanese soldier carried me over his shoulder into the restroom, put me inside the trough, tied my hands to the water spigot directly over my head and tied my feet over the same spigot.  My body was bent in half, my legs over my head. Then my Master came in, took a look at me, then said he wanted to be the first one in here to piss on me. He intentionally aimed the stream of piss at my face. Out of instinct I turned my face to the side and shut my mouth. My Master became furious when he saw that and he reached down with one hand toward my exposed cunt, grabbed my cunt lips together and twisted them until his wrist turned 180 degrees. As I screamed his yellow tepid piss choked into my throat. He became very angry with me and told me that I must do anything when asked, and I must try to act like I enjoyed it as much as those soldiers who would use me because "Otherwise they will kill you." Then my Master gently slapped me on the face and said: "Wish you luck," and left. I thought he would never came back to me and left me for dead. In my dreamlike condition I thought back to all the wonderful things he did for me, feeding me food, clothing me and teaching me Japanese etiquette. Master even took off my dog collar, which he said he would never take off of me.  That meant I was not owned by him anymore. That meant he had given me up, and I felt extremely sad and scared. I thought perhaps I still had the branding and maybe those soldiers would recognize that this was the branding mark of a slave belonging to a Japanese man.

       When the next soldier came up to me to piss on me, I gingerly opened my mouth to catch his piss and told him in Japanese: "Thank you". He was very pleased and fucked me afterward and all the while I forced a smile on my face. He even endearingly called me his "sweetest shina meat urinal". The first few hours was just me in the urinal trough. Then at least a few dozen Chinese girls were brought in and placed into the same urinal trough as I was, next to me, and they all had their hands and feet tied in the same position. A few were put on the toilets and had their hands and feet tied to the wooden bunch. A girl was dragged by the soldiers into the pot full of feces and they forced her to eat feces out of the pot.  At least a few thousand Japanese soldiers streamed in throughout the day and used me for anything they wished. They pissed on me, fucked me, and occasionally also used my anus. I tried to be as responsive as possible, obeying every one of their demands, and even tried to act like I enjoyed it, because I know what they would do to me if I was unresponsive. One particular young girl must have passed out;  a Japanese soldier was having sex with her, but she had no response, so he took out a sliced-off piece of cactus and shoved it inside her vagina. To stop her excessive screaming, he stuffed another piece of cactus into her mouth. The cactus was stuck inside her vagina and she continued to buckle her hips in all directions in an effort to shake it off and she tried to open her mouth as wide as possible trying to spit out the cactus stuck in her mouth. All the soldiers watching just laughed. 

       My legs and arms was getting so tired and sore several times I nearly passed out as well. It lasted a few days. I was in and out of consciousness. I thought I was approaching death and the images of my parents and sisters and brothers fleeted across my mind and I wondered if they knew I were still alive. I felt I was in a dream, and death will be when I will finally be awake. I had nothing to eat but drinking Japanese soldier's urine and semen. A soldier came in, untied me and told me to crawl over to the stall and eat his feces. His words were like a whisper in my mind. I did not know how to react but to obey. Obeying has become my second nature. Besides I knew if I didn't obey him he would kill me. I gathered up all my strength and crawled over the floor to the stall he just used, lowered my head to into the toilet bowl, used my lips to pick up a piece of the feces and put it in my mouth. Everyone just laughed as I nearly choked on the piece of feces. After I swallowed it, he dragged me by my feet out of the public restroom. I could hear him say in Japanese to his fellow soldiers that a general said he wanted this Chinese pig to be his personal toilet. He dragged me by my feet behind him all the way into a building opposite the public toilet. On my back while being dragged I saw a bunch of naked Chinese girls tied to wooden posts being used for target practice. One girl in particular was tied into a spread eagle position on a wooden cross, both her feet and her hands were tied to the arms of the cross, and blood splattered out of her vagina; soldiers were practicing target shooting by aiming at her vagina.

