Chapter 38 of 90
Dawn at the Mass Burial Mound Gate
She lowered herself onto the cushioned bench between Li Yutang and Liu. The pearls pressed deeper as she sat. Her face was already burning red beneath the mask; her pussy was already throbbing, sensitive and swollen, from all those steps across the hall.
Li Yutang's hand came up.
He had dreamed of this every night. He reached for her breast slowly, almost reverently, and closed his hand around it.
It was soft. So soft. Heavy and warm and yielding, overflowing his palm, spilling between his fingers. He squeezed. Gently, at first. Then harder. Kneading it, the way a man kneads dough, feeling the plush weight of it shift and press back against his hand. Nalan Meng's breast, he thought, and his cock jerked in his trousers. This is what it feels like. This is what Nalan Meng's breast feels like.
His fingers crept under the edge of the little metal plate. They found her nipple—hard, tight, puckered—and pinched it between finger and thumb.
Pain shot through her. Sharp and hot.
She could not stop him. She could not move. All she could do was sit there, rigid, and feel the anger fill her up, the anger and the humiliation, until she thought it would come pouring out of her eyes.
Then he pulled.
He hooked his fingers into the silver strings and dragged them down, and the metal plates slid off, and both of Nalan Meng's breasts came free.
They sprang out of the strings like two ripe fruits bursting their skins.
Big and round and heavy, perfectly shaped, white as fresh snow, swaying with their own weight as they settled. Her nipples were pink and fully erect, standing straight out, stiff and aching in the cool air. They were the breasts of the most beautiful woman in Nalan City. How could they not be lustful?
And it was the first time in her life that they had ever been completely bare in public.
The hall was full of people. Men at the next table, and the table beyond that. She could feel their eyes. She heard someone draw in a sharp breath.
Li Yutang stared at them, and thought of Nalan Meng, and attacked.
He grabbed both breasts at once, one in each hand, and began to massage them. Squeezing, kneading, lifting them and letting them fall, pressing them together and pulling them apart. He pinched both nipples at once, rolling them between his fingers, tugging on them, twisting.
Nalan Meng could not bear it. A sound broke out of her before she could stop it. A moan—soft, high, shocked.
It was the first time any man had ever massaged her breasts. The first time anyone had touched them like this, at all. She had not known—she had never imagined—that they could feel like this. Every squeeze sent heat flooding through her chest. Every pinch of her nipples shot straight down through her belly to the pearls between her legs.
Li Yutang bent his head and licked them.
His tongue was hot and wet. He dragged it across her breast, up over the soft curve, and swirled it around her nipple, and sucked. He licked the other one. Back and forth. Leaving them shining with his saliva, glistening in the lamplight, her pink nipples wet and swollen and throbbing.
She closed her eyes behind the mask.
"Here," Li Yutang said hoarsely, after a while. "Like this."
He took her by the waist and pushed her down.
She went sideways along the bench, across the three of them. Her ass ended up on Li Yutang's lap. Her bare breasts landed on Liu's thighs, beside him. And her face—her face was pushed down into Zhao's lap, at the far end of the bench.
Right onto his cock.
Zhao's trousers were thin cotton. Cheap stuff, worn soft and nearly see-through with washing. His cock was standing straight up inside them, so hard that the cloth was stretched taut over it like a drumskin. A dark wet patch had already spread across the cloth at the tip, where the precum had soaked through; she could see the shape of the swollen head through it. And now it was pressed against her cheek. Against her lips. Against her nose.
She could smell it. Musk and sweat and the salty sharpness of precum.
The three of them could all reach her now. Liu had her breasts in his hands, squeezing and massaging them, his hard cock pressing against the soft skin of her belly through his own trousers. Zhao's cock was nudging at her face.
And Li Yutang had her ass.
He flipped the little white panel of silk up and out of the way.
Then he lifted his right hand and spanked her.
The crack of it rang out across the hall. Her whole body jerked. Pain and heat bloomed across her bare cheek, and she felt it ripple, felt the soft flesh jiggle and settle under his palm.
