Charles had lived in China for almost seven years. When he first arrived, everything about the country thrilled him. The bustling streets, the unfamiliar smells the vibrant chaos of a culture so different from his own. But now, after so much time, the excitement had dulled. The streets felt predictable, the smells mundane, the chaos routine. China had become familiar, and familiarity bred boredom. There was nothing new to discover. Or so he thought. Until he heard whispers of a place unlike any other, a place that promised the kind of thrill he hadn’t felt since his first days in the country.

It took some asking around, a few awkward conversations in broken Mandarin, but eventually, someone pointed him in the right direction. On a Friday evening, he set out, following the directions like a pilgrim on a sacred journey. First, he ventured into an unfashionable part of town, where the buildings sagged and the streets smelled faintly of sewage. Then, down a darkly lit alleyway, the kind of place where shadows seemed to move on their own. Finally, through a small, unassuming karaoke bar, its neon sign flickering weakly. At the back of the bar was an unmarked door, its paint peeling and its handle rusted. It looked more like the entrance to a storeroom than a place of pleasure.

But when Charles stepped through that door, he found himself in another world. The foyer was vast, opulent, and dripping with luxury. Chinese lanterns cast a warm, golden glow over silk rugs that felt soft beneath his feet. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings, their colors rich and vibrant. Bottles of alcohol lined the shelves, their labels glinting in the light. At the center of it all was a reception desk, polished to a mirror shine, where a woman stood waiting.

She was stunning. Tall and slim, with long black hair that cascaded down her back. Her smile was warm, inviting, and when she spoke, her English was flawless. “Good evening. Is it just you tonight?”

“Just me,” Charles replied, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. He couldn’t help but notice how her eyes lingered on him for a long time.

She smiled again, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Excellent. And what kind of service were you looking to enjoy tonight?” Her English was flawless, her accent crisp and unmistakably British, as though she had spent her entire life in the country.

Charles hesitated, his mind racing. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Just, um…” he stammered, his voice trailing off. “Just a normal service, I guess?” The words came out awkwardly, and he immediately regretted them. Normal? What did that even mean here?

The receptionist didn’t miss a beat. Her professionalism was unshakable, her expression neutral as she continued. “Male or female?”

The question caught him off guard. He blinked, his mouth opening and closing. “Female,” he finally managed, the word tumbling out before he could second-guess himself. Of course, it was female. What else would it be?

“Local or foreign?” she pressed, her tone still smooth, still polite, but with an edge of impatience now, as though she had asked these questions a thousand times before.

“Local,” Charles said, his voice firmer this time. He was starting to feel more confident, more in control. This was just like ordering off a menu, right? Except the menu was people, and the stakes were… well, he wasn’t sure what the stakes were, but they felt high.

“And any special requirements?” she asked, her fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to type.

“What do you mean?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing.

“Fat, old, amputee…” she began, listing the options with the same detached efficiency as a waiter reciting the daily specials.

“No, nothing like that,” Charles cut in quickly, his cheeks flushing. The idea of specifying something like that felt… wrong. He wasn’t here to judge or fetishize. He just wanted… well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t that.

“Excellent,” she said, her smile returning. “Then we are ready for you immediately. Go up the stairs and turn left. Your door will be the first door on your…” She stopped abruptly, her eyes flicking to the screen in front of her. Something had caught her attention. Her expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “No, wait. I thought this would come through. You seemed like a good candidate. Yes. You are getting a different girl tonight. Take a right instead and knock on the door marked VIP.”

“VIP?” Charles asked, his voice rising in confusion. VIP? What did that mean? Was he being upgraded? He wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or nervous.

The receptionist didn’t elaborate. She simply nodded, her smile widening ever so slightly. “Yes. VIP. Good luck.” With that, she turned back to her screen, effectively dismissing him.

Charles was confused by the sudden change but decided to follow her instructions. He wanted the experience, and he wasn’t about to let a little uncertainty stop him. He climbed the stairs, turned right, and found himself staring at the VIP door. It was a massive mahogany double door, heavy and imposing, its surface polished to a mirror shine. The other doors in the hallway looked plain in comparison, their simplicity a stark contrast to the grandeur of this one. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He knocked, the sound sharp and echoing in the quiet hallway.

