Some time ago, a sister asked me, is it enjoyable to be a mistress, to have both spiritual and financial satisfaction, something many women strive for their whole lives and cannot obtain?

At the time, I really didn't understand. I could understand about the money, but spiritual enjoyment, was that too hard?

That sister just laughed and asked me, had I ever experienced spiritual joy?

I pondered for a while and realized, no, I really hadn't.

I have been a mistress for three years. Before I chose this path, I tried multiple careers like being a female anchor, and then switching to be a freelance model. Unlike other young models, I was a buttocks model, because my butt was different from the norm. In Yan's words, I had a "natural peachy butt, white, round, and bouncy". Any slight upward movement could ensnare a man's soul.

Though not as exaggerated as she made it seem, it was more or less true.

Back then, I had a boyfriend, Wu Lei, a photographer. Because of his good physique, he would occasionally be the substitute for missing models and work as a men's underwear model. My first impression of him was that he was, big, whether it was square-cut or triangle-cut underwear, they were always wrapping something humongous.

Yan said, my butt was as captivating as the size of Wu Lei’s hidden part.

Later, Wu Lei took numerous photos of me, in thong panties, legs apart, and even with his part pressed against mine.

At that time, he loved to spank my butt during lovemaking until it quivered, then he would declare, "From now on, your buttocks are only allowed to perk up for me." We broke up later when I caught him in bed with another young model.

Just like a madam claiming her girls are all virgins, men's words in bed are never to be believed.

Yan was this kind of madam. She groomed me from scratch into the mistress business. After seeing Wu Lei doing it vigorously with another woman, I agreed to all of Yan's verbal agreements, including going to the hospital to restore my hymen.

Yan treats me differently from the other girls. Often, she likes to teach me some wisdom. She said, "Do not underestimate the power of the hymen, some girls undergo tiny surgeries that cost a few thousand yuan, and after they've healed, sell it for tens of thousands or even millions."

The sister who asked me about being a mistress was making money through restoring and selling her hymen. Her first hymen was sold for two hundred thousand yuan. Her second one escalated to eight hundred thousand and a small mansion.

She just had her third rejuvenation surgery, despite risking lifetime infertility. She's also already negotiated the price with her third benefactor. But at the critical moment, she ran into her first benefactor, who happened to know the third one. The scheme of restoring and selling her hymen was exposed. The girl was killed by a bunch of rough men right on the bed. When the police and her family found her in the hotel, her body had already begun decaying.

I never planned to profit from my first experience as a mistress. My current sponsor is my first, but definitely not the last. He's the one I first offered myself to; he was thoroughly pleased and has never been picky about my services. As long as I could twist my bottom a few times in bed, he was content to go wild beneath me.

I admit that oftentimes, he does satisfy me. Yet, I was never completely fulfilled, even when I was with Wu Lei in the past, his size was never enough to provide me with a true ecstasy. I have consulted countless books and even seen a psychiatrist, but to no avail.

"Yan said, 'It’s because you're not emotionally involved.'"

I found Yan's comment amusing at the time. Why should I be emotionally involved when it comes to lovemaking, isn't it all about the physical?

That was until I met Zeng Yu, a man who gave me everything - money, emotional satisfaction, but never love. A man whose mystique I could never comprehend fully, even if I spent a lifetime trying to understand him.

That was my first trip to the Far North, in the early days of January—the coldest time in Tibet. Snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, icicles hanged from the eaves, the pathway was filled with frost, a slip could cause a nasty fall.

My sponsor was a senior government official. He had been assigned to inspect the Northwestern Region. He had many mistresses, although I wasn't the most favored, I was the one he trusted the most because I’d been around the longest. Hence, he chose to take me along on the trip.

In the three days after we arrived in Lhasa, he got so engaged in his inspection tour that he forgot about me. I grew bored and thought I'd find a day tour. But due to the severe weather, all the travel agencies had been closed. On my way back home, I passed a car rental shop.

The proprietor walked toward me, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, “Miss, you don't strike me as a tourist.”

Bored as I was, I squatted down by his front porch stove. “How so?”

He gestured toward my mink coat and gave me a knowing look.

I understood what he meant in an instant and flicked my cigarette's ash off, “It's fake.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Yes.”

“How many years of experience do you have? I am asking your driving experience, not how long you’ve had your license.”

“Three years? No, it has been four years.”

He laughed then. Not long after, I started speeding in an SUV off-road vehicle across the Tibetan Plateau.

I met Zeng Yu at a crucial intersection on my way to Yamdrok Lake. The car's air conditioning could not withstand the brutal cold outside, the phone gave out and shut off, leaving me with no GPS or compass. I had no idea whether to go straight or turn right.

The night fell. Just as I was about to turn around and go back, a gunshot rang in the tranquil snowy wilderness.

A few meters ahead, flames shot up, paired with shadowy figures quickly heading towards me. Frightful thoughts occurred to me. Robbery? Rape? Murder? I kept pressing the power button on my phone, but it remained black. As I watched the crowd rushing toward me, ready to start the car and hightail it out of there, sounds of three consecutive gunshots terrified me causing me to brake as if accelerating, effectively killing the engine.

Outside, snow kept rolling in with such intensity that even turning the car on wouldn't ensure I could navigate it out of the snowbank. My driving skills, at least, weren't adept enough to drift the vehicle.

In a moment of extreme tension, someone suddenly pulled open the driver's side door and squeezed in amongst a flurry of snow. Before I could scream, a man's icy hand firmly clamped my mouth shut, and my eyes met his.

He was wearing a black mask, obscuring his face. With deft hand movements, he locked the car, leaned close to me and whispered in a voice as chilling as the gust blowing across the snowy wilderness, "Don't make a sound. I won't hurt you. They're after me, not you. Please help me!"

Though he used the word 'please,' the commanding tone sent a shock through me. Instinctively, I nodded.

Once the car stalled, the wipers stopped working. The windscreen soon became covered in a thick layer of snow, and a draught slipped into the narrow confines of the car, causing me to shiver uncontrollably.

The man gripped my waist and performed a quick swap of positions. Before I could react, I found myself straddling his lap, with his hand pressing against the back of my head, bringing my lips to his.

Understanding dawned on me. Even though I was scared, there was no room for preferential decision-making in a do-or-die situation.

My mink coat had been left unbuttoned, revealing my thermal shirt beneath. With the torchlight drawing closer, I softly muttered an apology, lifted my thermal shirt, cradled the back of his head, and pulled him closer into my chest. The following moments found me rhythmically 'rocking' him, amid roars of wind and snow, gunshots, people shouting, and my own suppressed cries.