Chapter 64 of 90
The Hand Under the Thread
He kneaded her. Slowly at first, almost wonderingly, as if he could not believe his luck. Then harder. He found her nipple through the little triangle of leather and pinched it, rolled it between his finger and thumb, and she felt it stiffen under his touch until it was a hard aching point. Then he pushed his fingers under the leather. His bare skin touched her bare nipple.
Her face went red under the mask, all the way to her ears.
On her other side, the short one had not dared at first. Now he dared. His hand came up and closed over her other breast. He did not knead. He grabbed the cord of the little triangle and pulled, eager and clumsy—
The cord snapped.
Both triangles fell away.
Her breasts burst out into the warm smoky air. They bounced—once, twice—and settled, round and full and white, perfectly shaped, the nipples pink and swollen and standing out hard from what the two men had already done to them. Completely bare. On the second floor of Heaven Lust. Between two junior brothers of the True Yuan Sect.
The gorilla-faced one let out a groan. He took her whole breast in his big hand and squeezed it so hard that the soft flesh bulged out between his fingers and changed shape. And the short one bent his head and put his mouth on her other nipple and sucked.
She could feel both of them. One squeezing. One sucking—wet and greedy and noisy, his tongue flicking over the tip, his teeth catching it. Under the table, she could see the fronts of their gray robes tented out stiff and high.
Tears came into her eyes.
She had been praised her whole life. Bowed to. Looked up at. The fairy of the True Yuan Sect. And her own junior brothers were playing with her breasts like toys—squeezing, sucking, pulling at them—and she could not lift a finger.
She held herself perfectly still and silent. She did not let a single sound out.
But her nipples were aching. And there was a heat starting, low in her belly, that she did not want to think about at all.
After a while the gorilla-faced one let go of her breast and slid his hand down. Over her waist. Around to her ass. He cupped it, felt the weight of it, squeezed. Then he took her by the hips and lifted.
He stood her up, turned her, and pushed her down over the table.
She landed on her elbows among the dishes with her bare breasts squashed against the wood and her ass high in the air, sticking out toward them. The thread at her back was buried so deep in her crack that it had vanished completely. And the little triangle in front had been pulled so tight that it was cutting into her pussy—half-swallowed in the soft shaven lips, so that it hid almost nothing.
Her asshole was bare to them. She could feel the air on it.
"Hey—look at that." The gorilla-faced one sounded awed. "Look at her underwear. It's only covering the crack of her pussy. What a sexy pair of panties." He laughed. "Imagine if Senior Sister Yun wore something like this to practice. When she did the Crane Ascends, we'd see her pussy."
"Idiot." The short one sounded genuinely offended. "Why would a pure, noble senior sister like her ever wear underwear like this?"
Neither of them had the faintest idea that the senior sister they were talking about was bent over the table in front of them, wearing that underwear, showing them her asshole.
Yun Xianchen pressed her face into her arms on the table.
She had not known. She had never known. All those mornings. All those men crowding the edge of the training ground. She had thought they came to admire her sword. They had come to look at her underwear.
And as soon as she understood it—the full, burning, humiliating truth of it—she felt herself get wet.
It was not a thought. It was a feeling, low between her legs, a slow hot clench and a sudden slickness, as if her body had answered a question her mind had not yet heard. She felt the tiny leather triangle go damp against her.
She hid her face and wanted to die.
The gorilla-faced one took hold of the thread at the top of her ass and pulled it.
It went taut. It sank deeper into her pussy—she felt it slide between her lips, press up against her—and he held it there, tight, and looked. At both holes. Her pink pussy clutching around the thread. Her small tight asshole above it, clenching in the air.
Then he let go. And drew his big hand back. And spanked her.
Crack.
It was so loud the next table looked over. Pain flared across her right cheek, bright and hot, and she bit down on the inside of her mouth so hard she tasted blood. When he took his hand away, there was a red print on her white skin. She could feel it throbbing.
She was so furious that her vision went white at the edges.
And the short one, as if he had been waiting for permission, put his hand on her other cheek and squeezed, and then slid his middle finger down into the crack and laid its tip right on her asshole.
He rubbed it. A small slow circle. She clenched against his finger and could not stop herself.
They played with her for a long time.
They played with her ass the way children play with a new toy, turning it this way and that, squeezing, spreading, poking. The rules of the house allowed a VIP 3 to lay a waitress across his lap and enjoy her body. They did not say what a man's fingers might wander across while he did it. And nobody at the nearby tables said anything. Yun Xianchen kept her face hidden in her arms on the table and endured it.