A voice called out from within, smooth and commanding. “Enter.” At the same time, he heard the sharp click of the door unlocking. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was vast, its high ceilings and elegant furniture speakingof wealth and taste. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the center, its silk sheets shimmering under the soft light. A table and chairs sat in one corner, while a fully stocked bar gleamed in another. But what caught his attention most was the woman sitting on a chair near the bed.

She was breathtaking, a vision of Chinese beauty that made Charles’ breath catch in his throat. Her long, wavy black hair spilled over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, framing a face that was both delicate and striking. Her skin was fair and smooth, with a warm undertone that gave her an almost luminous glow, the kind of complexion that made you want to reach out and touch her just to see if she was real. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and expressive, framed by subtle eyeliner and long lashes that fluttered when she blinked. Her lips were full, slightly parted, their natural pink hue drawing his gaze and making him wonder how they would feel against his own.

She wore a cream-colored dress that clung to her figure like a second skin, the thin straps resting delicately on her shoulders. The plunging neckline revealed a generous amount of cleavage, the soft swell of her breasts spilling out just enough to make his mouth go dry. Her chest was full and round, the kind of breasts that begged to be touched, to be cupped in his hands and squeezed. The snug fit of the dress hugged her curves, drawing attention to her narrow waist and the natural, voluptuous shape of her body. Her hips flared out beneath the fabric, the curve of her ass hinted at but not fully revealed, leaving just enough to the imagination to drive him wild. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, catching the light and adding a touch of sophistication to her look, but all Charles could think about was how she would look without the dress, how her body would feel pressed against his.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice smooth and confident. “You must be my VIP for tonight.” Her English was perfect just like the receptionist, however her accent unmistakably Irish. It was an odd contrast to her appearance, but Charles didn’t dwell on it. He was too captivated by her beauty, by the way she looked at him, as though she already knew every thought in his head.

“My name is Charles,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. He could feel himself hardening just looking at her, his body reacting to her presence in a way that was almost involuntary. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Charles,” she replied, her tone warm but with an edge of authority. “Please use the shower in the bathroom over there. You don’t need to bring your clothes when you come back.”

Charles did as she instructed, stepping into the bathroom. It was as opulent as the rest of the building, with marble floors, gold fixtures, and a shower large enough for three people. The water was hot, the pressure perfect, and the soap smelled faintly of jasmine. He took his time, washing away the grime of the city, the nervous sweat that had clung to him since he’d stepped into this place. When he was done, he dried off with a towel so soft it felt like silk against his skin. He left his clothes folded neatly on the counter and stepped back into the bedroom.

The lights had been dimmed, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. The woman lay stretched out on the bed, a feast waiting to be devoured. She was naked now, her long black hair fanned out around her like a dark halo. Her skin glowed in the low light, her curves soft and inviting. Charles stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never been with a woman like this before, never even imagined it. She was a fantasy come to life, and he was hard just looking at her.

“Come and lie down beside me,” she said, her voice soft but commanding.

Charles obeyed, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She reached out and gently pushed him back, her hand warm against his chest. He lay down, his body tense with anticipation. Her hand moved lower, her fingers brushing against his cock. It twitched under her touch, already hard and eager. She wrapped her hand around him, her grip light but firm, and began to stroke him slowly. Charles gasped, his breath hitching as pleasure shot through him. His hips bucked involuntarily, and she chuckled softly, her fingers tightening just enough to make him groan.

“Do you know why you’re a VIP, Charles?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

He shook his head, his mind too fogged with pleasure to form words. All he could think about was her hand on him, the way her fingers moved, the way her body looked stretched out beside him.

“You’ll come to understand soon,” she said, her tone cryptic. “But first, look at the bedside table to your right.”

Charles turned his head, his eyes struggling to focus. On the table were three glass bottles, their shapes old and ornate. The corks had been removed, and the bottles were almost empty… or so he thought. As he stared, he noticed something strange. Each bottle had a small amount of liquid at the bottom, and as he watched, the liquid seemed to be filling up, slowly but surely. His stomach twisted, a cold knot of unease forming in his gut. What the hell was this? Some kind of trick? It couldn’t be real, could it?

