After downloading the entire set of files, I started browsing through them slowly. The resources were mostly photos, with a few scattered short videos. The photo resolution was very low, and the video quality was poor, looking like relics from the early days of camera phones.
I flipped through the photos in the folder and indeed found the set of portraits from my mother's afternoon lecture slides. This time, I could finally see the full collection. The portion shown in her lecture was among the few from the entire set that were suitable for presentation. As for the remaining photos, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call them utterly indecent. Since the entire photoshoot took place outdoors, there were many people around, and in the backgrounds of numerous photos, crowds could be seen. The woman appeared to be around six months pregnant at the time of the shoot, her belly not yet particularly large. In the initial photos, she was dressed as shown in the lecture slides—her long hair tied up in a bun at the back, wearing a beige maternity dress with a V-neck. Through the neckline, her large, unrestrained breasts hung loosely. On her legs, she wore flat leather shoes and a pair of flesh-toned tights—that was her entire outfit.
However, the photos that followed were far from as proper as the beginning, gradually becoming more and more provocative. In the images, the pregnant woman first found a secluded corner, stripped off all her clothes, and changed into an outfit that was quite "avant-garde" for that era. She began by slipping on an ultra-thin, flesh-toned seamless pantyhose, which stretched tightly over her slightly swollen belly. Then, she put on a pair of transparent high-heeled sandals with at least an 8cm heel. The shoes had only a faint black sole supporting the foot, making it seem as though she were walking on clouds if one didn't look closely. For her upper body, she wore what looked like a combination of a cropped blouse and a suit jacket—the hems of both garments ending just above the waistband of the pantyhose, slightly above her pregnant belly. This outfit made her appear both "avant-garde" and "indecent." In high heels, she stood nearly 180cm tall, with two-thirds of her body covered by flesh-toned stockings. The two pieces of clothing on her upper body barely covered her large breasts, though the sleeves remained at a normal length. In today's era, such an upper-body style has a specific name—"crop top"—but over a decade ago, it was far too daring, especially when worn by a pregnant woman whose lower body was clad only in stockings. Beyond being avant-garde, it was simply indecent.
The woman moved through alleyways and lanes. Although residents occasionally passed by, she skillfully adjusted her angles or turned her back to avoid being seen. Even if someone accidentally caught a glimpse, they would only flee in panic—the social customs of that time were still quite conservative. In such an environment, she took photos on the steps of courtyard houses, in the corridors of old-style apartment buildings, and even in front of unknown residents' doorways. Just when I thought this level of boldness was the limit, I realized I had underestimated it. Next, the woman emerged from the alley and entered a McDonald's, which was considered a high-end restaurant at the time. The McDonald's was sparsely populated, with only a few scattered customers. The outermost seating area had floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street. The woman took a seat at one of these tables, which were about half a person's height. Once seated, her lower body was concealed, revealing only her clothed upper half. She then crossed her legs, sipping coffee in her seat.
Just a couple of photos later, the woman could no longer restrain herself and spread her legs. Since it was a street-side dining spot, her lower body was clearly visible from outside through the floor-to-ceiling glass window. One of the photos was taken from that outdoor angle—the woman had her legs parted, her high heels hooked inward under the seat, while she casually sipped coffee as if nothing were amiss. Beneath the table, her alluring legs, the deep purple of her intimate area, and her noticeably pregnant belly were all on full display to the street.
The photo collection didn't capture any reactions from passersby, only inward-facing perspectives. But given the social climate over a decade ago, it wouldn't have been an exaggeration to label her a prostitute or a slut. Flipping through a few more photos, it became clear the woman was no longer satisfied with merely exposing herself. One hand had slipped into her intimate area, while the other used a drinking straw to stimulate her clitoris through her stockings. From inside the café, she appeared every bit the sophisticated, educated white-collar worker, head bowed as if lost in thought. Yet from the outside, the scene was entirely different—her long, stocking-clad legs spread wide apart, one hand using the straw to probe her deep purple opening through the sheer fabric, the other helping to part her labia. She looked every bit the image of a pregnant woman lost in self-pleasure, a true exhibitionist. Her pregnant belly tensed slightly from the intense pleasure, contracting inward.
The woman wore seamless stockings with no coverage in the crotch area, leaving her parted vaginal opening completely exposed. The straw pressed against her vaginal walls, scraping against the tender flesh inside. Even though her labia and outer area had darkened due to pregnancy, the inside of her vagina remained a soft pink. With her head bowed, it almost looked as though she were leaning forward as if to suck the straw, as if trying to draw out her own arousal. Just as I had that thought, the next moment confirmed it—though the process was far simpler than I'd imagined. The following few photos appeared to have been taken in rapid succession, like a slideshow flashing before my eyes. Dissatisfied with just one straw, the woman grabbed a handful from the table—about a dozen or so—bundled them together, and thrust them forcefully into her opening. She repeatedly drove the straws in and out, her stockings rising and falling with each thrust. Fortunately, the stockings were of high quality and didn't tear. Her arousal dripped out from the other end of the straws, thoroughly soaking the crotch of her stockings.
