The Winner's Prize

Now the young man went behind the curtain with his partner and came back.

The curtain swayed over muffled instructions and one sharp little gasp, and then he came out looking nervous and hopeful, and she stood in the middle without a mask — anyone could tell she was a young woman in her early twenties, fresh-faced, decent body, twenty-one or twenty-two, with the nervous charm of someone playing this game for the first or second time rather than the tenth.

Adult. Flushed from cheeks to the tops of her breasts. Her partner, also around twenty-two, looked flushed with his earlier success and eager to protect his lead. He had one pearl. He needed the middle-aged man to fail this search. The middle-aged man already had one pearl and the look of a man who did not fail often.

Yan Mei watched the young woman take her place in the middle and felt a complicated twist of sympathy and competition. That woman was younger, softer, less devastating — and still she stood for searching and bent when asked. The parallel sat in Yan Mei's chest beside the empty ache in her ass. They were both here. The pearl games did not care who stood in the middle.

The old man went first again. He had already given up on winning. He wanted pure enjoyment. He asked the young woman to bend down. She glanced at her partner — twenty-two, flushed, still holding his one pearl like a trophy — and he nodded; she bent, nervous.

The old man removed her robe from her back and found her buttocks still beautiful from behind even if she was not as stunning as the two masked women — round, pale, twenty-one years old and trembling slightly with nerves and cool air.

He removed her underwear, grabbed her ass, squeezed tightly, and spread her. Her anus was visible in the middle — tight, pink, clearly unused to this kind of attention, a neat ring that made the old man smile.

He used saliva on her asshole and started inserting. Too tight at first. She whimpered, her hands clenched on her knees and her breath coming hard, while her partner watched with a complicated expression that was half jealousy and half arousal.

Still the old man pushed, making her crumple forward a little and moan. His fingers went deep enough.

He found nothing. He pulled out and went back, wiping spit and frustration on his pants, and she stayed bent waiting for the next search with her legs shaking and her asshole fluttering and her face red with embarrassment and something hotter.

The smart middle-aged man had already guessed from her movement — the way her hips twitched, the way her thighs pressed when she stood between searches. Pearl in the pussy.

He went near her, directly spread her vagina with one hand — she was wet, pink, adult, pretty in a softer way than Yan Mei — and put a finger of the other hand inside. She moaned from just the fingers; his digits were thick for her, and she was wet from nerves and from the old man's attention to her ass.

He felt the pearl inside on the second curl of his finger, hooked it, and pulled it out shining and wet. She gasped and her knees buckled; her partner caught her elbow. The middle-aged man held the pearl up.

He was the only one with two pearls.

He held them up between wet fingers so the crowd could see — two small stones, both pulled from other men's women, one still shiny with Yan Mei's spit and ass-slick, one shiny with the young woman's pussy. He had won the game. The arithmetic was final.

The young man looked crushed, his one pearl suddenly meaningless in his fist. The old man shrugged, already looking at Yan Mei's ass as if the prize might somehow still involve him. Yan Tian's cock twitched so hard it hurt; a fresh bead of precum darkened his robes.

Yan Mei's stomach dropped and heated at the same time — cold thrill, hot certainty, the knowledge of what two pearls meant and which hole of hers had held one. Two pearls. Winner's choice. Mouth, pussy, or ass — whichever hole had hidden the pearl. Hers had been ass.

The winner's eyes found her body and stayed there, traveling from her masked face to her barely covered breasts to the tiny cloth over her messy rear, and she already knew which woman he was going to pick, and the knowing made her clench on emptiness and drip.

---

Between rounds the crowd thickened further.

Word had moved through Heavenly Gambling House the way fire moved through dry grass: a masked beauty with a goddess body was bent over with her holes exposed, pearls being hunted out of her, a young man's fingers had just pulled a stone from her asshole and held it up shining.

Men who had been losing at dice abandoned their tables mid-bet. A dual-cultivation bet in the far corner paused mid-thrust so both participants could crane their necks — the woman still impaled, the man still buried, both of them staring at Yan Mei's bare ass instead of finishing.