“What are…” he started to ask, but his words were cut off as she suddenly moved. She climbed on top of him, her body sliding against his, and straddled his hips. Her weight pressed him into the mattress, her heat searing through him. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his, and kissed him. Her mouth was soft, her tongue teasing, and he felt a jolt of excitement course through him. She shifted her hips, positioning herself over his cock, and then she sank down onto him, taking him inside her in one smooth motion.

Charles groaned, his hands gripping the sheets as she enveloped him. She was wet, so wet, her body tight and warm around him. She moaned softly, her hips rocking against his, and he felt himself sinking deeper into her, the pleasure building with every movement. Her hands braced against his chest, her nails digging into his skin just enough to make him gasp. She moved slowly at first, her body rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but soon she picked up the pace, her hips grinding against his, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Charles could barely think, his mind consumed by the sensation of her around him, the way her body moved, the way she looked above him, her hair falling around her face, her lips parted in pleasure. He reached up, his hands gripping her hips, and thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. She moaned louder, her head falling back, her body arching as she rode him. The sound of her pleasure, the feel of her around him, the sight of her body moving above him… it was too much, and he felt himself teetering on the edge, his orgasm building with every thrust.

Her large Chinese tits bounced with every movement, their full, round shape mesmerizing as they swayed above him. The soft, warm weight of them pressed against his chest as she leaned forward, her nipples hard and teasing against his skin. He couldn’t resist reaching up to cup them, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped, her hips stuttering for a moment before she resumed her rhythm, her body moving faster, harder, her tits jiggling with every thrust. Charles groaned, his hands gripping her hips tighter as he felt himself getting closer, the pleasure building to a crescendo.

Their bodies moved together, her hips grinding down onto his as he thrust up into her, the rhythm frantic and desperate. Her pussy clenched around him, tight and wet, her moans filling the room as she rode him. Charles’ hands gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he drove himself deeper, harder, chasing the pleasure that was building inside him. Her tits bounced above him, their full, round shape mesmerizing as they swayed with every movement. He couldn’t resist reaching up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she gasped, her body trembling as she leaned into his touch.

But even as she moaned, her eyes flicked to the bedside table, her gaze lingering on the three glass bottles. Charles was too lost in the sensation of her around him to notice, his mind consumed by the pleasure coursing through him. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his groin tightening with every thrust. She moaned louder, her body arching as she rode him, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. He was close, so close, and he could tell she was too.

And then, suddenly, she stopped. Her body went still, her expression shifting from pleasure to something darker, something colder. She pulled herself off him, leaving him throbbing and desperate, his cock twitching in the air as she crawled across the bed to the bedside table. Charles stared at her, his mind struggling to process what was happening. His body was still on fire, still aching for release, but she was already moving, her attention focused on the bottles.

She corked them one by one, her movements quick and precise. The first bottle was filled with a pure white liquid, the second with a deep blue, and the third with a vibrant red. She placed them carefully into a small metal box, locking it with a key before turning back to him. Her smile was sharp, her eyes gleaming with something that made his stomach twist.

“Thanks for giving up your essences, fool,” she said, her voice cold and mocking. “These will fetch millions on the black market.”

Charles stared at her, his mind reeling. “Essences? What the fuck are you talking about?”

She tilted her head. Her smile widened, sharp and predatory. “I stole them from you.” Her voice was calm, almost casual, as if she were explaining something simple. “The white was your race. The blue was your language. The red was your sex. You gave them to me willingly, and now I’ll sell them to the highest bidder.”

Charles shook his head, his confusion giving way to anger. “What the fuck are you saying? That’s insane!”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “Insane? Maybe. But it’s also incredibly profitable.” She leaned closer, her eyes locking onto his. “Your male essence could turn a daughter into a son. Your language essence could give someone instant fluency in English. And your race essence?” She paused, her smile turning cruel. “Well, let’s just say there are plenty of bored Chinese wives who’d pay a fortune to look a little more… exotic.”

