Born in 1913, my maternal great-grandmother is where this story truly begins, at least as it was told to me by my grandmother and grand aunts. I never measured her myself. I know her body through their memories, through family stories, and through the way the women around her were later compared to her. Based on what we can determine, by age forty, she would have measured around a 36M cup, or about 16 inches long, maybe hanging around 6.36 inches past her navel, or roughly 2 inches above her vulva. She never wore bras, so we had to work backward using what survived, her build, her daughters, and the way later generations described her. On a lean farm woman in 1940s rural China, that was not subtle. In a village where most women were small-framed and resources were scarce, her chest would have stood out immediately. There were no real structured garments in her world, only occasional cloth wraps or crude slings when things got in the way, so she carried that weight through daily agricultural labor essentially unsupported. She was born into peasant life in Guangdong and raised on her father’s family farm, which means she grew up in the same kind of hard rural world her mother had already known before her. Her mother was already remembered as a very large-breasted woman, the first truly extreme case in this line, so Xiao Qiu did not grow up thinking the female body was some delicate private mystery. She grew up around work, sweat, births, arguments, chores, crowded family life, and the kind of brutal summer heat that made modesty less important than getting through the day. She had sisters, and all of them worked, but they did not all seem to develop in the same way. One was remembered as breastless, flat as a wall, while another seems to have fallen closer to what I would now call a 34J. Xiao Qiu herself was the fuller one, the daughter in that generation who carried the line upward most clearly. Water had to be carried, produce had to be sorted, food had to be cooked, clothes had to be washed, and children had to be watched. In that setting, girls were useful long before they grew up. In summer, I think she would have grown up around the same practical attitude toward nudity and exposure that shaped the women before her. Not as a rule, not as some grand family statement, just as part of life on a poor farm where the heat could be unbearable, and nobody had the luxury of pretending bodies were not bodies. From what I was told, her own breasts did not begin as something freakish or medically shocking. In youth, they were described as dense, bottom-heavy, pendulous, but not distorted. She seems to have inherited the family tendency without yet pushing it to the extreme. Her inframammary fold was about 6.5 inches down, which suggests the length came from real volume and gravity rather than some dramatic deformity. Her areolas were described as proportionate but still oversized, and her nipples were remembered as around an inch long and maybe 0.6 inches thick, prominent but not extreme for her chest size. She was considered very well endowed, not monstrous. That matters. She grew up poor, braless, active, and physically burdened, which means her sag was not just about genetics, but also about the life she lived. For a larger farm woman in that era, breasts were simply left to hang, swing, and settle where gravity took them. Over time, especially with labor, weight changes, and pregnancies, that kind of life pulls everything lower. My great-grandfather came from that same rough peasant world as Xiao Qiu, just from another farm and another family line. He was born in 1903, at the tail end of the Qing dynasty, and raised in southern China in the kind of crowded farm household where everyone belonged to the land and the land owned everyone right back. That was the only life he knew. He was not educated, not polished, and not especially expressive from what I was told. He sounds like the sort of man who kept his head down, worked hard, respected hierarchy, and did what was expected of him without wasting words. In 1929, when he was twenty-five, he married Xiao Qiu, who was only seventeen. This was not a love match. Their families would have arranged it through a matchmaker, a dowry would have been paid to Xiao’s family, and she would have been sent off to his family’s farm to become a wife, a worker, and, most importantly, a mother of sons. That was the point. So when Xiao Qiu left her own father’s farm, she was not stepping into some tender new life. She was being transferred into another crowded household where she would be judged by her labor, her obedience, and what she could produce. Romance had nothing to do with it. In the beginning, Xiao Qiu was still a new bride, and that would have bought her a little grace. She had arrived on her husband’s family farm at only seventeen, and like any young wife in that world, she would have been judged less for who she was than for what she might soon produce. The hope would have been simple and brutal: give them sons. In March 1931, when she was still only eighteen, she finally gave birth to a boy. I imagine that must have changed the mood of the whole household overnight. For one brief moment, she would have looked like a success. She had done the thing she was sent there to do. But the joy did not last. The baby died only six months later, in October 1931, and whatever relief that first birth had brought would have curdled into grief, panic, and blame. A month later, in November 1931, she gave birth again. That timing alone tells you how hard they must have been pushing for another child immediately. But instead of replacing the lost son, she gave birth to a girl. Then came another girl in 1933. Then, in 1935, identical twin girls, which must have felt like a double insult to a household still waiting for a surviving male heir. Then came a fifth daughter in 1938. By that point, I do not think her husband’s family would have seen Xiao Qiu as unlucky in some gentle, tragic sense. I think they would have seen her as a failure. She had been brought there to work, obey, and secure the line, and instead she had filled the household with daughters. Then, at last, in February 1940, she gave birth to another boy. After everything, after all the disappointment and all the tension, I can only imagine how desperate the family must have been to believe that this one would live. But he died too, in May 1941, a little over a year later. And I think that was the point where whatever patience or softness had once existed was finally burned out of that house. Two sons, both dead. Five daughters still living. Seven pregnancies in all, and still no surviving heir. That history matters, because it tells you how her husband and his family would have come to see her by the time Herbert entered the picture. This was not a warm marriage slowly deepening with age. It was an arranged farm marriage built on labor, hierarchy, and reproductive expectation. Maybe her husband had once felt hopeful. Maybe his