Strange Fingers

The old man went first.

Lamplight painted Yan Mei's barely covered body in gold and shadow. Her breasts rose and fell under the square black cloth. The damp spot on her lower panel had spread. The crowd's murmur dropped to the kind of quiet that made every breath sound loud — the quiet before a duel, the quiet before a hanging, the quiet before something filthy that everyone had paid to see.

He walked a slow circle around her, observing, hunting for tells the way he had hunted them on the milf wife earlier — jaw, hips, the tiny tensions that gave pearls away. He looked at her mouth: lips parted, not tight.

He looked at the way she stood with her weight evenly distributed, not favoring one hip. He looked at her buttocks and found them loose, not clenched, the tiny back cloth hanging easy over the white lower curves.

He found nothing wrong with her posture — no clenched jaw, no squeezed buttocks, no obvious stiffness in the mouth. Yan Tian had coached her well. Or she was simply that good at standing still while a pearl sat deep in her ass.

Looking at her beautiful figure under the shameful black scraps, he did not want to waste his one chance. He wanted to see her private parts. He wanted to put his fingers somewhere wet and warm — in that pussy, in that ass, in anything that would let him touch what the whole corner was staring at.

But he also assumed her masked partner would not allow another man to play freely with her bottom holes — not this early, not with a body this expensive, not with a man who looked like he could break the old man's fingers if the rules were bent.

So he chose her mouth. The safe guess. The wrong guess. The guess that would haunt him for the rest of the night every time he looked at her bent ass.

He grabbed her beautiful face with one hand, thumb pressing her cheek through the mask's edge, and opened her mouth with his fingers.

His finger slid inside — warm, wet, tasting faintly of the wine she had sipped before leaving home. He moved it around under her tongue, pressing the slick floor of her mouth, along her teeth, into the soft pockets of her cheeks. Spit gathered on his knuckle and ran down toward her chin.

She made a small muffled sound and held still, eyes open behind the mask, looking past his shoulder at Yan Tian while a stranger's finger searched her mouth in front of a crowd. He found nothing under the tongue. Nothing along the gums. Anger flickered across his masked eyes.

He thought, too late, that he should have chosen her bottom — that ass, that wet pussy, either would have been a better gamble than this empty warm mouth. He pushed a second finger in beside the first, searching more thoroughly, feeling along her tongue, pressing until she gagged softly, and still nothing. He twisted his fingers. He checked once more. Empty.

He pulled his fingers free, wiped them on his robe, and retreated with the bitter walk of a man who had guessed wrong in front of an audience. Spit shone on his knuckles. The crowd's chuckle followed him back to his place.

A few watchers chuckled louder. Someone muttered that even her mouth was pretty. Someone else said the old man had wasted his chance on the wrong hole and deserved the empty fingers.

Yan Mei closed her mouth and tasted stranger on her tongue — old skin, wine, the bitterness of a wrong guess that had still been intimate enough to make her cheeks burn under the mask. A string of spit connected her lower lip to the air for a heartbeat before she wiped it with the back of her hand.

Her lips felt swollen. Her tongue felt used. Yan Tian's gaze never left her face; she saw him adjust himself through his robes, and the sight of his arousal at watching another man's fingers in her mouth made her pussy clench around nothing. The old man's retreat only made the next hunter step forward faster.

---

Now the middle-aged muscular man entered the space in front of her.

He observed her for a moment and was already amazed — heavy breasts barely held by the square black cloth, perfect ass swelling under the tiny back panel, waist cinched by waist strings that looked like they might snap if she breathed too hard. He could not believe such a perfect body existed outside paintings and dual-cultivation manuals.

The heavy sway when she breathed. The bare flash of lower cheek. The damp spot. This was why he had personally invited the masked couple: to enjoy this masterpiece, to get his hands on it under the rules of the game, to put his fingers and then, if the pearls fell right, his cock into something this expensive.

He knew, from the way she stood and from his own earlier loss of an anal pearl, that the stone was likely hidden at the bottom.

He also knew that knowing and choosing correctly were different things, and that wanting to put his fingers in her pussy — to feel that wet heat, to watch her face while he searched — might override the smarter guess. He was a smart man. He was also a man standing in front of the most beautiful ass in Jinling. Smart had weight. Lust had more.

"Hey," he said, voice low and pleased. "Can you stick out your ass?"

Yan Mei heard him and turned. People were looking — more people now. A small crowd had gathered to watch the game, most of them drawn because they had seen her join, some because a runner had gone through the first floor hissing come see, come see. Masked or not, a body like hers made rumor travel faster than spiritual sense. She glanced once at Yan Tian. He nodded, small and masked and hungry. She bent over.

The motion made her heavy tits swing forward against the tiny square cloth; the waist strings creaked. Her back cloth stretched upward and exposed her buttocks — pale, full, the lower curves fully bare, the kind of ass that made gambling-house veterans forget their own wives for a night.

The black string vanished into the deep cleft between them like a promise. The middle-aged man looked at her snow-white ass and noticed the small black string underwear sticking into her crack like a lewd invitation.