He did not hit her again. Instead, he began to massage her ass. Kneading her cheeks with both hands, squeezing them, spreading them, feeling the perfect round weight of each one. They were so white and so flawless, so smooth, that even the customers at the nearby tables had stopped pretending not to look. They were turning in their seats, craning their necks.
Li Yutang wanted to touch her pussy. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. But that was against the rules—VIP 4, a level he did not have—and even he did not dare break the rules of Heaven Lust in front of half the second floor. So he kept massaging her buttocks instead.
And then he spread them.
He pulled her cheeks apart with both hands, wide, to get a clearer view. He had never seen such a beautiful asshole in his life—small and tight and pink, a perfect puckered rosebud with a single pearl pressed against it. And as he spread her wider, the string of pearls was pulled taut and sank deeper, deep into the crack of her pussy, and dragged her lips apart on either side of it.
He could see her pussy.
All of it. Clearly. Pink and smooth and perfectly clean-shaven, the soft lips parted around the pearls, glistening. It was the most beautiful pussy he had ever seen.
And it was wet.
Nalan Meng lay across the laps of three men with her breasts in one man's hands, her face pressed to another's cock, and her ass spread open to the third, and felt her mind begin to fill with lust.
She fought it. She was having a terrible time controlling it.
This is Li Yutang. She had hated him. She hated him. He was her brother-in-law. And her own husband had never even touched her—never once, not her breasts, not her ass, nothing, not in all their years of marriage. And here she was lying naked across her brother-in-law's lap, showing him both of her holes, with a servant's cock pressed against her face.
Her heart was full of shame.
And yet.
Zhao's cock was so close. The smell of it was in her nose, and the heat of it was against her lips, and it kept moving. He was rocking his hips, little by little, nudging it against her mouth and her nose, again and again, as if it were trying to find its way between her lips. And every time it brushed her mouth, some animal part of her wanted to open it.
It was only a matter of time before she lost herself.
Then Li Yutang lifted her.
He pulled her up off the laps of his servants and back onto the bench, and turned her, and set her down sitting on his own lap, facing away from him. He settled her carefully, deliberately, guiding her hips—so that her bare buttocks came down perfectly over his cock.
It was nearly bursting out of his cotton trousers. And as she sank down onto it, it slid right up between her cheeks.
It sandwiched itself into the crack of her ass. Nestled there, between her two perfect buttocks, hot and thick and hard, and pressed against her—all along the cleft, from the base of her spine down to the pearl at her asshole.
Nalan Meng felt it. A hot, rigid rod, lodged between her cheeks, throbbing.
His hands came around and took her breasts again, and massaged them.
She was drowning in shame and embarrassment. She could feel his cock, through that thin cotton, pressed right up against her asshole. All the way along the crack of her ass. It was the first time in her life that she had ever felt anything so thick there. It filled the whole cleft. It pushed against the pearl at her asshole, and the pearl pushed back against her.
For years, half the men in Nalan City had dreamed of sticking their cocks between Nalan Meng's buttocks. Li Yutang had been one of them. He had dreamed of it for years.
And now he was the one with his cock buried between the buttocks of his dream woman.
And he did not know.
He did not know that the woman he was playing with—imagining she was Nalan Meng—was Nalan Meng. If he had known, he would never have let his servants put a hand on her. If he had known, he would have gone mad with joy.
He pinched her nipples as hard as he could.
Nalan Meng began to moan. A little at a time. She tried to hold it back, biting her lip, but it kept escaping her—small, broken sounds that she could not stop.
What if my husband saw me like this?
The thought came out of nowhere and would not leave.
Sitting on Li Yutang's cock. On the cock of the man he hates most in the world. Moaning. Li Yuguo had never had a single chance to touch her breasts. Not once. Could he bear it? To see her breasts—his wife's breasts—being pinched and squeezed and licked by Li Yutang and his servants? To see her sitting here with her brother-in-law's cock between her cheeks?
Just thinking about it made her pussy gush.
She felt it. Her wetness spilling out of her, slick and hot, soaking the pearls, running down through the crack of her ass and onto Li Yutang's cock through his thin trousers.
And then her hips began to move.
She did not mean to. She did not even know she was doing it. Slowly, a little at a time, her ass began to rock back and forth on his lap—grinding down against him, sliding his cock up and down the crack, rubbing it over the pearl at her asshole.
