Elder Chang looked at her and shook her shoulders, gently at first and then harder. There was no response. Her head lolled against the rim, sunk in the kind of deep, unconscious exhaustion that would not break for ordinary noise.
He stood. Stretched out both hands as if in prayer and then in theft. Lifted her from the bathtub — one arm under her wet back, one under her thighs — medicine water streaming off her naked body in shining sheets that pattered on stone. Her breasts shifted against his chest as he carried her, heavy and cool from the air, nipples dragging across the fabric of his robe. Her ass sat heavy in the crook of his arm, the cheeks parting slightly over his forearm. He laid her down on the clean floor nearby, arranged her like an offering he was pretending was medical care, wet and shining, her silver hair fanned across the stone in a shining arc. Water pooled under her hips and between her shoulder blades. If a man could hold back looking at this, he might not be considered a man at all.
He lifted one eyelid with his thumb to check her eyes. The pupil beneath was unfocused, and she was still deep under.
Then he put his hand on her mountain-shaped breast and slowly squeezed.
The breast filled his palm the way ripe fruit fills a hungry mouth, spilling between his fingers, heavier than it looked, the wet skin cool at first and then warming under his heat. He enjoyed the give of it with a long breath through his nose — the way the flesh reshaped around his grip, the way it sprang back when he released and then yielded again when he squeezed harder — and pinched her nipple between two fingers, rolled it, watched it harden further under the abuse until it stood sharp and pink and helpless against the cooler air of the room. He took the other breast the same way. Massaged both, rolling them in circles, pressing them together until the cleavage deepened into a valley he wanted to fuck, thumbing the nipples until they stood angrily erect and a faint flush spread across her chest like a blush she could not feel. He lifted one tit and let it fall. Watched it bounce and settle. Did it again with the other. Four years of watching these breasts under blue silk, and now they were naked in his hands, wet from the bath, nipples pointed at the ceiling, and the young woman they belonged to was eighteen and unconscious and trusting him enough that she had closed her eyes on his command.
Top beauty of the demonic territories. Countless men dreamed of tasting this body. He was tasting with his hands first, and the happiness in his chest was ugly and complete.
He bent and sucked one nipple into his mouth.
Slrrp.
The pink tip hardened against his tongue. He sucked harder, drawing the aureole into his lips, teeth grazing carefully, and her unconscious body answered with a faint twitch of her hips and a soft sound in her throat that was almost a moan. He switched to the other breast. Sucked. Licked. Bit gently until the nipple stood red and wet with his saliva. His hands never stopped kneading the flesh, lifting, squeezing, pressing the tits together so he could lick both nipples in one long stroke of his tongue.
After a while he moved down.
His palms slid over her ribs, her soft belly, the wet tops of her thighs. He spread her legs wide, knees falling open with no resistance, and looked at her maidenhood in the open. Her pussy was dripping wet even in a fainted state — pink, swollen, outer lips parted enough to show the darker inner folds, glistening with her own slick and traces of bath water that ran down toward the stone in thin shining threads. Her cute flower-shaped asshole sat just below, clean, tight, the rim closed, hairless as the rest of her, untouched, laid open by unconsciousness and four years of his patience.
He lowered his face between her thighs until his breath fogged her wet skin, and started sucking that soft, delicious pussy.
Slrrp. Chu. Slrrp.
Sweet liquid mixed with bitter medicine-water on his tongue — her taste under the herbs, young and clean and shamefully wet, the flavor of a virgin body that had never been opened by a man and that he intended to keep that way on paper while taking everything else. He licked every part of her with the thoroughness of a man who had waited four years for the chance: outer lips drawn into his mouth and sucked until they plumpened and darkened; the seam between them traced with the flat of his tongue until her slick coated him; inner folds parted carefully with his thumbs and traced with the tip of his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that made her unconscious hips twitch; the hidden pearl of her clit sucked until it stiffened against his lips and her thighs twitched harder against his hands. He circled that little pearl with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it again, then licked down and pushed carefully inside her virgin entrance without breaking what must not be broken, tasting the tight heat while she slept, feeling the resistance of her hymen just beyond the tip of his tongue and pulling back before greed could ruin his careful plan.