He hooked a finger under the string — feeling the heat of her skin, the dampness already there — and pulled the underwear down to her knees, revealing her private parts fully from behind. The cloth tangled at her knees. She stepped her feet a little wider so it would not bind her, and the motion opened her further.

Her round-shaped ass looked amazing above a wet pussy that already shone with white liquid. The pink pucker of her asshole sat neat and closed between her cheeks, holding its secret. He could not decide for a heartbeat — that tight pink asshole or the puffy, dripping cunt below it. The smarter guess was the asshole. The hungrier guess was the pussy.

The crowd's breathing thickened. Men adjusted themselves. Someone whispered a prayer that was not a prayer. Someone else said both, fuck, both. Yan Mei held the bend, hands on her knees, face turned sideways so she could see Yan Tian's boots, and waited with her holes open to the air and the pearl deep and secret and heavy.

He paused, then decided on her vagina. Lust won. The smarter guess waited for the young man behind him.

Meanwhile people standing around enjoyed the view with aroused cocks straining robes and pants. As she bent, her breasts hung downward and the small cloth struggled to hold them — the square of black fabric pulled tight over the nipples while the heavy undersides and the outer curves spilled free on both sides, pale and swaying.

Anyone standing in side view could see her hanging tits from each side — only nipples covered, the pale flesh around them bare, the weight of them pulling against the neck string with every breath. If someone stood in front they could look through her cleavage all the way to her waist, a deep shadowed valley of skin.

A man on her left did exactly that and swore. A man on her right reached out as if to touch and was slapped back by a house servant who still enforced the rule that only searchers touched.

Right now most could only see her beautiful buttocks and pussy from behind, and that was enough to make the gambling house corner feel like a temple of filth. The smell of her arousal reached the front row.

Someone in the second row was openly stroking himself. The dual-cultivation couple from the far corner had arrived and were watching while still joined, the woman's legs around the man's waist, both of them staring at Yan Mei's ass instead of finishing their own bet.

The middle-aged man grabbed her thighs from behind and spread her pussy lips with his thumbs.

White liquid flowed. Sudden touching made her more sensitive; a soft sound escaped her throat — half gasp, half moan — and her thighs tried to close before she forced them open again for the search. Her bottom was pink and perfectly shaved. He had not seen such a beautiful pussy before — he had a beautiful wife, but this lady was a lust goddess descending from heaven.

The outer lips were swollen and parted easily under his thumbs. The inner lips were darker and shiny, flushed with arousal. Her clit peeked from its hood, flushed and tight. A bead of her slick gathered at her entrance and ran down over his thumb.

He spread her further and looked inside, hoping the pearl would wink at him from the warm channel. It did not. Only pink walls and glistening wetness, the slick, heated tunnel of a woman who had been wet for an hour. He put a finger in for further searching — slow, deep, curling — then two, moving inside her slippery cunt while she moaned quietly and dripped around his knuckles.

Slrrp.

Slrrp.

Slrrp.

Her inner walls fluttered around his knuckles. She was wet enough that searching sounded like fucking. He curled his fingers against her front wall and felt her hips jerk. He pushed deep until his knuckles pressed her entrance.

He felt every slippery fold of her and did not find a pearl, and the not-finding did not stop him from lingering, fingering her pink shaved cunt in front of a crowd while she dripped and trembled and glanced at her husband's boots. He added a third finger for a moment, stretching her, listening to her moan, then remembered the rules and the one-chance limit and the pearl he was supposed to be hunting.

He searched the back of her channel once more, found only clinging wet flesh, and finally backed down and returned to his place with wet fingers and no pearl. A string of her arousal connected his fingertip to her pussy for a heartbeat before it broke and fell to the floorboards. He licked his fingers once, openly, and the crowd laughed.

In the middle of many people, Yan Mei was left bending, almost naked from the rear — vagina and ass open, underwear at her knees, so many men looking at her back.

In the past she had always felt people staring at her ass through clothes — at banquets, in the street, in the gambling house with Xuan Wei's scraps. This was different. Totally exposed. No fabric left to hide her pussy or asshole. All the men standing behind her were looking directly at both holes: the pink pucker that held the pearl, the wet open cunt that had just been fingered empty.

She could feel their stares like heat. She could hear someone say look at that asshole and someone else say I'd pay a hundred taels and someone else just breathe hard. The situation made her more sensitive and more horny. Cool air kissed her open pussy lips and the tight ring of her asshole.

Her nipples ached against the scrap of cloth, scraped raw. The pearl deep in her ass felt enormous, a secret everyone was hunting, a weight that made every breath shift something inside her and send a spark up her spine to settle as heat behind her eyes.

She wanted to stand. She stayed bent because the game had not released her yet.

A house servant whispered the running count to a man who was taking bets at the edge of the crowd: one pearl with the middle-aged man, one about to be hunted, the young man next, odds shifting with every breath. Yan Mei heard none of the numbers.