       I was dragged into the hallway of a big building. The soldier tied my hands behind my back, a rope around my neck and attached the rope to the doorknob on the door of an office. He instructed me to kneel by the wall and whenever someone passed by, to bow my head to the ground. I looked across the hall, and saw several more Chinese girls in the same position. Several people passed by and we all bowed. A soldier came up to a girl down the hallway and just started whipping her with his belt and stamping on her for no apparent reason. She was covered with bloody welts. After nearly an hour of beating her he took out his knife, and when she saw the knife her eyes got big and sobbed uncontrollably and begged for mercy; she looked so painful and pathetic. He turned the knife downward, stretched out one of her breast by the nipple and sliced it off, then walked away with the severed breast as if nothing had happened. He tucked the severed breast in his pockets as he walked away, leaving the poor girl spluttering in a pool of blood; the way she gasped for breath scared me to this day. I felt excruciating pain watching her and I bit my lips hard not to cry out loud. I was scared every moment someone might come up and do the same thing to me. The longer I waited the more I became anxious and I urinated on myself unable to contain the fear anymore. A few hours later a general came out of the door and I bowed as far as the rope around my neck would allow me. He came out and was ready to drag me in, but then he said he wanted me to bark for him. He said it in Japanese and I immediately understood him and I eagerly barked. When he said to bark louder, I barked as loud as I could. I was disgusted at the way I was fawning literally like a dog but I was more worried about my life and scared to death of what might happen if I displeased him. He said to someone inside his office and then led me into his office. In the middle of his office was a Chinese woman, naked, bent in half, her arms embracing her own legs, her head at her knees. She was wearing a pair of high heels, so maybe she was from the upper class or a high class prostitute. Her head was facing the window and her ass was directly facing the door; her cunt was exposed, clipped together a big wooden clothespin and bloody welts crisscrossed her bare ass. Standing right next to him was Master Ishii, my owner. I nearly cried out in joy as I saw my Master. The general that led me in flung the door open and never closed the door behind him so everyone in the hallway could see the flogged Chinese woman standing in the middle of the room. and he walked over to the flogged Chinese woman, stood next to my Master said: “You have a well trained slave.” I crawled meekly behind him, not daring to raise my eyes to look at them, but my heart was filled with a strange sense of hope and even a little happiness. I bowed my head deep into the ground, trying to do anything to show him how obedient and pleasing I would be if he spared my life, so I moved across the floor a little on my knees and used my tongue to lick my Master's boots, and with fluent Japanese, I said as sincerely as possibly: "I am Master Ishii's slave and will do anything to please Master Ishii. I love my Owner, most honorable and noble Master Ishii and I will be forever loyal and obedient to my Master as your chankoro bitch. I know I am just a worthless subhuman chankoro pig and I do not deserve to live, but only to serve and please my Owner as his inferior chankoro pig—"

       But the general spanked my bare ass with his sword shield and I immediately hushed, knowing I shouldn't talk anymore. I prostrated in silence next to the flogged Chinese woman as they talked to each other.  Apparently they were talking about the war.  They said the war is lost already. They have been commanded to start destroying evidence and were planning to head back to Japan. Master Ishii said piles upon piles of documents, photos, video tapes and books were already burned. The physical evidence were all destroyed, except the human evidence. That meant all Chinese they had in contact with must be killed. When I heard it I froze with fear and almost unconsciously urine leaked out of me again. I could see a trail of my own urine leading all the way back to the hallway. Master Ishii continued and said he had a better idea. He said most of those Chinese females would be sent to the navies, where they and those Japanese soldiers would perish together in the Pacific fighting the Americans, but he wanted to bring some Chinese women back to Japan masquerading them as Japanese women. The Americans, once occupied Japan, will demand sex slaves as well, and why not use Chinese sex slaves and pretend them to be Japanese. This way they can maintain the purity of Japanese blood. And besides, he pointed at me and said he wanted more Chinese females like me to be his personal sex slaves and continue to serve him after the war. At the time I didn't know if I should feel joy or horror knowing that now I would never be able to escape, forever trapped to be a sex slave for the rest of my life, the only release being death and no other way. So after the conversation an effort had began among the Japanese to implement their ideas. All the Chinese women who can speak some Japanese, enough to be able to fool the Americans, were masqueraded as Japanese women and shipped to Japan to serve American soldiers; the rest of them, the majority, well over 90% of them, went on Japanese navy ships that were sent to fight the Americans.  I heard only some stories about those Japanese navy soldiers after the war.  When all were lost, they first killed all the women: they cut off their limbs and tossed them over the ocean, smeared gunpowder on their bodies and burned them alive; when those ships were destroyed those women sunk together with their tormentors.       