As she spoke, something about her Irish accent began to slip, the words seeming to be harder and harder to understand. Charles strained his ears to understand her as he felt a cold knot of fear forming in his gut. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

She looked Charles in the eyes, her smile widening until it was sharp and predatory. “Our business is of no concern to you,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “You should be more worried about what will happen to you.”

Charles blinked, his mind struggling to keep up. His words came out clumsy and strange. “What happen to me?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Your fundamental essence is gone. Big parts of who you are is… missing. That essence will need replacing, or you will die.”

“Die?” Charles’ voice cracked, his words breaking further. “No, I no want die!”

She tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Your essence will be replaced, don’t worry. It’s just what will replace it that you need to worry about.”

Charles stared at her, his mind racing. “What mean?”

She leaned in closer, her smile widening until it was cruel. “You will draw new essence from the surrounding area…” She paused, letting the words hang in the air before finishing, “and you are in a Chinese whorehouse.”

Charles’ head spun, his vision blurring as he tried to process what she was saying. Her voice was harder and harder to understand, the words slipping away from him, becoming more distant and foreign with every syllable. Finally, he managed to stammer, “You no mean?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile sharp. “I think you finally get it. I hope you learn to enjoy your life as a Chinese whore, because that’s where it looks like you’re heading.”

“No! No, I no want!” Charles cried, his voice rising in panic. His accent was strange now, his words broken and clumsy. He felt his head spinning, his vision blurring as the room seemed to tilt around him. Charles looked down at his body, his hands trembling as the changes began to unfold.

His cock, once hard and throbbing, was shrinking rapidly, the flesh softening and retracting into his body. He gasped, his fingers instinctively reaching to touch it, but it was already too late. The shaft was gone, replaced by a smooth, hairless mound. He felt a strange warmth spreading through his groin, a tingling sensation that made his breath hitch. His fingers brushed against the soft, wet slit that was forming where his cock had been, and a jolt of pleasure shot through him, making his hips buck involuntarily. He tried to pull his hand away, but the sensation was too intense, too overwhelming. His new pussy was already slick with arousal, the folds soft and sensitive under his touch.

As he stared down, he noticed something else. His chest was changing too. Mounds of flesh were growing, pushing out from his once flat chest. He watched in horror as his nipples darkened and swelled, the skin around them stretching to accommodate the growing tits. They were small at first, but they grew rapidly, filling out into full, round boobs that jiggled slightly with every movement. His hands, now smaller and more delicate, reached up to touch them, his fingers sinking into the soft, warm flesh. His nipples hardened under his touch, sending another wave of pleasure through his body.

At the same time, he felt a tickling sensation on his shoulders. He turned his head and saw long, black hair cascading down his back, the strands soft and silky against his skin. He reached up to touch it, his fingers running through the thick, luxurious locks. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t his. None of this was his. His skin was tanned now, smooth and flawless, the kind of skin he’d seen on the girls from the deep south of the country. He stared at his reflection in the mirror across the room, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening.

The man he had been was gone, replaced by a beautiful Chinese woman with full tits, long black hair, and a body that was already responding to the slightest touch. He felt a wave of panic rising in his chest, but it was quickly drowned out by another wave of pleasure as his fingers brushed against his new pussy again. He moaned softly, his hips rocking against his hand, his body betraying him even as his mind screamed in protest.

“NO! NO! STOP! PLEASE!!” Charles screamed, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face. His hands clawed at his body, as if he could somehow stop the changes, but it was no use. His cock was gone, replaced by a wet, throbbing pussy that clenched and pulsed with every panicked breath. His tits bounced as he thrashed, the full, round boobs jiggling with every movement. His long black hair clung to his tear-streaked face, the strands sticking to his skin as he sobbed.

The woman laughed, a cold, cruel sound that cut through the room. She watched him with amusement, her eyes gleaming as she took in his transformation. She had done this to thousands of men, and many far more powerful than Charles. She knew how this would end. He would fight, he would cry, but eventually, he would accept his fate. He would become just another whore in her brothel, another body to be used and sold.