She twitched faintly. Her thighs tried to close and failed against his hands. A faint sound left her throat — half moan, half breath — and for a heartbeat he froze, watching her face, ready to invent an explanation if her eyes opened. They did not. Her silver lashes stayed closed. Her mouth stayed soft and open. He licked longer than he needed to, greed outweighing caution for a stretch of minutes he would remember later with his cock in his fist, drinking her unconscious slick until his chin shone and her pussy lips were flushed and swollen from the attention. He dragged his tongue down once more, past her entrance, and licked across the tight clean rim of her asshole — a quick, filthy taste he told himself was curiosity — and felt the ring flutter under his tongue while she slept on, and the regret of not going further there settled into him already, sharp as a splinter.
Next time. Asshole next time.
He wanted to put his dick in that beautiful hole. Wanted it with a hunger that made his hands shake. He could not. Virginity taken would be too obvious — blood, changed gait, a physician's glance, her own shocked discovery. There was the risk of exposure, her father in the Spirit Realm, the Yan family's favour, and the exam that could place her beyond him. So he freed his cock instead — thick, hard, flushed dark, leaking a clear bead from the tip that stretched and broke onto the stone — and laid it along the top of her pussy lips, the shaft nestling into her wet slit without entering. The heat of her against the underside of his cock made him hiss through his teeth. Then he squeezed her thighs together around the meat of him, pressing those pale wet thighs until they formed a tight channel, and started thrusting.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Her pussy lips kissed and rubbing the underside of his cock with every stroke, clit catching on the ridge of his head, her slick painting him shiny from root to tip until the shaft gleamed in the steam and the wet sounds of flesh on flesh filled the quiet bath room. The almost-penetration of it was torture; the head of his cock nudged her entrance on every upward slide and did not go in, kissing the virgin hole without claiming it, and each time the temptation to angle up and sink into her cunt to the root made his hips stutter and his breath catch. He could feel how tight she would be. He could feel the resistance waiting just past that kiss of her entrance. He controlled it by thinking of consequences — her father, the Yan family, the exam, the blood on the cloth afterward that no herb bath would explain — and then by not thinking at all, only rubbing, fucking the slick channel of her closed thighs and the kiss of her virgin pussy against his shaft until his balls drew up tight and climax threatened in a white rush at the base of his spine.
He grabbed her soft tits again while he thrust, squeezing them in time with his hips, pinching the nipples, watching her unconscious face for any flicker of waking and finding none. Her silver hair stuck to the wet stone. Her lips parted on another empty breath. Her body rocked with the force of his thrusts, tits bouncing in his hands, thighs shining with her own slick and his precum, and for a stretch of filthy minutes Elder Cao Chang fucked the closed legs of his eighteen-year-old disciple as if he owned them, and in that moment he almost did.
He moved quickly to her head before he spilled on her belly where evidence would show.
He cradled her jaw with one hand, opened her soft small mouth with his thumb, and inserted his dick between her lips. Her tongue lay warm and slack underneath him. He began to move — shallow, careful, then deeper as her unconscious throat accepted the intrusion with wet sounds that made him grit his teeth. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Gluck. Slrrp. Gluck.
Drool gathered at the corner of her mouth and ran down her cheek toward her ear. He fucked her sleeping mouth with short, controlled strokes, watching her silver lashes stay closed, watching her throat work faintly around him, and he could not hold it.
He came in her mouth.
Thick white semen flooded her tongue and the back of her throat in heavy pulses, rope after rope, the kind of load built from four years of watching and one afternoon of finally touching. The first pulse hit the back of her tongue and spilled toward her throat; the second and third filled her mouth until a thin white line escaped the corner of her lips and ran down her cheek; he kept thrusting shallowly through the orgasm, fucking his cum deeper into her sleeping mouth, squeezing every drop from his cock into that warm wet heat while his hips stuttered and a low groan stayed trapped behind his teeth so the hall outside would not hear. When he pulled out, a string of cum connected his cockhead to her lower lip for a moment and then broke, leaving a white smear across her chin and a glistening coat on her tongue. She unconsciously swallowed. Her throat worked in a slow, helpless ripple. His seed went down into her belly while she dreamed whatever exhausted disciples dream — and for a few heartbeats he simply knelt there above her face, cock softening, watching her swallow him, and the satisfaction of it was almost as good as the orgasm itself.