The woman's legs, which had been tucked under her seat, gradually lost their strength under the onslaught of pleasure, tensing slightly forward, lifting, and parting into a posture reminiscent of riding a sleigh. After a brief surge of intense stimulation, she placed her half-finished drink beneath the chair, directly aligned with her vaginal opening. Then, lifting her hips slightly, she forcefully tugged at the waistband and gusset of her pantyhose, driving the straws deep into her vagina until only a short segment remained visible outside. Adjusting her posture, she gripped the bundled straws through the sheer fabric with one hand and applied immense pressure, plunging them all into her vagina in one swift motion. The fluids within her seeped out through the straws, filtered by the pantyhose, and dripped precisely into the half-full cup below.
She then withdrew the straws and thrust them back in forcefully. By this point, she could no longer maintain her initial composed and serious expression. Even through the thick mosaic blur, one could see her flushed face tilted upward, saliva dripping from the tip of her tongue, and the whites of her eyes rolling back—a display of utter abandon. During pregnancy, the uterus is at its most sensitive. The length of the straws, excluding the tips, measured at least 20 centimeters, and with the tips, even longer. Each forceful insertion delivered a violent impact to the cervix, a delicate and sensitive area that could hardly withstand such intense assault. It was no wonder the woman was reduced to such a state.
Again and again, she drove the straws violently into her vagina and against her cervix. Fluids streamed from the straws into the cup, starting as a gentle trickle like a small stream, then escalating into a torrential gush. The scene resembled a vendor at a market squeezing juice from fruit—each thrust of the tool extracting more liquid into the container. The woman was, in essence, "juicing" herself, and as her fluids continued to flow, the cup quickly filled to the brim. Seeing it full, she held nothing back. Spreading her palm, she pressed it against the front of the bundled straws and, with a sudden burst of force, "slammed" the entire cluster into her vagina. In that instant, it seemed a portion of the straws breached the cervix and penetrated the uterus.
The woman's pregnant belly convulsed rapidly, spasming before the tremor spread throughout her entire body, sending her into a brief yet intense paroxysm... After climaxing, the woman pulled one of the straws from her own slit and inserted it into her drink cup, leaving the remaining straws inside her vagina as she continued to sip her beverage. In this way, she ultimately tasted her own arousal. The final photo in the set was captured with a wide-angle lens, a rarity at the time: the woman stood up from her seat, drink in hand, turning to leave. The few patrons in the shop all cast sidelong glances, their thoughts unknown. And beyond the photographer's perspective outside the window, who knows how many others were watching? Perhaps some men were grateful to this woman for putting on such a public show for them in the early 2000s, while some women might have cursed her as a dirty whore, a cheap slut. But in my view, this woman—who might be Principal Yan—must have derived immense pleasure from it, or perhaps she was conditioned to find such pleasure. Thinking of Principal Yan now, one can almost glimpse the truth.
"Zhang Yu's mom! I've only been away from the class for a day, and your child has already caused such trouble!"
"Zhang Jie's dad, what do you think? Was it appropriate for Zhang Jie to do that? He made a girl cry, and right after my afternoon lecture, the girl's parents called me!"
As I was lost in thought, my mother's voice echoed from the first floor, accompanied by the sharp click-clack of her heels ascending the stairs. The sound grew closer until, with a click, she unlocked the door without knocking and stepped inside.
"Mom..."
"This matter is already very serious. You must come to the school tomorrow! Only by coming can we resolve this!" I was about to speak to her, but she glanced at me, giving me a "busy now" look before continuing her phone call. It seemed the stern, cold, and serious version of my mother was always there. Yes, physical desires are something every woman inevitably faces. How could I possibly blame her? For the first time, I felt a surge of resentment toward my father, wondering why he had stayed abroad for so long. Yet, also for the first time, I wished he would return to keep my mother company.
Seeing that my mother's call would take a while, I retreated to my small room and continued flipping through the resources of that pregnant woman.
Ding—an email notification popped up. It was a payment confirmation for a reservation with Huazhou Photography. I clicked the link in the email, which led to the preview cover of the next photo collection. Judging by the figure, it was still the same stalker fan from before, though this time she was dressed in what appeared to be an innocent outfit. The cover showed her with a high ponytail, wearing a blue-and-white athletic school uniform jacket and a matching pleated skirt—the same outfit from the last photo of the previous set. However, perhaps due to her overly voluptuous figure or the small size of the uniform, the outfit clung tightly to her body, as if barely containing her. The title of the preview was "Delusion or Fantasy?" I copied the link, tossed it into the group chat, and prepared to crowdfund the next set.
I was about to close the webpage when I suddenly noticed the content of the big shot's signature. I wasn't sure if it had been changed or if it had always been like this. The signature read: "The simplest and most direct contrast is: the ascetic reaching climax, the libertine begging for mercy; the debauched appearing innocent, the saintly falling into corruption; the plunderer showing tenderness, the loyal betraying; the coward turning tyrannical, the mighty falling into hardship."
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