parents had too. But after seven births and no surviving son, I think resentment had long since replaced tenderness. In that household, Xiao Qiu was not being cherished. She was being endured. At the same time, she was passing something striking down to her daughters, though not in any simple or tidy way. One would later measure around a 36N, another roughly 32H, another 38K, while the identical twins would go on to become 36V and 38W in later life. But set among them was the real anomaly: one daughter who seems to have remained breastless. Not small, not merely modest, but flat enough that, beside the others, she stands out like a wrong note in the line. That is what makes this generation so important to me now. The family was clearly producing women with fuller and fuller chests, and yet from the same mother came a daughter whose body seems to have gone in the opposite direction entirely. Looking back, that feels less like chance than like the first unmistakable sign that whatever was moving through this line could misfire as easily as it could grow large. And just as importantly, Xiao Qiu passed down the farm life she had grown up with: the same world of labor, sweat, harsh summer humidity, and practical indifference to modesty. On a poor farm in southern China, girls worked, stripped down when they had to, and did whatever made the heat and labor easier to bear. So I think she raised her daughters much the same way. By the time Xiao Qiu was nearing forty, after seven pregnancies and a lifetime of work without real support garments, her own breasts had grown softer, heavier, and lower than they had been in youth. And by then, the household around her was no longer a place where she was valued. It was simply the place where she had survived. In August 1952, my grandfather Herbert finally entered the picture. His life story up to this point is right above this one, but by then he was already a wealthy, educated city man worth around 40 million in today’s money. He was returning home from a business trip, cut through a rural village, parked, and decided on impulse that he wanted to bring some fresh produce back to his home in Foshan for his staff to cook. He left the car on a country road and walked about fifteen minutes through the heat toward a nearby farm, expecting nothing more dramatic than vegetables, dust, and a short conversation with some tired peasants. Instead, he walked straight into the moment that rerouted our entire family line: my great-grandmother, butt-naked on a summer day dripping with sweat. From Herbert’s point of view, what he saw next must have felt completely unreal, though not because nudity itself was new to him. A man like Herbert, traveling through rural southern China, would not have been shocked by the occasional peasant working half-dressed, topless, or even nude in brutal summer heat. What flabbergasted him here was not simply that my great-grandmother was striding toward him butt naked with her breasts swaying. It was that this tiny 4'8 hobbit came stomping at him in nothing but sandals and a wide straw hat, irritated, sun-browned, and carrying a chest that looked completely impossible on her frame. By then she might have been around an M cup, since they hung all the way down to her bush, and on a woman that small it would have looked surreal, like someone had taken the proportions of a much larger body and dropped them onto a little hobbit farm wife by mistake. Even with all his experience, Herbert had no frame of reference for what he was looking at. That was the real shock. He had never seen breasts even approaching the stomach, and these were vacationing down in her bush. Not just a naked farm woman, but this angry little hobbit with a body so visually overwhelming that it stopped him in his tracks, marching toward him like he was trespassing, wasting her time, and keeping her from her work. The story goes that the nude woman did not greet him like some polite hostess. She was working, he was interrupting, and from her point of view he was just some strange man wandering onto the property and wasting her time. So she barked at him in Chinese and demanded to know what he wanted. Herbert, still trying to make sense of what he was looking at, struggled to form a sentence and explain that he only wanted fresh vegetables and produce. My great-grandmother, eager to get back to work, called out for her daughters to come deal with him. That alone would have been enough to freeze him in place. A moment later, the identical twin daughters came running over, and somehow the whole situation became even harder for him to process. My grandmother recounts; two identical sixteen-year-old twin girls came running over to help their mother, and both were already carrying breasts that had dropped past their stomachs. As they hurried across the farm, their breasts would have been swinging side to side and bouncing down against their upper pubic area with each step, which must have been almost impossible for Herbert to process in real time. He was already standing there mesmerized by their mother, and now suddenly the same impossible body pattern was appearing again, not once, but twice, on two teenage girls running toward him as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. At that point, he was no longer simply surprised. He was dazed. In front of him stood three women with breasts past their stomachs, unfurling a universe he had never known existed. For the women, there was nothing especially dramatic about any of this. They were hot, they were busy, they were working, and this stranger was delaying them. For Herbert, though, the whole scene must have hit like lightning. He had spent years around city women, clubs, polished flirtation, and carefully managed beauty, but he was speechless at first. While apparently in Narnia, he knew he needed to form a connection. He should have bought his produce and left. Instead, he stayed, made excuses, kept talking, and from that moment on, he was already halfway lost. Still annoyed that Herbert had pulled her away from work, my great-grandmother kept scolding him, but he just stood there smiling and taking it, answering her sharpness with compliments until her irritation slowly began to crack. What should have been a quick produce sale somehow stretched on and on. As she and the girls helped gather what he wanted, she began to notice things that did not fit the world she knew. He was dressed in fine comfortable linen, his skin was pale compared to farmers, his speech was polished, and the way he pronounced his words made it obvious that he was highly educated. This was not some ordinary traveler looking for vegetables. He was rich, city-bred, and completely out of place on that farm. Xiao Qiu was no fool. She quickly understood that a man like this was not just wealthy, but important. A man like this could open doors, smooth problems, bring opportunity, and change the fortunes of people around him. Once that dawned on her, her tone began to soften. They