My girlfriend, Tiffany, was my junior in university. Standing 166cm tall and weighing 54kg, she was a girl of radiant white skin and lush, provocative curves.

The first time I saw her on campus, I was instantly captivated by the deep, sculptural contours of her face. But what truly made my mouth water were her magnificent, soft, and heavy 32F breasts! Even when attending lectures, Tiffany always dressed provocatively. Her bras always seemed a size too small, struggling to contain her overflowing cleavage, lending a constant air of wanton decadence to the campus atmosphere.

Once we became a couple, our sexual footprints covered almost every corner of the university: the podium, the professors' lounges, empty classrooms, restrooms, dormitory bathrooms, the rooftop of the department building, the basketball courts, the swimming pool, and the seminar rooms. Among these, her favorites were the professors' lounges and the seminar rooms—since I was a professor's assistant, I held the keys to all of them! After every intense bout of passion, when the professor's desk was left in total disarray and the air was thick with the heavy scent of musk, Tiffany would become exceptionally aroused. The seminar rooms were even better; located on the seventh floor, they featured floor-to-ceiling glass walls and wide windowsills. She loved it when I pressed her against the glass, thrusting hard into her soaking wet heat from behind, watching the crowds of students leaving at dusk. The thrill of knowing that anyone looking up at the seventh floor might catch a glimpse of us drove her to exquisite orgasms.

At first, I felt incredibly lucky, as if in a past life I had burned a mountain of incense to end up with a lover so perfectly attuned to my sexual desires.

However, as time passed, I began to realize that she didn't just enjoy making love to me; she possessed a deep-seated, bone-deep lust accompanied by many wild fetishes. She craved exposure, and she craved being taken by force. After more than two years of dating, she gradually became less willing to sleep with me, remaining sexually indifferent for nearly a year.

Initially, I tried to be understanding, thinking she was perhaps stressed or busy, but she constantly used oral sex to brush me off. Eventually, my patience snapped.

One night, unable to suppress the surging heat in my loins, I ignored her protests and forcibly pushed her down. She struggled violently against me, even slapping my face.

But driven by pure lust, my rationality vanished. Using the physical advantage of my boxing physique, I pinned her down. As I reached down and tore her panties aside, my hand met a sensation that felt foreign: her nether regions were drenched, her juices flowing down her thighs and into her cleft.

"Fine, you little slut," I whispered, digging my fingers into her heat while simultaneously sucking greedily on her large, soft breasts. "Your mouth says no, but why is your body so wet?"

"Ah... don't! I don't know... don't... ah! Let me go!" Her face flushed crimson as she writhed. While it looked like she was resisting, her hips were actually gyrating wildly, her entrance stretching open in a silent plea for my cock to slide inside.

This sight unleashed the beast within me. I pulled out my member, rubbed it against her entrance a few times, and then lunged deep inside her.

A wave of warm, sticky moisture instantly enveloped me. At that exact moment, her vagina began to spasm and contract rhythmically; even before I had made a single thrust, she had reached a staggering climax.

Following that incident, the truth slowly dawned on me: she felt nothing for conventional, gentle, or polite sex. She was completely uninterested in the "gentlemanly" approach.

When I finally pressed her for the reason why she craved such forceful, rough encounters, she told me through tear-filled eyes that her first time had been a sexual assault by a friend. It happened during her sophomore year, when she had gone dancing at a famous club in the East District with her sorority sisters.

Her friends were all stunning beauties, but they were the lean, toned, "hot girl" type. Among the group of male friends they met, there was a man named Hunter. The moment he saw Tiffany in her tiny crop top—buttoned so low that only three buttons held it together, exposing her lace bra and the swell of her massive breasts—his cock went rock hard.

He conspired with a few friends to play a drinking game where the loser had to down a full shot of Absinthe.

Tiffany lost several rounds. Though her friends tried to cover for her, her Sagittarius pride wouldn't let her back down. When a few of the men teased her for lacking "drinking guts," she angrily downed four or five shots in rapid succession... and was unconscious in less than five minutes.

Seeing his plan succeed, Hunter pretended he had somewhere to be, feigning politeness by asking if anyone needed a ride home. Two of Tiffany's friends, seeing her passed out, helped her into his car.

Hunter played the gentleman, dropping the two friends off first, leaving the drunken Tiffany alone in his car. He had effectively "picked her up" and taken her home.