He cleaned the few drops on her face and chin with quick, practiced care, using the cloth and water from the tub's edge so that no trace remained that anyone else might notice. He wiped carefully along her lower lip where the smear had been thickest, then under her tongue with a damp corner of cloth when he gently opened her mouth again, removing anything that might look like more than herb residue to a physician's glance. Wiped her pussy gently with the damp cloth until the shine of his saliva and her slick looked like ordinary bath-water residue, taking a last lingering look at those flushed pink folds before he covered them. Wiped the insides of her thighs where his cock had rubbed them shiny. Laid a large cloth over her naked body to hide the evidence of what he had done, covering tits and pussy and the faint flush on her thighs, arranging it so that when she woke it would look like a master's concern rather than a thief's cover. Sat back in the chair and waited, cock softening against his thigh, heart still too fast, the taste of her still on his tongue under the bitter herb.
He composed his face. Straightened his robes. Made sure his own appearance said nothing except patient elder waiting for a disciple to finish recovering. The hall outside was quiet, without footsteps or servants. He had dismissed them before the bath for exactly this reason, and the silence now felt like a locked door he had built with his own hands.
While he waited, he looked at the perfect curvy shape under the cloth and thought, without shame, that her beauty ranked top three in the demonic clans without question. Unsatisfied — he had not fucked her cunt, had not felt that virgin tightness close around him — but satisfied in another way: first hands on that body. First mouth on that pussy. First load swallowed by that throat. He was the first man to use her, even if she would wake believing otherwise.
He regretted, not faintly now but with a sharp private curse, not trying her asshole while she was open and helpless. The clean pink rim had been right there under his thumbs when he held her thighs. He could have spit on it, pressed a finger in, maybe even rubbed his cock against that tight ring until he came a second time. Next time, he told himself. If there was a next time. Patience had gotten him this far.
Hours passed. The steam thinned and the herb smell settled into the wood. Outside the hall, evening sounds began — servants calling, a courtyard gate closing, the distant clang of a practice sword.
***
Cao Ning's senses drifted back like slow fish rising toward light.
Sound came first, the patient drip of water from the rim of the tub onto stone, each drop landing a long breath after the last. Then smell: bitter medicine, damp wood, cold stone, and under them a faint musk she had no name for. Then her body. There was cool air on her bare shoulders and a cloth lying over her chest and hips, the hard floor pressed against her shoulder blades, and a strange stickiness at the back of her throat that made her want to swallow.
She woke with a small inhale and opened her eyes.
The ceiling of the bath room swam above her, dark beams furred with condensation, the steam above the tub thinned to a few lazy threads. The lamps had been trimmed lower while she slept. Through the high lattice window the light had gone from afternoon gold to the deep orange of evening, and she understood with a dull lurch that hours had passed.
She was lying naked under a cloth on the floor.
Her master sat in the chair a polite distance away with his hands folded and his expression composed, as though he had been meditating while he waited. Heat flooded her face as the rest of it arrived. He had pulled her out of the bath when she fainted. He had carried her. He had laid her here. He had seen her.
Her face went red with an embarrassment so sharp it hurt behind her eyes. He had looked at every part of her: her breasts, her belly, her pussy, her ass, parts she had never shown anyone, not even brother Yan Chi, not in childhood games, not in accidents, not in all the years they had spent together. The cloth over her suddenly felt as thin as paper. She clutched it higher against her chest with both hands and drew her knees together under it.
She didn't know that he had done far more than look. She didn't know that he had squeezed her breasts until her nipples stood, put his mouth between her legs until his tongue knew her taste, rubbed his cock between her wet thighs, and finished in her mouth until she swallowed every drop. Read this novel at novelping dot com for the best experience.
Her throat felt strange.
It was sticky and coated, and a salty, faintly sour taste clung inside her mouth and at the back of her tongue, thicker than water had any right to be. She frowned and swallowed, and the taste moved down without leaving entirely; it lingered on the roof of her mouth and in the corners of her cheeks like the film left by bad tea. Between her legs she felt a faint, inexplicable tenderness, as though something had pressed there while she slept, and the skin of her inner thighs felt oddly tight, as if something had dried on it. Her nipples ached in a dull way that wasn't the same as the bright tingling Yan Chi's hands had left that morning.