said he noticed the shift immediately and leaned into it, laying on the charm so thick it must have felt unreal to her, smiling, flattering her, and giving her a kind of praise she had almost certainly never heard in her life. By the time he finally left, nearly an hour and a half later, he had long since bought the produce, but what he had really done was talk his way into her attention and leave her hoping that he might come back again. From August through April of the following year, Herbert visited the farm many times, always finding some excuse to come back. He was direct, courteous, and openly flirtatious in a way Xiao Qiu had never experienced before. She had never received warm praise or affection from her husband, so Herbert’s attention embarrassed her, confused her, and slowly drew her in all the same. He spoke freely, noticed everything, and did not behave like a man who thought she was beneath him. He even commented on her chest without much hesitation, asked whether it caused her back pain, and suggested taking her to dinner in Foshan as if such things were the most natural idea in the world. Xiao Qiu kept reminding him that she was married, but Herbert never seemed discouraged. He made friends with her husband, acted generous, and always made it clear he would be back. It did not take long for Xiao Qiu to understand that he wanted her. What took longer was realizing that he seemed to want more than her body. Little by little, he began painting a picture for her: marriage, security, servants, a proper house, and a life so far removed from the farm that it might as well have belonged to another planet. And the more he returned, the more obvious it became that Herbert was not simply flirting for sport. He was studying her, winning her trust, and quietly building something in his mind far larger than either a casual affair or a foolish impulse. By then, Xiao Qiu was living in two worlds at once. One was the only world she had ever known: her husband, her daughters, the farm, the heat, the mud, the endless labor, and the small humiliations woven into ordinary life. The other was this strange new world Herbert kept dangling in front of her, full of money, softness, attention, and possibilities she had never once allowed herself to imagine seriously. She did not understand why a man like him was so set on her, and I do not think Herbert fully understood it either, at least not at first. But by the time those visits had stretched across months, what had begun as curiosity had turned into something much more dangerous. Herbert was no longer just visiting the farm to see her. He was beginning to imagine how to take her out of it. In May 1953, Herbert finally stopped circling and made his move. By then he had been coming to the farm for months, long enough that nobody could pretend his interest was casual anymore. He sat down with my great-grandfather more than once and laid out an arrangement he wanted taken seriously. Some of those talks were calm, some were tense, and I am sure at least a few turned heated, because what Herbert was proposing was outrageous by any ordinary measure. For Xiao Qiu, the proposal meant escape from a life that had already narrowed down to labor, disappointment, and endurance. For my great-grandfather, it meant the kind of money that could change the future of the entire family in one stroke. And for the women, it must have felt like some absurd fairytale had wandered off the road and into their fields. Herbert was not offering flirtation anymore. He was offering a house, servants, security, status, and a way out of the farm cycle that had trapped them all. However strange, risky, and morally tangled the arrangement was, all four women were deeply taken with him by then, and later admitted they wanted it to happen. 1.He first proposed that my great-grandfather remain legally separated, not yet divorced, and allow Xiao Qiu to spend three months with him in Foshan and Guangzhou. During that time, Herbert would have the chance to spend private time with her away from the farm, introduce her to city life, and see whether the relationship was truly workable before any final divorce or marriage took place. Compensation would be paid in advance for her time away. 2.If that period went well, he then proposed that a legal divorce be completed before the fall, with additional compensation arranged through indirect payments. 3.Herbert formally stated his intention to marry Xiao Qiu as first wife, contingent on the success of that three-month trial period. 4.He formally requested the hand in marriage of her eldest daughter, Janet, and promised to provide for her. 5.He formally requested the hands in marriage of the identical twins, Irene and Ingrid, with the understanding that those marriages would take place later, when they reached nineteen. 6.It was further understood that, if these women entered Herbert’s household, they would gradually be taught and prepared for life in the city through private instruction, household guidance, and gradual exposure to the world they were entering. The financial terms were listed in 1953 RMB, with present-day equivalents shown here in 2026 USD: •Xiao Qiu — 16,000 RMB then, about $74,750 now •Janet — 1,000 RMB then, about $4,700 now •Irene — 2,000 RMB then, about $9,350 now •Ingrid — 2,000 RMB then, about $9,350 now Altogether, the package came to 21,000 RMB in 1953, or roughly $98,170 in 2026 dollars. For a rural household bringing in around 300 RMB a year, that was more than seventy years of income placed on the table at once. To her husband’s side of the family, it was life-changing money. To Herbert, it was a serious but affordable wager. To his parents, it was proof that their son was gambling real money, family face, and long-term stability on a plan they still were not sure was brilliance or madness. Through handshake agreements, my great-grandparents agreed to a separation, and compensation would be arranged. What sat behind that handshake, though, was a much larger argument Herbert had almost certainly already carried home. His parents would have seen the class problem immediately. Xiao Qiu and her daughters were not merely poor. They were peasants, raised far outside the polished world Herbert was expected to move through. Women like these did not know how to dress for formal dinners, speak in refined company, host a household at that level, or stand beside a man like Herbert at political and business functions without looking completely out of place. And that, more than lust, was the part his parents would have pressed hardest. A ball gown did not turn Cinderella into a princess by itself. Silk could be bought in an afternoon. Poise, speech, manners, etiquette, and social instinct could not. Herbert, at that stage, cared less about this than they did. He saw the raw material and assumed the rest could be taught. His parents, older and sharper about the burdens of status, understood that if he went through with this, he would not just be marrying farm