Desensitization Training of Shame Threshold 📱 SUBSCRIPTION

In Nami’s dorm room, 2:30 a.m. Ying lay on the bed wearing only a nearly transparent white spaghetti-strap nightdress. The hem was so short it barely covered her hips, and one thin strap had already slipped down her arm, exposing most of her full, snow-white breasts. Ying collapsed onto the bed, her trembling fingertips slowly unzipping the red glossy over-the-knee boots. After removing them, her ankles looked fragile and sensitive; the deep indentations left by the boots still marked her thighs, as if only these still-shiny boots could give her a fleeting illusion of security.
The memories of the “Cherry Tide” training she endured in Feng’s mansion half a year ago gnawed at her sanity like an addiction, keeping her perpetually teetering on the edge of overwhelming desire.
Suddenly, her phone screen lit up with a message from an unknown number.
“I want you to witness the truth with your own eyes. All you need to do is accept it.”
Ying’s pupils contracted sharply. She recognized the name—though Nami rarely mentioned him, she had once said it was this mysterious man who helped them escape Feng’s mansion. Though Mr.B’s figure was nowhere to be seen, Ying knew she could not refuse any clue about the truth. Or rather, a twisted, pathological persistence in justice still lingered in her heart. Yet the days and nights of training she suffered in Feng’s mansion a year ago had already twisted her body into a state of perverse dependence on “invasion” and “pain.”
She bit her lower lip, feeling the heat quietly awakening inside her at the mere mention of Mr.B’s name, and silently slipped back into the tight, thigh-squeezing glossy boots.
Kowloon Tong Station Exit B, 11:05 p.m. Ying stood alone at the edge of the platform. Her pink sweater fluttered slightly in the cold wind, and beneath her denim mini-skirt, the thighs tightly encased in red boots were exposed. Each step of her heels on the cold marble floor rang out with a crisp “tak—tak—”, every sound announcing her trembling.
Inside the dimly lit train carriage, exhausted night-shift workers with dull eyes filled the space. As the train lurched forward, a sudden icy current shot through the back of her neck.
“—Activate.”
(In the previous modifications, the nanomachine that controls her corruption was already implanted deep in her spinal cord—the “mind-control anchor” remains like an invisible thread, ready to be pulled at any moment.)
Only she could hear the low male voice echoing deep in her mind, as though Mr.B were whispering directly against her earlobe. The nanomachine in her spine activated instantly. Ying’s legs buckled; she nearly collapsed. She barely managed to grab the door frame to keep from falling completely. Deprived of magical protection and under mind control, Ying’s reactions became sluggish and powerless. Several sleazy perverts keenly noticed the unusual flush and dazed look on this “magical girl.” Like sharks smelling blood, they quietly closed in.
Rough, sweat-stinking hands directly lifted the hem of her denim skirt, wantonly digging at the fleshy creases squeezed by the red boots. Ying’s throat was filled with saliva and broken whimpers. The extreme humiliation of being molested by ordinary men, amplified by the mind-control frequency, transformed into a wave of pleasure intense enough to incinerate her reason. Finally, when several perverts simultaneously kneaded her hardened nipples, Ying’s body convulsed violently. Warm love juices uncontrollably gushed from between her thighs. The incontinence-like warm stream slid down the inside of her boot shaft, spreading a glaring wet patch across the glossy red surface—declaring the complete fall of this warrior under everyone’s gaze.
Mr.B’s command made her waist unconsciously arch backward slightly, as if welcoming that rough palm. The juices quickly soaked through her panties, sliding down her inner thighs into the boot, turning the interior hot and sticky. With every step came a faint “squish” sound.
More hands joined in. A sleazy man on her left grabbed her breast through the pink sweater, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh, pinching and tugging her already erect nipple back and forth. On her right, a drunkard shoved his hand under the front of her skirt, roughly rubbing her swollen clit. Ying’s legs trembled; her heels scraped against the floor with lewd “screech” sounds.