A servant dropped a tray. Wine ran across the floor and nobody cared. The corner that had started as a private game for four couples had become a stage, and the audience was still growing.

Yan Mei felt the weight of all those eyes like heat on her skin. Shame should have cooled her. It did not. Her pussy kept leaking — a steady shine on her inner thighs, a fresh bead every few breaths.

Her asshole kept fluttering around emptiness and memory, around the ghost of two young fingers and a pearl and the stretch that was coming if the middle-aged man won. Yan Tian stood close enough that she could smell his arousal through the robe — sharp, male, excited by her exposure in a way that still startled her even after Xuan Wu, even after the drinking game, even after everything.

His hand rested on the small of her back above the tiny cloth. His cock pressed against her hip when the crowd jostled them. He was hard enough to hurt.

She thought, briefly, of the mansion. Of clean corridors. Of standing up and covering herself and walking out with her Heavenly Realm cultivation making a path through these men like a blade through silk.

She looked at Yan Tian instead.

He was watching her. His eyes behind the mask said stay. Said I want this. I want them to look. I want what comes next. She waited for the last round to finish and the winner to choose.

After a few moments all four women stood in a line while the middle-aged winner stood in the middle and the other three men waited at the back. The milf. The young woman. The winner's own beautiful partner. Yan Mei at the end of the line, thighs shiny, black scraps barely covering anything, the empty ache in her ass still fluttering.

He walked the line once, slowly, the way a man walks a market looking at fruit. He had already decided before the last pearl left the young woman's cunt. He chose Yan Mei immediately — stopped in front of her, looked her up and down from masked face to bare feet, and pointed.

"This one."

He dismissed the others with a wave. The milf looked relieved and stepped back into her old husband's shadow. The young woman stood flushed and still wet from being searched.

The beautiful masked partner of the winner herself only smiled behind her mask — she knew her husband's appetites, and she had watched him win this game before, and she would watch him fuck this goddess on a table and then take him home and fuck him herself while he still smelled like another woman.

Yan Mei looked nervous. Her thighs were still shiny. Her asshole still remembered young fingers. She glanced at her husband — a long look, shy, questioning, heat underneath.

Yan Tian nodded once — small, masked, hungry. His hand found hers for a heartbeat and squeezed. She squeezed back. Then she let go and walked to the center.

The winner brought a little square table from the side — low, sturdy, the kind the house kept for exactly this kind of prize — set it in the middle of the corner space, and said, "Beneath the table, pretty lady. Ass up. Let them watch."

Yan Mei went to the table.

She bent so her belly rested on the wood and her ass stuck out toward the crowd. The table was cool against her skin. Her breasts hung over the far edge, still covered by the tiny square cloth, nipples scraping wood through fabric with every breath.

The position put her face toward Yan Tian's boots and her ass toward every other man in the corner. The middle-aged man removed her small back cloth with a tug and then her underwear, peeling the damp string out of her crack, throwing both aside onto the sticky floor where they landed in a small black heap.

Now she was completely naked from the bottom; only her breast cloth remained, nipples still covered, the heavy curves spilling toward the table edge. He stepped back for a moment just to look — the full spread ass, the pink asshole, the wet pussy, the faint red marks from earlier hands — and the crowd looked with him.

Then he grabbed her buttocks with big hands, squeezed until the pale flesh reddened under his fingers, and spread her wide. Her asshole looked amazing from close — pink, recently stretched by pearl-hunting fingers, still tight enough to promise a fight, still shiny with spit. He started sucking it without a second thought, needing to loosen her with saliva before he could put his cock inside.

He went at her with tongue and spit, the wet smacking sounds carrying over the crowd as he pressed his face between her cheeks and licked a long stripe from her dripping pussy up over her asshole, then focused on the tight ring, circling it, pressing, wetting it thoroughly. Yan Mei's hands clenched on the far edge of the table. Her thighs trembled.

Slrrp.

Slrrp.

His tongue circled her asshole, pushed against the ring, dipped inside. The tip of his tongue entered her. She moaned into the table wood, the sound muffled and broken, and her pussy let a fresh bead fall to the floorboards between her feet.