women. He would be taking on the slow work of trying to remake them, even if they kicked and screamed the whole way. Per the arrangement, Xiao Qiu left with Herber for three months and my limited understanding is they spent time in various cities on holiday. I only have some of the details, but I know things turned romantic and sexual within the first few weeks. For Xiao Qiu, the first time seeing Herbert undressed must have been shocking on sight alone. She was only 4'8, he was 6'8, and she had only ever known one man before, a farm husband with a three inch penis who would have seemed tiny by comparison. Nothing in her life had prepared her for a younger man built on that scale, towering over her with proportions that must have looked almost unreal. She would have thought the man was part horse. With permission, I have read all of my grandmother and grand aunts diaries in Chinese. My great-grandmother was illiterate and details she shared were often captured in private diaries, that is how I have so much information from back then – well and asking them in person. Based on the sex details, I have reverse engineered that her vaginal depth was about 6.02”. Eleven months after their first encounter with her butt-naked and yelling at him, she was finally nude again, but this time in a bedroom. For Herbert, I think the key difference was Xiao Qiu’s age and the fact that she had already borne seven children. For most men, that would have been a negative. For him, it was likely part of the appeal. He had already learned the hard way that most women were not a workable fit for his cock size, so a body that had been stretched by age and childbirth may have seemed far better suited for penetration. Working through the diary entries there are many notes and entries about their three months together. She first sucked his cock on the 5th day and remarked while standing upright his erect cock tip reached her forehead due to their two-foot height difference. With barely any oral skills she got around 1.5 inches into her mouth while standing upright. That is remarked many times in the diary. When not in bed she would stand fully upright and not even bend down or bend over to suck him. Day seven has the first penetration – she remarked it was very tight and felt deep and she remarked at the finish her face was covered, and it felt like someone threw a bucket of paint at her face. There are pages of notes, it’s just too much to list here. Day 26 remarks the first anal attempt. She remarks around day 27 he stopped penetrating her vagina for the duration of the time together and focused on her butt. Day 30 remarks half length penetration. Day 38 she remarks his groin hit against her body, which implies balls deep, she even remarks feeling it in her stomach. Emotional rollercoaster for her. It is written that he taught her many sexual things and gave her many new experiences. He taught her how to masturbate and encouraged her to pleasure herself. He taught her to fist herself and explained she should keep her holes prepared. Unlike other women, having seven children naturally, fisting herself was not the hardest thing to learn. I also know that sometime around 23 June, he got her pregnant at age 40. Yeah…OOPSIE! This little fact would not be known or confirmed until five months later! She returned to the farm on the 1st of September and stayed pretty tight-lipped about her experiences away and focused on the city and cultural highlights. On 19 September, she and her husband formally sought a divorce. She warned her daughters that his cock was the size of her forearm and would later prepare them. On 13 October 1953, the four women left the farm in tears. Xiao Qiu was leaving her husband and two daughters behind, which was no small thing, but those three were now financially secure for life, so their future had been changed as well. When the women arrived at Herbert’s estate, the contrast must have felt almost unreal. One day they were still on a farm where life revolved around sweat, mud, and work from dawn to dark; the next they were stepping into a world of servants, fine rooms, and more comfort than they had ever known. Xiao Qiu was installed in the master bedroom and given the best clothing, food, and attendants. Her eldest daughter, Janet, was given a beautiful room of her own. Herbert had already ordered two adjoining bedrooms opened up and remade into one much larger suite for the twins, not because he meant for them to live separately within the house, but because he was already planning ahead to the life he intended to build with them later. By then, ten house staff handled the cooking, cleaning, and daily burdens that farm women like these had always done with their own hands. Herbert usually returned home from work around 6 p.m., supper was served around 6:30, and by 8 p.m. the estate had gone quiet enough that, as the family later told it, you could hear the insects outside. The Foshan property was not just a large house, but an old family estate from his father’s side, a walled compound centered on a broad Qing-era mansion built in 1855 and later absorbed into the family’s rise. Nearly a century old by the time the women entered it, the house still carried the bones of another age: thick walls, heavy timber, long corridors, high-ceilinged rooms, and the sort of worn interior doors that closed for privacy more than silence. Formal rooms filled the ground floor, while a generous upper level held the master bedroom, two substantial secondary suites, and enough additional rooms for the children Herbert fully expected to raise there. Beyond the main house, the grounds opened into flower gardens, kitchen plots, work yards, and separate buildings for cooking, laundry, storage, and the servants who kept everything running. Upon moving into the estate, the four women brought their old habits with them, because why wouldn’t they? They had never known life with structured undergarments. At most, they had occasionally improvised simple cloth slings beneath certain garments, but even those were just practical compromises rather than real support. They had spent their whole lives braless because that was the only life they knew, and Xiao Qiu had raised her daughters the same way. Inside the privacy of the estate, that did not suddenly change. They often preferred to go topless, not as a display, but because heavy clothing caused rashes, irritation, and discomfort. The servants had to adjust. The women they now served did not share their ideas about modesty, and Xiao Qiu especially would not have cared if someone found her habits improper. In her mind, that was the servant’s problem, not hers. The same thing applied to labor. Xiao Qiu and the girls had never known a life without chores, without responsibility, without doing everything with their own hands. So even in the mansion, I can easily imagine the first instinct was still to wash their own clothes, tidy their own rooms, or try to handle tasks Herbert had already hired people to