“Stop… I’m… a magical girl…” she screamed futilely in her mind, but all that escaped were broken gasps and suppressed moans.
Pleasure surged like a tide; shame and forced ecstasy wove an airtight net. Her reason teetered on the brink of collapse. Finally, she gathered every last bit of strength and chanted the transformation spell:
“Pink magical power… storm—!”
What answered was not the righteous battle outfit, but a burst of twisted pink light particles.
The denim skirt and pink sweater vanished instantly, replaced by the ultimate lewd form personally designed by Feng—“Cherry Slave Erotic Body”:
A wide black blindfold covered her eyes, completely robbing her of sight; a red circular gag forced her cherry lips open, saliva dripping continuously from the corners, forming silver threads; her upper body was bound only by thin pink leather crisscross straps that barely covered her nipples, leaving her full breasts entirely exposed, the nipples dramatically protruding and quivering with every sway of the carriage; below was an open-crotch glossy pink thong, the heart-shaped metal plate featuring a central hole that fully exposed her swollen labia and constantly contracting entrance, love juices dripping like incontinence onto the floor; her red glossy over-the-knee boots were additionally wrapped with pink leather straps, squeezing out layered waves of flesh, the boot shafts already filled with her own fluids, reflecting the lewd gleam of the carriage lights.
“Mmm… nngh…!!”
Ying’s whimpers were muffled by the gag into utterly lewd nasal moans. She could no longer see the surrounding gazes, yet she felt them clearly—like knives piercing her naked breasts, dripping lower body, and the trembling red boots squeezed by straps.
The perverts completely lost control. Thick fingers plunged straight into her open crotch, thrusting rapidly with “squish-squish” wet sounds; someone knelt before her, tongue tracing the boot surface, licking up the dripping juices all the way to the thigh indentations; more hands seized hers, forcing her to stroke their already rigid members through fabric.
Her body fully surrendered. Beneath the blindfold her eyes rolled back; her tongue lolled helplessly from the gag, saliva dripping onto her repeatedly tugged nipples. Her waist writhed wildly; her pussy greedily sucked every invading finger; love juices sprayed like urinary incontinence, splashing onto nearby shoes and the floor.
“Justice… will… aaaaahhh—!!”
The last shred of reason shattered in continuous orgasms. She was no longer Magical Girl Ying, but a completely delirious pink slut in the midnight last train. Legs spread wide, boot heels nailed to the floor, body arched in an extremely lewd bridge, allowing countless hands, tongues, and fingers to ravage every inch of her skin.
The train rumbled through the night tracks; the carriage had become a sealed chamber devoted solely to carnal desire. Ying’s consciousness was repeatedly torn between orgasms, yet Mr.B’s nanomachine forcibly pinned her at the edge of awareness—she had to know clearly that she was falling in the most degrading manner.
The world under the blindfold was pitch black. The red gag forced her lips into a permanent “O”, her tongue hanging limply, saliva and semen mixing into long threads. Pink leather straps dug into her ample breasts; her bare nipples stood erect, swollen deep pink from endless pinching, twisting, and biting—each recoil sending shudders through her entire body.
She no longer tried to close her legs.
Her red glossy over-the-knee boots, wrapped in layers of pink straps that squeezed out fleshy waves, were now forcibly propped on seat edges, heels digging into the floor. The shafts were filled with viscous semen and her own juices. With every carriage sway, liquid slid down the glossy surface, trailing long silver strings across the floor.
“Mmm… nngh… haah… ♡”
Her initial whimpers had long turned into active invitations.
Someone grabbed her ponytail and yanked backward, forcing her head up; the tongue in the gag was immediately shoved deep by a scorching cock, muffling all sound into “gluck-gluck” swallowing noises. Another pair of hands gripped her waist, lifting her plump ass high, aligning her open entrance perfectly with the crowd. Cock after cock plunged in, pulled out, plunged again, foaming white and her own juices.
At that moment, a switch buried deep in her trained mind was fully flipped.