It was against the rules. A VIP 3 had no right to her asshole, and certainly not like this. But nobody at the nearby tables noticed, or nobody said anything.
Li Yutang groaned.
He had been close since the moment she sat down. And now, with her ass grinding against him, with her wetness soaking through his trousers, with the soft pink pucker of her asshole rubbing over the head of his cock again and again—
He came.
She felt it. The jerk of his hips. The cock pulsing between her cheeks. And then heat—wet heat—spreading through the thin cotton. His cum soaked straight through his trousers, so much of it, thick and hot, and smeared into the crack of her ass. It wet her asshole. She felt it there, slick and sticky, oozing down over the pearl.
Her face turned scarlet behind the mask.
Li Yutang sat back, panting. He was done.
And then he took her by the waist and pushed her toward his servants.
She went sprawling sideways again. Her face fell into Zhao's lap. Her breasts came up toward Liu's face. Zhao reached down at once and began to squeeze her chest, groaning, his cock pressing into her back through his trousers. And Liu leaned over her, staring down into her masked face as if he wanted to memorize it, and lifted his hand and pushed two fingers into her mouth.
Nalan Meng gagged.
His fingers were thick and salty and tasted of roast pork. They pressed down on her tongue. They rubbed over it, slid back and forth, explored the inside of her cheeks. She felt sick. Disgusted. But she had no choice. He moved them in and out of her mouth until they were dripping with her saliva, and then he pulled them out and smeared them over her breast, and began to fondle it.
Now they each had a breast. Zhao and Liu. Both of them squeezing, kneading, pinching, as though they wanted to make the most of every moment.
We'd never have a chance to touch a woman like this, both of them were thinking. Not in our whole lives. If not for the master…
Liu slid one hand down to her ass. He grabbed her buttock and squeezed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. And as he did, he pulled her body around on the bench—so that one of her legs ended up thrown up over the armrest of the bench, and the other dangled off the edge.
Her legs were spread wide.
The string of pearls was dragged deep into her pussy by the pull of her thighs. Her lips were pulled open around it. Her whole pussy was laid bare—pink and wet and shining—and there was nothing at all to hide it from the men at the next table.
They were staring straight at it.
Her shame was absolute. If the mask falls now—if it falls—I'll die. I'll just die.
Nalan Meng, who had never even been touched by her own husband, was lying spread open on a bench in a public hall with three men playing with her body at once.
Then she felt wetness on her back.
Hot, sudden, sticky. And on the back of her neck.
Zhao had come in his trousers against her back. Liu had pulled his cock out of his waistband at the last moment and come on the nape of her neck, in thick ropes that slid down under her hair.
Nalan Meng scrambled up.
She got to her feet as fast as she could, and stood swaying beside the table, with her breasts still bare and her asshole still slick with Li Yutang's cum, and started fumbling with the strings of her costume. Her fingers would not work. The little metal plates kept slipping. Her breasts kept spilling out around them. It took her three tries to get them back in place.
Li Yutang leaned back against the wall behind the bench, satisfied.
He was completely happy. He had enjoyed the body of a waitress who felt exactly—exactly—like Nalan Meng. He let her go with a lazy wave of his hand.
She turned and walked away toward the back of the hall. He watched her ass go.
A little while ago, he thought dreamily, that ass was sitting on my cock.
In the bathroom at the back of the second floor, Nalan Meng locked the door, leaned over the basin, and spread her buttocks to clean herself.
She saw her pussy first. It was soaked. Slick and swollen and dripping, the pearls drenched, her inner thighs wet. It was ready—so obviously, shamefully ready—to take any cock that came near it.
She cleaned it, shaking.
Then she twisted around to look in the bronze mirror, and saw that her asshole was completely covered in a sticky smear of white. Li Yutang's cum. It had soaked through his trousers and glued itself into the crack of her ass, and it was still there, thick and pearly and wet, clinging to her skin and to the pearls of her string.
And on her back, Zhao's. On her neck, Liu's.
She wet a cloth and scrubbed. Her face burned the whole time.
I hate that man, she thought. I have always hated that man.