After the War

       So Master Ishii started to teach me how to dress in kimono, taught me how to properly bow and greet as a Japanese woman and even gave me a proper Japanese name along with forged documents.  Me and several hundreds other Chinese women who spoke Japanese boarded a ship to Japan.  The rest of the sex slaves, over tens of thousands of them, boarded battleships bound for the Pacific Ocean.

       We arrived in Japan with me masqueraded as a Japanese woman. At the time I was also pregnant with Master Ishii's child. Master Ishii himself was even surprised that I was still able to become pregnant given all the trauma and torture I had endured. Most of the sex slaves became barren because their wombs were permanently damaged by bayonets and other sharp objects. I think the reason I was so lucky was because the branding on my body. It showed to the Japanese soldiers that I was owned by a Japanese and they respected the property of a Japanese so I was spared of being mutilated. At the time I was 17 and my Master was 53. We brought along twelve very young and pretty Chinese women saying they were our relatives. At least a few hundred Chinese women, and up to tens of thousands, were smuggled into Japan in the final year of the war. Even before the war ended many Chinese women were sent to Japan and used as sex slaves. I heard from my Master's recount that there used be a market place in Japan where Chinese and other Asian, mostly Korean, sex slaves were sold. They would be strung up on a rack and freely examined by potential buyers. He knew his son, who was crippled, had brought a few Chinese sex slaves and kept for himself. Because he lost both of his legs in the war, he cannot go anywhere without a wheelchair, so he trained those Chinese women to be his personal ponies and carried him around everywhere he directed. I didn't feel anything wrong and unusual about such things since I was sold on a open market as well, and not only that, I thought that it was perhaps natural, and in some way even right. I asked my Master if I were sold at that Japanese market place, would he have brought me again and he said yes.

       After we landed in Japan, the war had been over and all the Chinese women that survived were put inside the brothels serving American soldiers, but American soldiers didn't enjoy Asian women, so quickly the brothels were dissolved, and most of them become married to Japanese. And in stead of returning to China, where a full blown civil war has just unfolded, I decided to stay in Japan and I married my Master, making me the happiest woman in the world. Originally I thought about contacting my parents, but China was now even more ravaged by war between the Communists backed by the Russians, and the Nationalists backed by the Americans; all communication with Japan was cut off and one risked no uncertain death if one were to go back. There were Korean sex slaves who went back to Korea and they were all killed by their families because their Korean families felt they have brought shame upon their families. I knew at least a few dozen who committed suicide. So in stead I stayed and continued to serve Master Ishii in his home as his obedient and royal slave-wife. Master even gave me a new collar to wear after we arrived in Japan, and in addition, Master have pierced my clitoris with a lovely golden ring as a symbol of my submission to him, and I also have the phrase “Ishii no dorei” (slave of Ishii) tattooed above my labia as it is a widely practiced Japanese tradition. Sometimes my Master would attach a nose ring to me as well. It's re-attachable and it actually looked very pretty on me.  So on my body I have been adorned with a branding mark of “pig” on my left buttock, a lovely pink-colored dog collar around my neck, a golden ring through my clitoris, and the phrase “Ishii no dorei” above my labia, and a silver colored re-attachable nose ring. I do not feel ashamed of being a slave to my Master, because without him, I would have died a long time ago, and my devotion to him is my way of giving thanks. In the bedroom Master is energetic as ever. He still enjoyed tying me up, whipping me, humiliating me in various ways, and torturing me as he did before the war, but he no longer carries with him the hatred as he used to. He has become calm and more peaceful; he has gone back to being the highly westernized Japanese gentleman that I know he has always been.