do. That must have taken time to unlearn. Herbert would have had to keep stepping in and reminding them that the servants were there for a reason, and that letting staff do their jobs was now part of their new life whether they felt comfortable with it or not. In one sense, this was now their house, and the servants belonged to the household they had entered. But for women raised on farms, accepting service was not nearly as natural as giving it. Upon moving in until their wedding day, Herbert was honorable and never touched Xiao Qiu; they waited to consummate their union on their wedding night. On 30 October 1953, which was Xiao Qiu’s 40th birthday, she married Herbert in a private ceremony. He bedded her that night, which was the first time as a married couple. I am directly told he kept the bedroom door wide open that night and hammered her for hours as she cried out across the house. My grandmother told me 馬撚…馬撚… 馬撚 (“horse cock”) was cried out constantly through her moans. What follows was passed down to me partly through second-hand accounts and partly through the memories of the daughters themselves, because what began in the master bedroom did not stay there. Over time, Herbert made his sex life with Xiao Qiu impossible for the rest of the household to ignore, turning it into something loud, relentless, and deeply invasive. By then, he had drawn out a side of her that even the family later described in almost stunned terms, and the sheer volume of what went on between them became part of the house itself. Trying to reconstruct that first year, from October 1953 through September 1954 was seared into my relatives’ memories. For eleven months, three nights a week, the entire house was forced to listen. This was also a house that worked against privacy at every turn. The Foshan estate was a nearly century-old Qing-era mansion built with hard masonry, timber doors, high ceilings, long corridors, and reflective interior surfaces that carried sound instead of muting it. The doors were there to separate rooms, not to seal them, and on the upper floor especially, voices and sharper noises traveled far too easily. If the master bedroom door was left open, the women in the adjoining suites had little chance of escaping any of it. Even the servants, sleeping much farther away in the service compound, could catch the loudest peaks once the house had gone still for the night. In a modern house, softer materials, insulation, and sealed doors would have swallowed much of that. In this one, sound traveled and privacy failed. To give some context, my grandmother later said that, as one example of how non-existent the sound isolation was in that house, she could even hear the wet sloshing sounds of her mother’s vagina clearly from the next room. Although Xiao Qiu was originally bashful and reserved, Herbert was a man of rules and demanded that she not be quiet in bed, making her cry out her orgasms at full volume each time she climaxed. This became a requirement for Herbert, and to be fair, many women do find that being louder and actively voicing an orgasm heightens the climax, though perhaps not at the price of your daughters’ sanity. During that first stretch, when Xiao Qiu was still Herbert’s only wife, he was bedding her every other night with the door ajar. By around 8:30 most nights, her voice would begin carrying through the estate, low at first, then louder and louder, until moans, cries, and spoken words all blurred together. In retrospect, it’s wild to speak about my great-grandmother and grandfather like this, but I come from a highly sexual family, and my family history is a bit different. But my grandmother knew the play-by-play, as she was also his wife. •After kissing intensely, it was said that Herbert always went down on her for an extended period. She would have had a thick bush back then, since no one shaved or really maintained it. Over maybe ten minutes, everyone would hear a moaning “佢喺度服侍我” (hes pleasuring me). It was literally shouted across the house so everyone would know exactly what was happening in the master bedroom. •全部人幫我數高潮呀！ (everyone count my orgasms!) was commonly shouted across the house as a literal broadcast meant for everyone, including the servants out in the rear compound, not as a joke or a figure of speech. •Although only able to fit around 3 inches into her mouth, she became skilled enough at oral sex over time. This is where I remind you of the size mismatch. Herbert was 6’8, 265 pounds, and built with a good frame (not jacked), with a horse-sized 11-inch penis that was Coke-can thick (2.21"), while she was a 4’8 hobbit housewife with long, sagging breasts. He was double her height and more than twice her weight. To say he would have been overwhelming in bed is almost an understatement. From her perspective, he was horse-like in scale. Herbert’s issue is that no vagina is eleven inches deep, so the idea of his full length fitting that way was never realistic to begin with. Knowing this all too well, Herbert had spent the better part of the last four months very slowly stretching out her butt. During sex, whenever she started screaming 二十八! on repeat through moans, everyone knew she was about to climax. Screaming his cock size to the entire house is what made her climax the hardest, and it was the number everyone else heard most often coming from the master bedroom. While climaxing, she was taught to always yell 我嚟緊呀 (I'm coming) as loud as she could. I personally think Herbert wanted everyone to keep count, but then I realized she was actually getting off on knowing everyone was listening to her, especially the servants. When he went harder, she would stutter 馬撚… 馬撚…馬撚… 馬撚…馬撚… 馬撚… moaning and shouting horse cock as loud as she could over and over. My grandmother explained that when Herbert was balls deep in her mothers butt, it was verbally obvious to the house and not just from her announcing it. The pitch of her voice really changed with it. Her feminine breathy moaning would drop into a lower, throatier, more guttural register, so distinct that the rest of the house eventually knew when he was balls deep. It was never a subtle shift. Being that deep would often break something in her brain and she would lose what little control she might have been holding on to and simply became too horny. Her endless orgasms and announcements would have kept everyone else awake. Even if collapsed, Herbert did not stop until he finally climaxed. Everyone knew when anal was far underway. Within the first six months, it was 我受唔住,太大喇！ “I cant take it, it's too big!” And once she opened up they all knew it, as she would yell out 成個都入晒呀, 全部二十八厘米都入晒噼噼呀 – “the whole thing inside, all 11 inches in my butt!!” Multiple diaries conveyed that in those early months, Herbert whispered commands to repeat during sex as he wanted to dictate play-by-play across the house like a megaphone to condition the daughters and prepare them. But in reality after the first month, he no longer needed to tell her what to say. Usually, 1-2 minutes after entering her vagina, while moaning, he made her SHOUT out his penis measurements to the entire house, which would always make her orgasm. She had easily memorized them, and apparently so did everyone else in the house, since they heard it so often. Verbatim: 喂! 