Then, suddenly, the gorilla-faced one took her by the waist and lifted her again.
He laid her across both of their laps at once. On her belly. Her hips over his thighs, her ass up, her breasts hanging down over the short one's lap on the other side.
And under her breasts, through his robe, she felt something hard. A rod. Hot, and thick, and pushing up between them. And another one under her belly, pressing into the soft flesh below her navel.
She knew exactly what they were.
She was lying stark naked across the laps of two of her junior brothers, with their cocks pressed against her.
The gorilla-faced one put both hands on her ass and spread it. Wide. So that her cheeks parted and her asshole stretched open in the lantern light, a small pink flower pulled taut. He looked at it for a long time.
And the short one had worked his robe open underneath her. She felt it. Felt his bare cock come free and slide up between her hanging breasts—hot, slick at the tip, throbbing. He took her breasts in his hands and pressed them together around it. And began to move. Rubbing it between them. Using her soft breasts on it like a pair of hands.
Her pussy was soaking wet.
"What a sexy ass you've got," said the gorilla-faced one hoarsely, and spanked her again.
Crack.
Her face was already scarlet. Hearing him say it made it worse. She had never been spanked in her life. Not by her father, not by her mother, not by any master. And now there were two big red handprints on her white ass, one on each cheek, and the man who had put them there was a gray-robed outer disciple with a face like an ape.
Her pussy was wet from the shame of it. She could not stop it. The short one's cock was sliding up and down between her breasts, faster now, slick with his own pre-cum, and under her belly the gorilla-faced one's cock was grinding into her through his robe.
He was looking at her asshole. Massaging her ass with both hands, thumbs pulling her cheeks apart, staring at the little pink pucker in the middle. The thread had sunk so deep into her crack that it was almost invisible. And below it, her pink pussy was pressed between her thighs in a plump, wet little fold, glistening in the lantern light.
She felt them looking. She felt it like a touch.
Every male disciple of the True Yuan Sect had dreamed of seeing her ass. She knew that now. Even Ye Qiong—Ye Qiong, who looked at her across the training ground with those burning eyes, who had followed her around the mountain for two years like a hungry dog—even he would never have dared to dream of this. Of his senior sister laid naked across the laps of two low-ranking outer disciples, her ass spread, her asshole bare, her breasts wrapped around a cock.
And these two had no idea that they were living out their own dream.
The short one was moaning softly. His cock slid faster between her breasts, smearing them with pre-cum. She could feel it running down into her cleavage, warm and sticky.
The gorilla-faced one was thinking something else. She heard him gather spit in his mouth.
He leaned over her ass, and spat.
It landed right on her asshole. Warm and wet. She felt it sit there for a second, and then begin to run—down, over her perineum, into the fold of her pussy, where it slid between her lips and mixed with her own wetness. It made her look juicy. Obscene.
He pushed her thighs apart with his hands, so that it would run further in.
Disgusting, she thought. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Her whole body was shaking with revulsion and fury and something else, something she would not name, and she did not make one sound.
Then the gorilla-faced one shifted her on his lap, worked his robe open, and pushed his bare cock in between her thighs from behind.
Not into her. Between. The rules forbade the other thing, and even he did not dare that, not in the middle of the floor. But he pushed it in between her clenched thighs, just under her pussy, so that the thick hot shaft pressed up along the wet seam of her lips, and he began to rub. Back and forth. She could feel the head of it nudging against the little leather triangle with every stroke, the ridge of it dragging along her slit.
On the other side, the short one gasped.
He came. She felt it—hot, thick spurts of it pumping out between her breasts, splashing up under her chin, running down over her nipples and dripping off them onto his lap. Her breasts were wet with it.
And behind her the gorilla-faced one let out a grunt, and his cock jerked between her thighs, and he came too—a heavy hot rush of it, spilling out over her pussy, soaking the little leather triangle, running down her inner thighs. Right there on her pussy. Making her wet sex messier and wetter than it already was.
They lay back against the bench, panting, satisfied. They let her go.
She stood up.
Her legs almost would not hold her. Cum was dripping from her breasts, from her nipples, from the leather triangle between her legs, running in slow warm trails down the insides of her thighs. Her ass was burning with their handprints. And under all of it, her pussy was hot and swollen and still clenching, and she was so wet with shame that she could feel it.