       By the time I was 24 years old I have given birth to 4 children: 3 daughters and 1 boy. There is Master's first born son, Yasuji, born from Master Ishii's previous wife, and we never told Yasuji that I am not his biological mother nor that his mother had died. His mother died when he was only 2 years old. But I love him as much as his real mother because he is the seed of my Master,  my Lord, whom I love with all my heart and life. Though he knows anyway that I am not his real mother because he is actually a few years older than me. But we kept silent, and we never discussed the subject. Of course, as directed by Master Ishii, none of the children has ever been told about the true stories. Master Ishii vowed to never bring up the subject matter or anything remotely related to the period before Japan's defeat and he intends to bring those secrets to the graves with him and me. It is his wish and as his slave-wife I have no choice but to acquiesce. 

       I live with my Master in a remote mountainous part of Japan and our lives have been peaceful, quiet and serene. Far away from the cities, the noise and politics. Ishii's oldest son is married and lives right next to our house and he has maidservants in his house. I work full time as a house wife, raising children, taking care of my Lord Master Ishii as well as his offspring. My Master is still a ferocious reader and loves to read not just sciences, such as chemistry, biology and physics, but also literature and philosophy and whenever I approached his study room I would always see him poring all various books. When he wants to, he likes to discuss the books he read with me, and during the 12 years, he has taught me how to read and write in Japanese and even brought me Japanese books on how to be a good slave-wife. Once in bed when we reenacted out our romance history I remembered seeing him reading the exact same book that was on the first day he brought me: when we were in that Chinese restaurant, so I dared to ask him what he was reading in that Chinese restaurant on the day he brought me. And he merely said: “It was not something that would interest a woman.”

       However, curiosity got the better hold of me. It was a dark colored book and the title had the Chinese word “zhi” at the end. So during my cleaning I looked through his books shelves and eventually I found the book with the exact cover and  the word “zhi” in the title. It was a very thick book, translated from German into Japanese. Some pages were dog eared multiple times with sentences underlined so many times it was becoming hard to read the original text. Apparently Master read this book many times given how worn out the book has been. And to me in particular it had a token of keepsake, a memento of our first encounter, the start of our first romance. Well, anyway, the title of the book was “li heno yizhi”.

         In the summer of 1949, Master Ishii and I traveled to the United States for Master was invited to give lectures at an University in America. Master Ishii was a very well respected professor in Japan and we saw the beautiful landscapes of America. Master Ishii said that he wants to retire to America after his tenure ends in Japan. And we look forward it.

1957

       Master Ishii became terribly ill with cancer. He said he doesn't think he could survive another year. He is 67 years old now and I am 29 years old. Master Ishii have expressed that he did not trust me living by myself and he wanted me to die before him. He has left me on my table a bottle of poison and he expect me to put it in my own food next Sunday and he wants all his children to die with him as well, except for his oldest son. I am afraid I cannot do that. I can die, but I will do everything to spare my children. I understand. Master Ishii thinks his children are impure, because their mother is Chinese, but I don't care.  “Evolution is the triumph of the strong-willed and its byproduct is the weak”, as my Master used to tell me. I want them to live and pass their genes onto the next generation, just as the great wolves were once the ancestors to all canines, so I have found the superior genes to pass onto my children from a highly intelligent and western educated Japanese man. I want my children to live and I don't care about anything else, and when my daughters grow up, I want them to marry White men of Anglo Saxon or Germanic descent and immerse themselves into the white race and become further exulted. This is my role as a woman, and I will not, cannot relinquish my biological role. I am grateful for all that my Master has done for me, but this request I cannot acquiesce. So this will be the last week of my life as well as my Master's. My entire life fleeting through my head as I tried to write down some of it as a form of release. I was never allowed to tell anyone about my past, not to my children, not to the neighbors, not to any acquaintance or relatives.  Those secrets burn inside me like a gentle fire for the last 12 years. Of course I will burn all that I have written before next Sunday. I do not want to bring shame to my Master after he dies. I wonder if my parents and my sisters and brothers have survived or not. I heard after the civil war in China ended the Russian Communists have conquered all of China. I don't know if any of my family could have survived. I heard news stories of mass famines and starvations and earthquakes and mass murders. I think maybe they all have been dead long time ago. They probably think I have been dead a long time ago as well.