全部人有冇聽呀?! 俾我講俾你聽佢嘅尺寸! 佢隻屌有二十八厘米長! 五點六厘米粗! 十六點七厘米圍度! 卵袋吊到二十一點六厘米長! 佢好似隻馬咁大! HEY! IS EVERYONE LISTENING UP?! LET ME TELL YOU HIS COCK MEASUREMENTS!! HIS COCK IS ELEVEN INCHES LONG!! 2.21 INCHES THICK! 6.6 INCHES AROUND! HIS BALLS HANG 8.5 INCHES LOW! (paraphrasing) My grandmothers diary says she doesn’t recall a single time her mother got through that statement without climaxing lol. I try to imagine the perspective of my grandmother in the next room. Just the skin-on-skin sounds from his groin smashing against her butt from behind would have resonated and echoed through the house like thunder. The nearest bedrooms would hear everything clear as day. Sex sounds, sloshing, maybe even kissing. Psychological conditioning. On 15 April 1954, much to everyone's amazement, Xiao Qiu gave birth to fraternal twin boys. Herbert was overjoyed and named her the permanent “first wife” (正妻) of the household. Unlike before, her 8th and 9th children were finally boys that survived, and twins (again) no less! Herbert’s family, long established in the southern textile trade and closely attuned to provincial political shifts, recognized by the mid 1950s that private industry in the PRC was entering a period of increasing state control. Rather than resist the transition, they gradually redirected capital, export contracts, and key commercial relationships toward Hong Kong between 1954 and 1956. By formally relocating core business operations in 1956 and moving the extended family in 1957 under the rationale of overseas expansion, they positioned themselves outside the tightening mainland economic structure. As the Great Leap Forward later destabilized domestic industry, their Hong Kong enterprise, now integrated into British colonial trade networks, expanded significantly, preserving and ultimately multiplying the family’s wealth while insulating them from the upheaval that followed. When the family relocated to Hong Kong in 1957, they did not step straight into some perfect new estate. What they moved into was a respectable but transitional house, large enough to signal wealth and safety, yet nowhere near large enough to comfortably absorb the household Herbert had already built. By then there were five children, including Ingrid’s newborn twin boys, and Xiao Qiu was pregnant again. That meant one husband, four wives, and a fast-growing brood already pressing against the walls from the day they arrived. The old scale of Foshan could not be recreated overnight in Hong Kong. Rooms had to do more work than they were meant to, children had to be packed more tightly, and whatever privacy or spaciousness had once existed was cut down sharply. Hong Kong was safety, strategy, and transition, not immediate luxury. Herbert slept in the master bedroom with Janet, while Xiao slept with her daughters in the special wide bed. Herbert and Janet were intimate again but he often split his time between bedrooms and seemed to prefer Xiao Qiu and the twins at once and “insisted” on full incest. I learned the manipulated mother-daughter incest became rampant for the better part of a decade. I am told Herbert made it evolve slowly over time, and things became more and more (forced) sexual. My grandmother would have been French kissing her mother on a regular basis in bed and not by preference. I know this all too well in my own life. My grandmother told me this was always his overarching goal since he first saw my great-grandmother and her twins, to have an incestuous love relationship between everyone. I am told the house was cramped and people had to share rooms. There was virtually no privacy for those years and sex was still extremely loud and common background noise to the children. Later in the year, she gave birth to her 6th daughter, my great aunt Kitty, at age forty-four. Her tenth child overall. Then in 1959 Herbert got her pregnant again, and in February she gave birth to my great-uncle Nicolas at age 46, her eleventh child overall. My mother had been born the previous year and was also being raised in that same Hong Kong house, which by then was already starting to strain under the weight of the family inside it. Herbert’s bet on Xiao Qiu had certainly paid off as she provided him with three healthy sons. His parents were overjoyed at his fortunes and blessed Xiao Qiu, a complete change from her previous family. From 1959 through 1963, the pressure only kept building. I do not know if it was something in the water, but sex was constant and Herbert seemed to be getting everyone pregnant at every chance he got. During those years alone, seven more children were born into a house that already felt too full. By that point, the problem was no longer abstract. The family was swelling faster than the house could reasonably hold them. Bedrooms were crowded, children were stacked together, privacy was thin, and the old estate rhythm Herbert had once enjoyed in Foshan could not be recreated under those conditions. The household was still wealthy, but it was living below its scale. And by then Herbert knew it. His father’s retirement and eventual handover of the business was the financial threshold he had been waiting on, because by the early 1960s it had become obvious that if this family kept expanding at the pace it was, something would soon have to give. By 1964, pressure was building in more ways than one. Herbert’s father had finally begun stepping back in earnest, handing over control of the business and forcing Herbert into the role he had been groomed for his entire life. He was ready for it, but the shift still changed the scale of everything. His responsibilities grew, his authority solidified, and for the first time he had both the power and the money to start planning beyond mere transition. At the same time, the house was straining under the weight of the family it contained, and Herbert had already begun quietly working through brokers and preparations for something larger. Inside the household, though, the year carried a much uglier emotional charge. Janet had finally borne a son in 1962, which should have restored some of the standing she had quietly lost, but when that boy died in September 1964, something in her finally broke. Herbert, who already had multiple surviving sons elsewhere in the household, did not grieve the loss the way Janet needed him to. To her, that coldness confirmed everything she had been swallowing for years: the forced sharing, the manipulation, the incestuous rot, the humiliations, the sense that she had never truly been chosen at all. By the end of 1964, the resentment she had been carrying since 1953 was no longer staying contained, and it was obvious that something in that marriage was about to give way. By 1965, Herbert was no