To his surprise, Tiffany wasn't as drunk as he thought. Once they arrived at his place, she began to stir, catching him in the act of groping her breasts.

Startled and trying to resist, her defiance only enraged him. He decided to stop playing games and simply took her. After ripping open her decorative shirt and pulling down her bra, he began to devour her breasts with his mouth.

Tiffany had been resisting fiercely, but the sensation of his teeth and tongue sent a jolt through her, turning her resistance into a soft, breathless moan.

And so, she spent the entire night being fucked by a stranger she had known for less than a day. She even allowed him to fall asleep with his spent, semi-soft cock still buried inside her wet, sticky heat.

The next day, she was laid out on her stomach and fucked all over again. By the time she took a car home that evening, she could barely even stand on her own two feet.

How did I come to know these sordid details? Unfortunately, Hunter happened to be a junior in my own club. During a club gathering, he unexpectedly ran into my girlfriend, leaving me puzzled as to how they knew each other.

But the junior was a braggart. He boasted to another member of the club about his conquest: "Have you seen the senior's girl? The one with the massive tits! Let me tell you, I've had her so many times. At first, she fought back, but after a while, she was begging me to thrust harder, her hips twisting like crazy. By the time I finished, she was still begging for more! What a total bitch..." The junior had no idea that his drinking buddy was a close friend of mine.

My friend, without a word, sent me the synchronized chat logs from their conversation. My friend added, "Damn, after reading this, even I want a piece of her! A woman who climaxes just from being taken roughly is a rare treasure!" A few days later, we quietly cornered the junior in the boxing club, gave him a thorough thrashing, and kicked him out. He eventually dropped out and transferred to a university in the south.

Most people would find it strange—wouldn't a woman's first experience of being forced make her loathe sex? Why did she become the opposite? Even then, I couldn't fully grasp it. It was only later that I understood: she truly, deeply enjoyed the primal pleasure of being conquered. No wonder she worshipped masculine muscles; after every session, she couldn't keep her hands off my chest and arms.

After Tiffany confessed her strange kinks, she wept as she asked, "Do you think I'm a slut? Will you stop loving me?"

I pulled her close and whispered, "How could that be? I love you like this. It turns me on so much!" From that moment on, she let go of all inhibitions. Her clothes became increasingly revealing, and her tastes grew even more intense. Now that she was working, she loved wearing miniskirts, fishnets, and tall boots to the office, often pairing them with low-cut, V-neck camisoles.

As a secretary, she was constantly surrounded by men from various departments who used any excuse to linger at her desk, their eyes invariably glued to the deep, plunging valley of her cleavage.

She would send me messages on MSN, telling me which man was staring at her breasts, how visibly hard his cock was getting, and how much the attention excited her. She would even whisper that she wasn't wearing any panties that day, wishing a stranger would just take her right there.

It drove me mad with desire. Every time she finished work, we would rush to a secluded spot to engage in wild, frantic sex. She would even call out the names of her male colleagues during the act, pretending they were the ones fucking her, driving her to climax again and again.

Since she worked for a major foreign firm, her bosses were mostly Westerners. She often told me she fantasized about having sex with a foreigner, wondering if "Western cocks" were truly as impressive as the rumors said.

Influenced by erotic web novels, I had a fantasy of watching her with someone else. So, half-jokingly, I said, "Sure! Maybe they really are huge and will make you climax non-stop!" Seeing that I wasn't jealous, she teased that she might try to seduce a manager from another department—a Spaniard who was not particularly tall but was incredibly lean and muscular. She jokingly called him "The Little Bull."

Naturally, I didn't take it seriously, thinking it was just another bit of playful roleplay.

But a month later, things began to change. She started working late constantly, only returning home after ten at night. Her temperament toward me became erratic; she was often irritable, yet there were periods where she was unnaturally sweet, as if she were trying to appease a guilty conscience.

My intuition told me something was wrong. She was the type of woman who only became extra sweet when she had done something to betray me.

One day, she mentioned she had to work late again. Acting natural, I slipped away after work to spy on her office.

She seemed busy as usual until around eight o'clock, when I saw her walking out of the office, hand-in-hand with "The Little Bull."

They hailed a taxi and sped off to a well-known motel in Taipei. The moment I saw them enter, everything became clear.

She wasn't working overtime; she was truly getting her fill of that foreign cock! I parked outside the motel and called her twice, but both went straight to voicemail.