“I… I… bù yào! Please tíngzhǐ! Wǒ bù yào!” Charles cried, the words tumbling out of his mouth in Chinese. His voice was high and feminine, the accent native, as if he had been speaking the language his entire life. He clawed at his new body, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of his tits, his nails digging into the smooth skin of his thighs. But it was no use. The changes were complete. He was no longer the man he had been. He was a Chinese whore, his body ripe and ready for use.

The woman laughed again, switching to Chinese. “You are a Chinese whore now. Welcome home.” Her voice was cold, her words final. She stood up, her movements slow and deliberate, and began to dress. Charles watched her with wide, terrified eyes, his body trembling as he tried to process what had happened. He felt helpless, his mind a whirlwind of desperation and confusion. He wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but his body wouldn’t obey. He was trapped, his new form betraying him at every turn.

The woman finished dressing and walked to the door, her heels clicking against the floor. She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at Charles on the bed. “Enjoy your new life,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. Then she opened the door, stepped out, and locked it behind her.

Charles was alone now, his body still trembling, his mind still reeling. He looked down at himself, at the full, round tits that bounced with every breath, at the smooth, tanned skin that covered his body, at the wet, throbbing pussy between his legs. He reached down, his fingers brushing against the soft, sensitive folds, and a jolt of pleasure shot through him, making his hips buck involuntarily. He moaned, the sound high and feminine, and then he began to cry.

****

Charles, or Cháěrsī, as he could no longer make the sounds of his old name, lay there frozen, his mind reeling from the horror of what had happened. He stared at his petite body, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare, but he knew it was real. The changes were permanent. He was trapped in this new form, his mind screaming for escape while his body betrayed him at every turn.

Eventually, the door opened again, and a man entered. The door locked behind him with a sharp click. He was a Chinese man with grey hair, his face stern and lined with age. He wore an expensive suit, the fabric crisp and tailored, but his eyes were cold and calculating. He looked at Cháěrsī with amusement, his lips curling into a smirk as he spoke in Chinese. “So, you’re the new girl, huh? They weren’t lying. You’re beautiful. Special, even.”

Cháěrsī didn’t reply. He just sat there, his mind racing but his body frozen, unable to process the reality of what was happening.

The man took a step closer, his eyes raking over Cháěrsī’s body. “I paid good money for first dibs on that little pussy of yours,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And they told me I can take as long as I want with you.”

Cháěrsī snapped out of his daze, his heart pounding in his chest. “No! No, please… don’t touch me!” he begged, his voice trembling.

The man chuckled, his smirk widening. “They warned me you might fight. But that just makes it better for me. You’d better learn to enjoy this, or your life’s going to get a lot harder.”

Before Cháěrsī could react, the man lunged forward, his large hands grabbing his tits and squeezing them roughly. Cháěrsī cried out in pain as his nipples were twisted and pulled, the sharp sting making him gasp. But the pain was quickly replaced by something else, a deep, aching pleasure that spread through his body. His new pussy stirred to life, wet and throbbing, and his cries turned into moans of pleasure.

The man shoved him back onto the bed, his weight pressing Cháěrsī into the mattress. He tried to push him off, his hands pressing against the man’s chest, but he was too strong. The man pinned him down easily, his hands moving to Cháěrsī’s neck as he bit and sucked at his skin. Cháěrsī squirmed beneath him, his body betraying him as the pleasure grew stronger.

“Stop! Stop!” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please! Please stop! I’m begging you! Don’t do this!”

But the man didn’t listen. His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing against Cháěrsī’s wet pussy, causing him to gasp, his hips bucking against the touch. The man leaned in to kiss Cháěrsī, but he twisted his head away, his body squirming beneath the man’s weight. The man didn’t stop. He moved lower, his lips trailing down Cháěrsī’s neck, his chest, his stomach, until he reached the soft, wet folds of his new pussy. Cháěrsī sobbed, his legs kicking as the man’s tongue teased his sensitive slit. He tried to push him away, to twist free, but the man was too strong, his grip unyielding.