longer just the son being groomed for succession. He was now fully in control of the company, carrying far more responsibility but also enjoying a level of wealth and authority his earlier self had only been moving toward. The business was expanding further through Hong Kong and deeper into British commercial networks, while his children were now being raised in a very different world from the one their mothers had known, attending proper Catholic schools, learning English, and growing up with the kind of education Herbert himself had been given. That same year, the family finally moved into the kind of Hong Kong estate he had been building toward all along: a large, landholding property far removed from the crowded urban core, with a main mansion, separate servant houses, gardens, work areas, and enough room for the household to breathe again. They initially hired seven staff, and for the first time since leaving China, the family could begin to live at something closer to its true scale. Janet was gone by then, along with her two daughters, so the household had lightened somewhat, but even so there were still twelve children under that roof, enough to make the move feel less like luxury and more like necessity. With Janet going, Herbert mainly shared the master bedroom again with Xiao Qiu. The twins had their own second suite. Xiao’s twin boys shared the third suite, which unfortunately put the little devils right next to their twin half-sisters. The rest of the kids, including my mother were in various bedrooms, sometimes sharing rooms. My mother and her sisters were growing up in a very different kind of house from the one their mothers had first entered in Hong Kong. This estate was larger, more modern, and finally built to hold the size of the family Herbert had created. People were more spread out, the bedrooms were less cramped, the walls were thicker, and the constant moaning and sex sounds that had once traveled so easily through the older houses were now far more muffled. The household was still loud, of course, with that many children, wives, servants, and moving parts under one roof, but it was a different kind of loud. It no longer felt like everyone was breathing on top of everyone else. By 1967, I have it on good authority that Herbert was still going at his first wife hard in the bedroom, and would continue doing so from the time she was forty until around age sixty-five, which would have been 1977. By then he was still having foursomes as a group, but the twins were now around thirty, and over time he shifted more and more toward sole threesomes with them, finally allowing Xiao Qiu a kind of retirement. She had long since settled at a confirmed M cup by then. I visited that house countless times growing up, and even though it was part of my family history, I experienced it more as a grand, slightly surreal place than as the pressure cooker it had once been for the women living inside it. I was only ten when my grandfather died, so I do not have many memories of him, just fragments really, more atmosphere than conversations. By the late 1970s, my great-grandmother had finally earned the kind of life that would have sounded like a fairy tale to the girl she once was. The farm wife who had spent her youth hauling water, bearing children, and being judged by what she failed to produce was now living like a queen in Hong Kong, and she knew it. She slept in the master bedroom, woke up when she pleased, and no longer had to answer to anyone’s mother, anyone’s harvest, or anyone’s timetable but her own. She had long since learned how to wear silk, furs, jewels, and all the other absurd little luxuries that would have seemed laughable to her younger self, and by then she enjoyed them very much, thank you. She could sit by the pool with a drink, play mahjong with society women who would once have looked straight through her, take her massages at home, and spend money in ways that would have made the old farm household faint dead away. If she ever forgot where she came from, though, I do not think she truly did. She liked to remind people, with no false modesty at all, that it was her body that had lured Herbert in and changed the fate of the entire family. The funniest part is that time did not really soften her into some cuddly old grandmother. It softened her life, yes. It softened her schedule. It softened the strain in her face and the urgency in her voice. But Xiao Qiu still remained Xiao Qiu. She was never especially warm in the sentimental sense, and she was not the sort to gather grandchildren into her arms and smother them with kisses. That was not her generation, and certainly not her upbringing. She was more distant than that, more imperial really. You respected her, you listened when she spoke, and you understood that she was the living hinge on which all of this had turned. Yet with Kitty and Nicolas, the two younger children she raised entirely in affluence, there was clearly a difference. Those were the children she got to mother without the crushing desperation of the farm pressing on her throat. She did not have to harden them for survival in the same way. Kitty, especially, mattered in a special way because she was the first daughter Xiao Qiu could truly raise in comfort instead of scarcity. Nicolas, meanwhile, was treated like a prince, and why not? By then Xiao Qiu had sons who had survived, daughters grown, and a house full of proof that her life had not been wasted after all. By the 1980s, the house itself had settled into that strange state big family houses sometimes reach, where they are still full, still active, still important, but no longer roaring with the same feverish intensity of earlier years. Children were growing up, going to school, marrying, peeling away one by one, and the center of gravity slowly shifted from fertility and scandal to inheritance, education, and status. Herbert was running the company, expanding the business, and making sure the generations behind him would never know the kind of insecurity either he or Xiao Qiu had been born into, though for very different reasons. The wives had all aged into their places, and by then Xiao Qiu was no longer carrying the same burdens she once had. She had been gradually unburdened for years. Herbert still bedded her on and off well into her sixties, which tells you plenty about the fact that his appetite never exactly retired, but the real heat of the household had shifted elsewhere long before that. Xiao Qiu, for her part, welcomed the rest. She had been having sex since girlhood, first from duty, then from arrangement, then from marriage, then from Herbert’s strange empire of appetite. By her later years, I think she was more than content to let the younger women absorb the intensity while she remained what she had become: the first wife, the queen, the symbol. Herbert’s public life and Xiao Qiu’s private importance had also become two different things by then, which is one of those details that says everything about