In that moment, a part of me wanted to storm in and see exactly what they were doing (or rather, to watch from the sidelines). My mind was flooded with lewd images of her and the Spaniard, leaving me in a state of agitated turmoil.

That night, I went home and pretended to know nothing. I was silent and brooding, and we had sex all night long.

As I worked her, noticing how her walls felt slightly looser than before, a bitter realization hit me: in terms of sheer size, I was losing. She offered performative moans and faked climaxes, and the whole charade felt humiliating. That night, sleep eluded me.

Some time later, I received a call from a man with a heavy foreign accent. After a few confused exchanges, he switched to fluent English: "Hi, I'm Peter."

Damn it. It was the Spaniard! "I know Tiffany is your girlfriend. I want to talk to you."

"We aren't close. What do you want?" I stubbornly refused to reply in English. Eventually, he arranged a meeting at his company, claiming there were things regarding Tiffany he needed to discuss.

I wondered what his game was, but I agreed.

At eight o'clock that night, Tiffany's phone was switched off.

I went to the office and called the number Peter had given me. Following his instructions, I walked to a luxury apartment building across the street, known for housing high-level foreign executives. Under the watchful eye of a concierge, I arrived at his door.

I knocked. After a minute of waiting, the door swung open.

The man who opened it was a foreigner I had never seen before. More importantly, he was completely naked, standing there with a massive, intimidating cock aimed directly at me.

I stood there, stunned. Before I could process the situation, he grabbed me and pulled me into the room, slamming the door shut.

When I turned around, my world shattered. My girlfriend was draped over the living room sofa in a short skirt, her fishnets and top discarded on the floor. Her bra was unhooked, hanging off her shoulders, swaying wildly along with her heavy, soft breasts as "The Little Bull" thrust into her from behind, eliciting piercing, wanton moans.

The man who had opened the door walked over to her and casually shoved his erect cock into her mouth. Tiffany began to suck greedily, making hungry, muffled sounds.

I stood there like a fool, unable to look away from the sight of two massive cocks and my girlfriend's breasts bouncing in the air. Tiffany was blindfolded; she seemed completely unbothered by a new person entering the room. Was she so lost in the pleasure, or was she used to people constantly coming to the Spaniard's place to fuck her? I couldn't think. Was this a display of dominance? The Spaniard turned to me, flashed a wide, mocking grin, and beckoned me closer.

In a daze, I walked toward them. Standing beside my girlfriend, I had a clear view of her two holes being pounded simultaneously by two thick, heavy cocks.

The Spaniard signaled for me to join. In a trance-like state, I slowly stripped off my pants. My cock, noticeably smaller than theirs, sprang out. The foreigner holding her cock let out a contemptuous laugh, looking at me with a mocking expression.

The Spaniard then withdrew his vein-ridged member and gestured for me to take his place.

Her vagina, left gaping after being stretched by a large cock, couldn't immediately contract. She began to writhe her hips, reaching back to caress her own dripping, lewd entrance, her entire body language screaming her desire to continue. I stepped forward and slid into her loosened heat. As she felt the intrusion, she began to squeeze and twist, but because my size was a notch smaller, she suddenly looked at me with a flash of disdain, trying to push me away...

I had been fucking her for less than a minute when she spat out the other man's cock, stood up, and angrily shoved me aside. She ripped off her blindfold and screamed, "What the fuck! Whose tiny cock is this?"

When she saw it was me, she froze. The atmosphere became suffocatingly awkward. My erection vanished instantly, shrinking until it was almost non-existent.

I don't like to talk about what happened after that.

Eventually, the Spaniard finished his contract in Taiwan and was transferred back to Europe. My girlfriend returned to me, filled with guilt. Though my heart was heavy, the truth was that I couldn't leave her.

To this day, we are still together. Her tightness has slowly returned, and our sex has become more intense again.

Often, as I fuck her, the images of that day flash through my mind... and it makes me thrust longer and harder, injecting my thick, bitter humiliation deep into her womb.

That day was truly the most unforgettable sexual experience of my life. Even in my dreams, I see it—the mocking expressions of those two foreign devils. I know how pathetic it makes me look: cheated on by my woman, humiliated by foreigners, and yet, I took it all in silence.

But God, how I love her. I fell in love with a lustful woman who craves being taken by force, who craves foreign cocks, and who loves the thrill of a crowd. As long as she doesn't leave me, I could never bring myself to leave her—nor could I ever leave her soaking wet heat and those magnificent, soft, pale breasts.