Then, without warning, the man pushed Cháěrsī’s legs apart and buried his face between them, his tongue plunging deep inside his pussy. Cháěrsī shrieked, a mix of fear and pleasure tearing through him. The man’s tongue lapped at his wet folds, the sensation so intense it made his body tense up, a burning heat spreading through his loins. He felt like he was going to explode, the pleasure overwhelming him.

“Oh! Oh! Aaah! Ahhhhhhhh!” Cháěrsī cried out, his voice high and desperate.

The man pulled back, his lips glistening with Cháěrsī’s wetness. He smirked up at him. “You really are a tasty girl. I wish my wife tasted half as good.” Then he leaned in and kissed Cháěrsī, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Cháěrsī could taste himself on the man’s lips, the salty tang of his own arousal making his stomach churn. But his body betrayed him, his hips rocking against the man’s, his pussy throbbing with need.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Cháěrsī managed to speak. “I’m a man! I’m Cháěrsī! Not a woman! I’m from America! Stop this!” he cried, his words sounding strange coming out in native Chinese.

The man laughed, his breath hot against Cháěrsī’s skin. “You’re a little Chinese whore from the south called Yu Ying,” he said, his voice mocking. Then he kissed him again, his tongue forcing its way past Cháěrsī’s lips. Cháěrsī struggled, but the man was too strong, and soon he was lost in the kiss, moaning loudly as the man’s tongue explored his mouth.

The man shifted, his cock pressing against Cháěrsī’s wet pussy. He pushed inside, his size stretching Cháěrsī’s tight cunt, filling him completely. Cháěrsī gasped, his body arching as the man began to fuck him, his thrusts deep and relentless. The pleasure was too much, and Cháěrsī threw his head back, screaming in ecstasy as the man drove into him.

“Ahh! Ahhh! Aaaaaah!” Cháěrsī wailed, his voice breaking with every thrust.

The man grabbed his tiny hands, pinning them above his head as he fucked him harder, faster. Cháěrsī felt powerless, his body enslaved to the pleasure. The man was in complete control, his cock driving deep into his tight cunt with every thrust. Cháěrsī was beyond caring, his mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation. It felt like an incredible orgasm every time the man thrust into him, the pleasure building until he thought he might pass out.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, you little whore? Cum on my cock like the slut you are!” the man growled, his voice rough and demanding as he fucked her harder, his cock slamming into her tight cunt with every thrust.

Cháěrsī nodded, his body trembling as the pleasure built, his mind fogged with need. But even as he cried out, a part of him fought against it, a desperate voice screaming in the back of his head that this wasn’t him, that he wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Tell me your name!” the man barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Tell me your fucking name!”

“Cháěrsī!” he gasped, his voice breaking as the man’s cock hit a spot inside him that made his vision blur. “I’m Cháěrsī!”

The man laughed, his grip tightening on Cháěrsī’s hips. “Cháěrsī? With that body? With that cunt? Don’t lie to me, you fucking whore. Tell me your real name!”

Cháěrsī shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he tried to hold on to himself. “I’m Cháěrsī! I’m a man! I’m not—!”

The man reached up and pinched Cháěrsī’s nipple hard, twisting it between his fingers. The sharp pain made Cháěrsī cry out, his body arching as the sensation mixed with the pleasure coursing through him. “You’re a little Chinese whore, and your name is Yu Ying. Say it!”

“No! I’m Cháěrsī! I’m—!”

The man pinched harder, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. “Say it!”

“Yu Ying!” Cháěrsī screamed, his voice breaking. “I’m Yu Ying!”

“And what are you?” the man demanded, his cock driving deeper, harder, the pleasure overwhelming.

“I’m a whore!” Cháěrsī sobbed, his body betraying him as the pleasure built to a crescendo. “I’m a little Chinese whore who loves being fucked!”

“That’s it!” the man growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own climax. “Cum for me, you filthy little slut! Let me feel that tight cunt squeeze my cock!”

Cháěrsī screamed as the orgasm ripped through him, his body shaking uncontrollably as he came, his pussy clenching around the man’s cock. “I’m Yu Ying! I’m a whore! I love being fucked! I need to cum! Oh god, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

The man groaned, his cock pulsing inside her as he came, his seed filling her tight cunt. He pulled out, his cock glistening with her wetness, and pressed it against her lips. “Clean it up, whore.”