Broken, tearful self-confessions poured out like uncontrollable curses from the gag, mixing with saliva and moans, yet horrifyingly clear:
“I… I’m a lewd magical girl… ♡”
Her voice trembled, yet carried a sick excitement.
“The righteous magical girl… was long ago fucked by everyone’s big cocks… into a slut who can only squirt… ♡”
Her words spread like a virus through the carriage, drawing more low laughter and brutal actions. Someone slapped her ass hard, making the plump cheeks ripple lewdly; someone grabbed both nipples and pulled them apart, as if to tear away her last dignity.
Yet Ying’s body grew even more aroused under the humiliation.
Her waist writhed like a snake; her pussy clenched greedily around every cock. Her breasts deformed and overflowed under countless hands; nipples scraped by nails, lightly bitten by teeth, rolled by tongues… Pleasure surged like electricity up her spine straight into her brain.
“I’m a lewd magical girl… every day I think about being gang-raped by strangers… having my womb filled… ♡”
The confessions grew smoother, filthier, as if she herself were ripping away the final pretense.
“These boots… filled with everyone’s cum… feels so good… I wear such slutty boots just for this… ♡”
Someone knelt before her, tongue tracing the boot surface from tip to thigh indentations, then burying his face in her dripping pussy. Under the extreme stimulation she arched her body; the tongue in the gag stretched desperately to meet the next cock.
“Aaahhh… I’m gonna cum… I’m a lewd magical girl… gonna be fucked until I piss myself… ♡♡♡”
Her body convulsed violently; boot heels scraped shrilly against the floor. In fierce spasms she sprayed massive amounts of love juice mixed with semen across the carriage floor, forming a lewd mirror puddle. The surrounding men roared in excitement—some shot deep inside her at the peak, others pulled out to cover her abdomen, cleavage, inner thighs, even the boot surfaces.
Round after round.
Her confessions never stopped.
“I’m a lewd magical girl… justice lost to big cocks long ago… ♡”
“I’m a lewd magical girl… I just want to be fucked until I’m pregnant… turned into public meat toilet… ♡”
“I’m a lewd magical girl… the cum inside my boots… so hot… I love it… ♡”
Until her body finally reached its limit.
Her waist could no longer lift; her legs fell limply; boots thudded wetly onto the sticky floor. The tongue in the gag hung outside, saliva and semen dripping down her chin. Eyelashes under the blindfold were soaked with tears and sweat; her chest heaved violently, yet no full sound emerged.
Only faint, near-death gasps remained, along with one last broken confession:
“I… am… a lewd… magical girl… ♡”
The instant she was utterly exhausted and consciousness sank into blankness, Mr.B’s command finally loosened a fraction.
Faint pink light particles flickered like dying fireflies.
The lewd form began to reverse.
Black blindfold, red gag, pink leather straps, open-crotch thong… one by one they peeled away into nothingness. In their place returned her pre-boarding everyday outfit—the soft pink sweater, low-waist denim mini-skirt, and those still glossy red over-the-knee boots.
But the sweater was soaked with sweat and fluids, clinging tightly to her chest and outlining the protruding nipples; the denim skirt was rolled up to her waist, exposing the red, swollen labia and still-twitching entrance; the boots lay askew, their surfaces covered in scratches, kiss marks, dried and fresh semen.
She collapsed on the carriage floor like a thoroughly broken pink doll.
Pink long hair scattered messily, stained with filth. Her chest still rose and fell faintly; faint whimpers escaped her throat, as if in dreams she continued repeating that confession.
The train arrived at the station; doors opened.
Cold wind rushed in, blowing across her bare thighs and drenched sweater.
She did not move.
She simply lay there quietly, pupils dilated, completely lost in a daze.
Mr.B’s voice echoed once more deep in her mind, soft as a whisper yet carrying icy satisfaction:
“Well done, Ying.
You’ve finally learned… to admit with your own voice who you truly are.”
(To be continued)