She walked toward the bathroom without looking at anyone. Her face was blank. Her body was trembling with anger and humiliation so deep she could not tell where one ended and the other began.
On the way, she passed a table in a corner, half hidden behind a carved screen.
A woman was moving on a man's lap there. Shaking her ass on him—slow, grinding circles—with her back against his chest and her head thrown back and her lips open. Moaning. Yun Xianchen could see the man's cock. It was out of his trousers, thick and dark, and the woman's bare pussy was sliding along the length of it, back and forth, back and forth, wet and shining.
She felt her own pussy squeeze at the sight. Sharp, sudden, involuntary.
She looked up at the man's face.
He had only one eye.
She knew that face. Everyone in Nalan City knew that face. The King of Thieves. Guan Yunfan. The consort's sworn brother.
And the woman grinding on his cock had a body even more beautiful than hers. More curved. Fuller at the breast, rounder at the hip, her waist narrower still. A body that could have stopped traffic in the capital.
Yun Xianchen felt something she had never felt before in her life, looking at another woman.
Jealousy.
She turned her face away and walked on to the bathroom.
She cleaned herself. She scrubbed the cum off her breasts and out of the crease of her pussy and off her inner thighs. She put on her own clothes and went back to the sect lodgings through the dark streets.
When she came in at the gate, the night watch was there, and their eyes followed her ass across the courtyard the way they always did. She hardly noticed.
Her ass hurt. Every step pulled at the two red handprints, and she could feel them under her robe like two brands. She went to her room and lay down.
And even after she had washed, a little thick white trickle was still seeping out of her. From somewhere she did not want to think about. Wetting her underclothes. Making her uncomfortable all night.
She woke early the next morning and went out onto the road.
She had put on the black string underwear from the bar. She did not know why. She had told herself it was so she would get used to it. So that tonight she would not shake. That was all.
And today, without meaning to, she was swinging her hips more than usual.
She did not notice. The men lining the road noticed. A light wind was blowing down between the pines, and it pressed her thin white robe flat against her body, and because there was nothing under it but a thread, the silk sank into the cleft of her ass and stuck there. The shape of her was laid out under it like a carving. Two round high cheeks, the deep crease between them, every sway. Disciple after disciple turned to watch her go by and then had to turn away again, red-faced, adjusting their robes.
Her breasts showed more than usual too. Without the breastband, the silk lay over them and moved with them, and the points of her nipples pushed it out.
At the training ground, there were only a few people this early.
She did not dare to do the sword forms. Not in that underwear. Not with what she now knew about the east corner. She sat down cross-legged in a far corner of the ground, beneath a pine, and closed her eyes, and tried to cultivate.
Sitting cross-legged pulled the thread tight. It sank into her pussy and stayed there. From the front, her robe covered her. From the side—she did not know this—the slit of her skirt had fallen open over her folded leg, and anyone standing at the right angle could have seen the thread, and the lips of her pussy swelling softly on either side of it.
She tried to focus. She could not. The thread was pressing into her. Every breath shifted it. She could feel the warmth in her dantian that the consort had given her, and lower down, a different warmth, and they kept running together.
After a while she gave up. Not today, she thought. She stood up to go.
As she stood, the back of her robe caught on the bark of the pine, and slid—and fell aside—and for one second her whole bare ass was naked in the morning air.
She snatched the cloth back into place at once and looked over her shoulder, her heart pounding.
There was no one behind her. The path was empty.
She let out her breath, and walked back toward her room.
Behind the pine, pressed flat against the trunk, a young outer disciple stood with blood running out of his nose.
He had followed her all the way from the gate. He had seen it. All of it. Her bare white ass, and the black thread, and between her thighs, her pink pussy—pink and plump and real—before she covered it.
His cock was standing up in his robe so hard it was trembling.
Senior Sister Yun wears underwear like that. He could not get his mind around it. He could not have imagined it in his wildest dreams. And he had been the lucky one. He had seen it.
He thought that, honestly, he could die happy now.
And in her room, with the door barred and the shutters closed, Yun Xianchen lay down on her bed and slid her hand down inside her robe, between her legs, under the thread.
She was soaking.
She closed her eyes, and thought of last night—of red lanterns and red jade and two pairs of hands, of the crack of a palm on her bare ass, of hot spit sliding down between her cheeks—and she touched herself, and bit her lip, and did not stop.
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