Cháěrsī hesitated for a moment, his mind screaming at him to resist, to spit out the man’s cock, to claw at his face and fight back. But his body betrayed him. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to lick the salty, bitter taste of the man’s cum from the tip of his cock. He gagged slightly as the man’s thick shaft slid deeper into his mouth, but his body moved on its own, his throat relaxing to take him in. He sucked eagerly, his tongue swirling around the shaft, his lips tight as he swallowed every drop. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his pussy throbbing and wet, his tits sensitive and aching. He hated himself for how good it felt, for how much his body craved it.

When he was done, the man pulled away, his cock glistening with spit and cum. He smirked down at Cháěrsī, his expression smug and satisfied. “You’ve been absorbing the essence of all the whores in this building,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “There was no way you could resist. You’re one of them now. A little Chinese whore, just like the rest. Now get cleaned up. You’ve got a busy night ahead.”

As the man left the room, Cháěrsī lay there, his mind reeling. He stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. He could still feel the man’s cum in his mouth, the taste lingering on his tongue. He could still feel the ache between his legs, the wetness of his pussy, the heaviness of his tits. He tried to hold on to the memory of who he was, of the man he had been, but it was slipping away, dissolving into nothingness. The more he tried to grasp it, the faster it disappeared, replaced by the overwhelming need to be fucked, to be used, to be a whore.

He sat up slowly, his body still trembling, and looked down at himself. His tits were full and round, his nipples hard and sensitive. His pussy was wet and throbbing, the folds swollen and aching. His skin was smooth and tanned, his hair long and black, cascading down his back. He reached up to touch his face, his fingers brushing against his soft, full lips. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t recognize the body he was in, the desires that consumed him.

He stood up, his legs shaky, and walked to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, at the beautiful Chinese woman staring back at him. He tried to say his name, to remind himself of who he was, but the words wouldn’t come. “Cháěrsī,” he whispered, his voice soft and feminine. But it didn’t sound right. It didn’t feel right. The name felt foreign on his tongue, like it belonged to someone else.

“Yu Ying,” he said, testing the name. It felt right. It felt natural. He said it again, louder this time. “Yu Ying.” The name rolled off his tongue easily, the syllables familiar and comforting. He felt a strange sense of relief as he said it, as though he had finally accepted the truth.

She was Yu Ying. She was a Chinese whore. And she loved being fucked.

****

Two months later, Yu Ying had become one of the most sought-after whores in the brothel. Her reputation for insatiable hunger and unmatched skill had spread quickly, and men lined up for the chance to fuck her. She was well-rewarded for her services, but money was the least of her concerns. For Yu Ying, it was all about the pleasure. She couldn’t resist it. She craved it. She needed it. Sex consumed her thoughts, her body, her very existence. She was always horny, always wet, always ready. When she wasn’t satisfying herself, she was satisfying others. She had become a nymphomaniac, her body and mind enslaved to the constant need for sexual gratification.

Just days after her transformation, her new identity had taken hold completely. Her old life, name, and self felt like a distant dream, hazy and unreal. She was Yu Ying. She had always been Yu Ying. The memories of being Cháěrsī, of being a man, of being anything other than what she was now, had faded into nothingness. They were gone, erased, replaced by the overwhelming reality of her new life.

She had no idea about the darker side of the brothel’s business. She didn’t know about the Chinese man who now spoke with a flawless American accent, or the daughter who had been transformed into a son. She didn’t care about the essence stealer’s next victims, or that she had once been one of them. All she cared about was the next cock, the next orgasm, the next moment of ecstasy.

Yu Ying stood in front of the mirror, her hands cupping her full, round tits. She squeezed them gently, her nipples hardening under her touch. She thought about the men who would lick and suck on them later, their mouths hot and eager, and felt a familiar stir between her legs. Her pussy was already wet, her body aching for the touch of a man, for the feel of a cock inside her. She needed to fuck. She always needed to fuck.