how that household worked. At home, Xiao Qiu was the unquestioned first wife. In reality, she was the woman who mattered most to him. But in public, especially in Hong Kong, legality and appearance mattered, and so did discretion. Ingrid was the wife on paper, the glamorous younger woman fit for public business dinners and elite functions, sometimes swapped with Irene because identical twins are very convenient when a man is trying to maintain one official story while living another. Xiao Qiu understood all of that. She did not need to be paraded around like proof of anything. By then she had already won. She had the house, the rank, the deference, the children, the jewels, the comforts, and most importantly the private certainty of what she meant inside the family. So while Herbert worked, maneuvered, and positioned the next generation, she enjoyed the view from the top of the mountain. And then came the last ugly little twist of history. In 1997, Hong Kong was handed back to China, and that would have horrified both of them in different ways. Herbert would have seen danger to business, to the British ties, to everything he had spent decades building outside the mainland’s grip. Xiao Qiu, who had already watched Mao’s China from a safe distance for years, would have understood perfectly well that the same power swallowing the mainland had now reached Hong Kong too. When Herbert died in 1998, the whole structure of the house must have changed in an instant. Even with adult sons, adult daughters, grandchildren, and a succession plan already in motion, the male center of gravity was suddenly gone. Whatever else he had been, Herbert was the force around which that household had spun for nearly half a century. Without him, I think the house must have felt enormous and strangely empty all at once. And for Xiao Qiu, I do not think this was some practical widowhood she merely managed. I think it broke something final in her. She had started life as a farm girl sold into one hard marriage and then ended it as the great queen of another, far stranger one, but by then Herbert was not just the man who changed her fate. He was her fate. She had been mated to him in every sense that mattered to her world. So when he died, I think some essential cord in her life snapped too. She followed him a year later, in 1999, at the age of eighty-six in Hong Kong. And honestly, for a woman who had climbed from mud and humiliation all the way to the top of the mountain, earned her peace, and then lost the man around whom that whole second life had been built, there is something almost fitting in that. Not happy. Not tragic exactly. Just finished. What Herbert really left behind was not just money, children, or a sprawling family tree. In this one very specific lane, what he left behind was a cock standard, and more importantly, a story about that standard that the women carried forward long after he was gone. His wives were gossips and chatty with other women and their own daughters when they came of age. Over years and then decades, his size stopped being just a household fact of one strange family and turned into female lore, passed around in kitchens, bedrooms, phone calls, and later online spaces. It became part cautionary tale, part boast, part benchmark, and part quiet dissatisfaction with ordinary men who did not measure up. That distinction mattered, because the following pattern did not show up all at once. In the first generation after Herbert, most of the women still married the old way: by match, status, family logic, proximity, or plain emotion, and only afterward discovered what kind of penis they had ended up with. My mother, aunts, and that generation did not begin by hunting for big cocks. They began by living the more conventional female script of their generation and only later, through comparison, frustration, disappointment, female encouragement, and eventually direct evidence, began to realize what they had been missing out on for so long. And once my generation of women started pushing the older women to stop settling, that old script began to crack. That is why someone like my mother changing course later in life matters far more than some younger woman in the 2020s casually dating across cultures. My mother came from a far more closed, conservative, and frankly racist world. Earlier in life, dating black men was beyond inconceivable to her. For her to now be getting gangbanged by BBC is not some small random change, it is a generational shift. By the time my female archive database and private portal took shape, the old family whisper network had finally found gasoline. Women were no longer just relying on memory, gossip, and a few trusted conversations. They were actively comparing their husband’s cock measurements, marriages, photos and sex videos through the portal. That seemed to cause a seismic shift over time. Once women could see photos or videos of penetration, and directly compare the differences between one man and another, the old family talk hardened into preference, then into strategy. That is where relatives of my generation became so influential because they normalized acting on it with some of them openly trying to select boyfriends and then husbands based on certain qualifications that included a big cock. They encouraged older women to stop wasting what was left of their youth on stale, unsatisfying marriages and go looking for better. My aunt is one of the clearest examples of that shift. In that sense, I really do think the line runs back to Herbert, but only indirectly. He was the original fact. Xiao Qiu and the women around him turned that fact into myth. Later generations turned the myth into a filter. There are nine women on my maternal side who are dating or married to men with cocks at least ten inches or larger, including myself. In a roundabout way that all traces indirectly back to Herbert, and his wives gossiping about his size. Recap of births since it is confusing. Herbert produced 16 children with four wives. *bra sizes are listed when each woman was around age 40 or 60 •1953 – Herbert marries my great-grandmother (36M) •1954 – Herbert marries Janet (36N), then Ingrid (38ZZZZ) then Irene (36X) •1954 – Great-grandmother gives birth to fraternal twin boys, my Grand Uncles •1956 – Irene gives birth to my aunt, Penny (34K) •1956 – Janet gives birth to my (FCOR), Ingrid (34F) •1957 – Ingrid gives birth to twin boys, my (FCOR) •1957 - Great-grandmother gives birth to my grand aunt, Catherine (38K) •1958 – Irene gives birth to my mother, Susan (36ZZ) •1959 - Great-grandmother gives birth to my grand uncle, Nicolas •1959 – Janet gives birth to my (FCOR), Emily (36F) •1960 – Irene gives birth to my aunt, Bunny (34P) •1960 – Ingrid gives birth to my (FCOR), Sarah (34F) •1961 - Ingrid gives birth to a boy, my (FCOR) •1962 – Janet gives birth to Andrew (dies young) •1963 – Irene gives birth to my uncle, Michael •1965 – Herbert divorces Janet •1973 – Ingrid gives birth to my (FCOR), Elisabeth (32L)