She heard her own heartbeat. She heard the wet sound of her own pussy still dripping from the middle-aged man's fingers. She heard Yan Tian's breathing, slightly too fast, behind her and to the left. The pearl sat deep. The next pair of hands was coming. She held the bend and waited.

---

The young man was happy that he finally got his chance.

He had watched the old man waste a search on her mouth. He had watched the middle-aged man finger her pussy empty and walk away with wet fingers and no pearl. He had done the arithmetic in his head the way young men who came to gambling houses did arithmetic: two wrong guesses left one hole.

He went into the middle with his heart hammering and his cock hard enough to ache, and looked at her beautiful buttocks from close range — closer than he had ever seen a mature woman's ass in his life.

He was around twenty-two, flushed with wine and earlier success, and he had not known a mature woman could look this beautiful up close. The cheeks, faintly marked by the middle-aged man's hands. The pink asshole, neat and closed and somehow still demure after everything.

The wet pussy still open from the middle-aged man's fingers, lips parted, shiny, a string of slick hanging from her clit. He swallowed. His hands shook once before he steadied them. He sank both hands into those heavy cheeks, fingers disappearing into the flesh, spread them wide, and looked at her asshole. Everyone was shocked.

Even her asshole was beautiful — pretty pink, tight, faintly puffy, a flower that had been used and somehow still looked precious. The ring was slightly swollen from the night's earlier games and from the pearl sitting deep inside. He spread it further with his thumbs until the ring opened a fraction and the dark pink inside showed.

A man in the crowd swore. Another laughed the laugh of someone losing a bet. The young man tried to put his finger inside the small ring. Yan Mei had already started moaning silently, a continuous low hum she could not seem to stop, her forehead pressed to the air above her knees, her eyes finding Yan Tian's boots again.

The young man inserted half a finger. Tight heat. Nothing yet. He pushed a little more, past the first ring of muscle, and finally felt the pearl — deep, deeper than the last lady's had been, lodged where Yan Tian's hunger had placed it, a hard smooth shape in the clutching tunnel. He could not pull it out with one finger alone.

He withdrew. Yan Mei whimpered at the emptiness. He sucked his own finger to make it slippery with spit, and inserted again, slower, working the spit into her. He loosened the hole a little, working his finger in circles until she opened for him, then worked a second finger in beside the first.

Yan Mei's moan went louder. Her asshole stretched around two young fingers. The crowd pressed in. He felt for the pearl, found it, grabbed it between his fingertips, hooked it, and pulled it from her anus with a wet, sucking pop.

Pop.

Yan Mei moaned louder as it came free — a broken, wet sound that made half the crowd swear. Her asshole fluttered open for a second after the pearl left, pink and shiny with spit, the dark inside briefly visible, then clenched on empty air. Empty. Used by fingers in public.

Cum-less and gaping for a heartbeat before it closed. A thin string of spit connected her open hole to the young man's fingers before it broke. Yan Tian watched her horny face from the side — eyes wet behind the mask, mouth open, the broken heat he had been craving written clear across every line of her expression.

This was what he had come for. Not the win, but her face, the sound she made, the way her thighs trembled when the pearl left her body. The way she stayed bent even after it was gone, as if her body had forgotten how to stand.

The young man held up the shining pearl, won the round, and went back to his place grinning like a man who had stolen candy from a temple and been thanked for it.

Now everyone except the old man had one pearl.

Yan Tian came to the middle. He put his hands on his wife's waist and helped her stand, and she came up slowly, carefully, as if the pearl's absence had changed her balance.

He pulled her underwear back up over her wet messy rear with hands that shook slightly from lust rather than shame — the string settled into her crack, pressing against her still-fluttering asshole, and the tiny back cloth covered almost nothing again. A man in the crowd groaned at the loss of the view.

Yan Tian did not hurry. He adjusted the cloth. He wiped a streak of spit from her cheek with his thumb. He let everyone watch him claim her with small husbandly gestures that said mine and I let you look at the same time.

They stood aside. Her legs were unsteady. Her pussy still dripped down her inner thigh in a shining line that reached almost to her knee. The empty feeling in her ass made her clench on nothing, and each clench sent a spark of leftover pleasure-shame up her spine that settled behind her eyes as heat.

Yan Tian's hand stayed on her waist — steadying, claiming, trembling. One pearl each for three men. The last couple's round would decide the winner. Yan Mei already suspected, with a cold little thrill, whose body the prize would choose.

She looked at the middle-aged man's two hands — one already holding a pearl, one about to search the young woman — and then at the thick shape under his robes, and then at Yan Tian, and Yan Tian was looking at the same shape and smiling behind his mask.

She could still feel the young man's finger in her, which made no sense, because it was gone. The ring of her ass held the memory of its shape the way a mouth remembered a word after saying it, a dull, pulsing ache that came and went with her breath.

When she shifted her weight, the string underwear dragged across the puffy, oversensitive ring and she had to press her lips together under the mask to keep from making a sound. Yan Tian felt the small jerk of her body through his palm. He did not look down at her. He only spread his fingers wider across the bare skin of her waist, and she understood the gesture perfectly, and her face burned.