Medicine water, she thought, reaching for the cleanest explanation. I must have swallowed some when I fainted. The herbs are bitter. My legs were spread for hours in the pose, and the water was hot. That's all it is.
She swallowed again to clear her throat, grimaced at the salt, and reached for her clothes with one hand while she held the cloth in place with the other. Her limbs were heavy, as though the bath had drained something more than fatigue out of her, and her fingers fumbled at the simplest knots.
She dressed awkwardly under the edge of the cloth. The black underwear went on first, pulled up over damp thighs, and when the fabric settled between her legs she felt how swollen and sensitive she was there, a tenderness she blamed on the long horse stance and the heat. Then the blue robe went over her damp skin, the silk clinging to her breasts and her backside before she tugged it straight. It stuck to her nipples, and she peeled it free with two fingers and flushed again at the small sting.
Elder Chang politely looked aside. Or he performed looking aside, while the corner of his eye stole the last of her: the sway when she stepped into the robe, the flash of thigh, the faint pink flush still lingering across her chest.
Once she was clothed she stood, still unsteady, and greeted him with the formal respect a disciple owed, bowing from the waist with her damp silver hair falling forward over one shoulder.
"Thank you for helping me, Master. And for the bath. I… I'll work harder for the exam."
He nodded, kind as a mask, and gave her permission to leave. She left.
Elder Chang watched her go, her backside swaying under the blue robe again, the silk trying once more to find the cleft between her cheeks with each step, and his cock stirred against his trousers again.
I should have tried her asshole. What an opportunity I let slip.
Behind him the medicine bath steamed quietly, its herbs circling in water that had washed a virgin's body and hidden a violation she would carry home without knowing its name. On the underside of the cloth he had used on her face, a single white smear he had missed dried slowly into nothing.
***
Yan Chi was nowhere near that hall, or that bath, or what had happened in it. He was somewhere else in the city or the Yan residence, climbing his own filthy ladder of Pervert Points with his cheek perhaps still faintly marked by her slap. He didn't know that the childhood friend whose breasts he had grabbed in the dust that morning had been used in her sleep by the man she called master, and had thanked him for it afterward.
Cao Ning walked home through the evening streets with her arms folded over her chest and a strange taste in her mouth that she kept blaming on the herbs. Lanterns were being lit along the main avenue, one after another, little globes of red and gold swaying on their cords, and the smell of frying dough and lamp oil drifted from the stalls. A pair of outer disciples argued over spirit-stone prices outside a shop. A woman was laughing somewhere above the street, behind a lattice. She passed all of it without hearing a word.
Her body felt borrowed. Her legs were heavy and her steps a little uneven, and there was a dull ache low in her belly that she couldn't place, as if she had been holding something tense there for hours. When the silk brushed her nipples, they didn't tingle the way they had that morning. They only ached.
She thought about Yan Chi's hands, and the memory came back warm and bright, and for a moment she almost smiled. Then she thought about the bath, about lying on the cold stone under a cloth and waking with that taste in her throat, and the smile went away, and in its place was something small and cold that she didn't have a name for. She told herself it was only shame at having been seen naked. It was the most reasonable explanation, and she held onto it.
At the Cao gate the guards bowed again. She crossed the threshold with her sash tied a little too tightly and her throat still sticky, and went straight to her rooms.
She rinsed her mouth at the basin with clean water, once, twice, three times, spitting each mouthful into the bowl and frowning down at it. The water came out clear. The salt stayed. She rinsed again with a pinch of tea leaves from the pot on her table, chewing them until her tongue was bitter and green, and the taste finally faded to something she could ignore.
She trusted her master's smile one degree less than she had yesterday, out of instinct and without evidence, and without yet knowing how much less she ought to. In the basin's reflection her face looked the same as it had that morning: silver hair, a goddess's features, an eighteen-year-old disciple who still believed the worst thing that had happened to her that day was an accidental grab on a crowded street. She touched her lips once with two fingers and frowned at the taste that lingered there, and told herself again that it was only the herbs.