And now his cum was stuck in her asshole, and her pussy was still wet from him.
When she had finished, she went to the counter, took the bill, and carried it back to table nine.
Li Yutang was still sitting there, looking dazed and pleased, as if he could not quite believe the body he had just enjoyed. He put his hand into his purse and paid the bill. Then he took out something else: a banknote. A thousand taels of silver.
He smiled his creepy smile, and reached around behind her, and pushed it into the crack of her ass.
He shoved it in deep. His fingers pushed the folded paper down between her cheeks, all the way to the bottom, until it was wedged tight against her asshole.
Then he stood up, and his servants stood up, and they left.
He still did not know. He did not know that the dream he had held for so long—his long-awaited wish, to play with Nalan Meng's body—had already come true.
Nalan Meng drew the note out from between her buttocks with burning fingers.
A thousand taels, she thought, staring at it. How does he have so much money to spend in a bar?
She tucked it away.
Then she went back to work. She served the regular customers until closing, carrying trays from table to table, bending and pouring and smiling under the mask. And the whole time, her body was still burning. The pearls still rubbed. She was still wet. She was still—she could not deny it—horny.
When she got back to the mansion, in the gray hour before dawn, she went straight to her chambers and shut the door and lay down on her big bed in the dark.
She could not control her thoughts anymore.
Her hand slipped down between her legs before she knew what she was doing.
She was still soaking wet. Her fingers slid through her slick lips, found the swollen bud at the top, and rubbed it. She thought of the pearls. Of Zhao's cock nudging at her lips. Of Li Yutang's hands squeezing her breasts, and his tongue on her nipples, and his cock wedged hot and thick between her cheeks. Of the eyes of the men at the next table, staring at her spread pussy. Of what her husband would think—
She came.
Hard. Her back arched up off the bed and her thighs clamped down on her hand and a sound tore out of her throat that she had to stifle against her pillow. Her pussy clenched again and again around nothing, and her whole body shook.
Then it was over, and she lay there gasping in the dark, and the shame came flooding back over her like ice water.
She wanted to die.
On the other side of the house, in the guest room at the back, Li Yuguo was sitting cross-legged on his mat when the window opened in front of his eyes.
[ Cuckold Points +2500 ]
Current Cuckold Points: 2900 Cuckold Bar: 29%
(Converted to life span.) Remaining Life Span: 93 days
He stared at it.
Two thousand five hundred.
Ninety-three days. He had gained nearly a month of life in one night.
What did she do?
What had she done in that bar to earn two thousand five hundred points? Last time, it had been four hundred. Now it was six times that.
His heart began to pound. But—no. It could not have been sex. He knew that much. Intercourse was strictly forbidden on the second floor of Heaven Lust; he had read the rules himself, in Shi Dacheng's secret. Whatever had happened, it could not have been that.
As long as it's not sex, he told himself, it's fine.
He did not know. He had no way of knowing that his sexy, goddess-like wife had spent the night sitting on his rival's cock.
But his own cock was rock hard. It had gotten hard the moment the window appeared, and it was not going down. He kept imagining the outfits he had sold to Shi Dacheng—he had chosen them himself, from Alimama's catalogue—and knew, knew, that Nalan Meng was wearing them one by one. Serving customers in them. Walking the floor of the second hall with that body of hers on display.
He could not do anything about it.
That was the worst part. Lord Yama's curse sat on him like a lead weight. The King of Soft Rice. Cannot have sex with any woman until the Cuckold Bar is filled. Twenty-nine percent. However hard he got, however much he wanted, the curse would not let him put it in anyone. The irony was so perfect that, as a writer, he almost admired it: the only way to fill the bar that kept him off his wife was his wife, in someone else's hands.
He sat on his mat with his cock throbbing, and swore under his breath, and thought about something else.
He thought about Bai Linglong.
About her pale face in the lamplight, and her trembling lips. If you want to know the truth, come and find me in the market tomorrow morning.
She would come. He was nearly sure of it. A woman who had spent three years in that house waiting for a brother would not stay away.
And in the morning, he would take her to the Mass Burial Mound.
He closed his eyes, and tried to breathe, and waited for the dawn.
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