He spat directly onto her hole and worked the spit in with his tongue and then with his thumb, opening her, stretching her, preparing her the way a man prepares a prize he intends to ruin. After a couple of minutes her asshole was shiny and loose enough to take a finger easily. He pushed two fingers in, scissored them, felt her clench and then yield, and pulled them out.

He stood up and loosened his pants.

A big dragon-like dick came out — quite thick, quite long, heavy with blood, the head already wet with precum, veins standing out along the shaft. The other three women standing aside blushed seeing it; the young woman made a small sound; the milf wife's eyes widened; the winner's own partner only smiled.

Yan Mei had no clear view of what was about to go into her asshole; she only felt the heat of his cockhead as he set it against her small hole and started pushing while gripping her hips with both hands, thumbs spreading her cheeks wide so the crowd could watch every inch disappear.

The moment that fat head pressed between her buttocks, she felt how big it was — wide enough to threaten her again the way Xuan Wu had, maybe wider. The blunt heat of him sat against her spit-slick ring and pushed. The ring resisted. He pushed harder. The head popped inside.

She moaned out loud — raw, shocked, beautiful.

The crowd roared approval. He held there with just the head in her, letting her asshole flutter and adjust around the thick flare, then pushed more, slowly because of the size, burying himself inch by thick inch while her ass spread wide around him. Spit and leftover finger-looseness helped; her own slick ran up into the crack and helped more.

Still it burned with stretch. Still she took it. Half of him, then three-quarters. Her nails scraped the table edge hard enough to leave marks in the wood. Her masked face turned sideways so Yan Tian could see every flicker of pain-pleasure as another man's cock claimed the hole he had filled with a pearl an hour earlier.

She had been pierced by Xuan Wu. This was a different shape, thicker at the head, relentless. She started breathing heavily, mouth open, each exhale a moan. One more inch. The burn flared and then settled into a deep ache that was not only pain. Then another inch.

Her belly showed a faint bump from his size when he finally seated fully, hips flush against the cushion of her ass, balls against her wet pussy — she could feel the weight of them, the heat, the way they pressed against her slick, swollen cunt as if asking to be next.

She could feel him everywhere — the stretch, the fullness, the impossible depth, the way her asshole fluttered and tried to push him out and then tried to pull him deeper. A drop of sweat ran down her spine into the place they were joined.

He held still for a breath, letting her feel every inch, one hand stroking her lower back as if soothing a horse he had just mounted, the other hand still spreading one cheek so the crowd could see how wide she was open around him. Then he began to thrust.

Plap.

The first thrust pulled him halfway out and drove him back in. Her moan cracked. The thick head dragged against her rim and then plunged deep again, and her toes curled against the sticky floorboards.

Plap.

The second thrust was harder. Her tits swung under the cloth. The table creaked. A man in the front row groaned as if he were the one being fucked.

Plap!

Plap! Plap!

Continuous. Enjoying the insane tightness of her asshole. Each thrust made a wet sound as spit and cum-slick and her own juices worked him deeper — squelch, plap, squelch — a filthy rhythm that the whole corner could hear.

He squeezed her cheeks until red handprints bloomed on the pale skin, fingerprints clear as brands, then spread her cheeks with both thumbs so everyone could watch her asshole cling to his shaft on the pullout and swallow him on the drive. Her pussy wept underneath, ignored and jealous, a string of arousal hanging toward the floor and swinging with every slam, occasionally breaking and reforming.

Her moans grew louder with each stroke — no longer muffled by the table, open, raw, the sounds of a woman taking a thick cock in her ass in front of a crowd while her husband watched and stroked himself through his robes.

The atmosphere turned fully erotic; the crowd pressed closer until Yan Mei could feel their body heat on the backs of her thighs and hear individual curses and prayers and the wet sound of at least one man stroking himself in time with the thrusts. Someone said her name — not her real name, just that beauty, that milf, that goddess — and someone else said he would sell his cultivation for one night of what the winner was getting for free.