Riding Her Master

He pushed one thick finger into her wet pussy.

The entry was slow enough that she felt every fraction of it. Her virgin walls parted around his knuckle with a wet, clinging resistance that made both of them breathe harder. She was so tight that even one finger felt enormous; her cunt fluttered and clutched around it as if it could not decide whether to push it out or pull it deeper.

He went in to the second knuckle and stopped there, and she felt him feel the shape of her inside — the ridged, slippery walls, the heat, the way she pulsed around him. His thumb rested outside on her clit beside the needle, and he brushed it there without mercy.

"Guide the qi to my finger," he ordered quietly. "Push your energy onto the point of contact. Yes. Like that."

She tried. The attempt made her moan louder, because pushing her qi down onto a finger buried in her pussy felt exactly like what it was. It felt like fucking. Her energy rushed down through her widened channels and gathered around his finger inside her, and his own qi met it there, and the two currents wound around each other in the tight wet heat of her body until she could not tell where hers ended and his began.

Her juices welled up around his knuckle and ran down over her asshole and dripped from her clit onto the table. He watched them run. For a single heartbeat he pressed the tip of a second finger in beside the first, stretching her entrance into a tight ring around both, and she cried out at the burn — and then he withdrew it and went back to one, careful, always careful of the thin barrier deeper inside her that he was not ready to spend.

She had been aroused before he entered her. Now the feeling of his thick finger inside her virgin channel made her moan aloud without even knowing she was doing it. It was tight and hot and slippery with oil and her own juices, and her inner walls clenched around him as if trying to suck him deeper.

Her whole body burned. Her newly opened meridians pulsed with energy, and the pulsing spread through her until she felt it everywhere at once — a strange, full-body sensation in which pleasure and power were braided so tightly together that she could not have pulled them apart.

He moved his finger inside her thoroughly. He curled it toward her belly and stroked a swollen, spongy place on the front wall that made her eyes fly open and her mouth fall open on a silent scream.

He drew it almost out and slid it back in, slow and deep. He turned it, exploring every ridge of her, taking his time far beyond any need of medicine, and deep inside, with the very tip of his finger, he felt the unbroken membrane of her virginity and touched it lightly, once, and drew back from it, and did not tear it.

Plish. Plish.

The wet sounds of his finger moving in her filled the quiet room. She heard them through the roaring in her ears and her face burned, and her hips rocked back to meet his hand.

"The gates are opening," he murmured. "Feel them. Feel how wide you are now."

She felt them. The lowest gates, the stubborn ones at the root of her body, were giving way around the point where his finger and his qi pressed against them from inside, stretching wider and wider like a mouth opening to scream, and then, all at once, they opened.

The rush of it was like the bursting of a dam. Qi flooded up from her root through every widened channel in her body at once, through her belly and her breasts and her throat and the crown of her head, and the lust that had woven itself into her energy all afternoon rode the flood like a fire riding the wind.

Her pussy clamped down on his finger in a long, convulsive spasm. Her thighs shook. She came, or thought she came, a wave of pleasure so deep and strange that it seemed to rise from her bones rather than her flesh, and a high thin wail broke out of her and shivered into silence.

When the spasms slowed, he drew his finger out of her with a wet sound. He held it up in the lamplight for a moment, glistening to the knuckle, and then he began to take out the remaining needles one by one — the nape, the back, the legs, and last of all the needle above her anus and the needle in her clit.

As the last two needles slid free, Cao Ning's body filled with a surge of energy unlike anything before it.

It did not come from outside her this time. It rose from the deepest gates he had just opened, from the root of her body, a hot pink tide that poured up through every channel at once and broke across her skin until the air itself felt like hands.

Her nipples throbbed where the needles had been. Her clit pulsed in time with her heart. Her pussy, empty again after his finger, clenched on nothing so hard it ached, and the ache climbed through her belly and her chest and into her throat and sat there like a word she had to say.

Everything in the room had gone very sharp and very bright — the lamp flames, the smell of the oil, the grain of the wood under her palms — and at the center of all of it, kneeling on the table behind her and wiping his hands on a cloth, was him.

She knew exactly where she was. She knew exactly who he was. She had never wanted anything so badly in her life.

---

Elder Chang was shifting his weight to climb down from the table when she caught the hem of his robe.

She had turned on her knees without his noticing, and her fist was knotted in the dark silk at his hip. He looked back. A faint pink light swam in her gray eyes, like lamplight seen through rose-colored glass, and her breath came fast through parted lips, and her eyes were fixed on his face — steady, clear, and entirely aware of him.

"Master," she said. Her voice came out low and rough, nothing like the voice she used for lessons. "Don't go."

He looked at her for a long moment. He saw the flush running from her cheeks down over her breasts, the oil shining on her skin, the slick on the insides of her thighs, the fist in his robe. He saw that she was looking at him, and that she knew it.

"Ning'er." He put his hand over hers, meaning to loosen her fingers. "The widening is finished. You should rest."

She pulled. She yanked him back by the robe so hard that he lost his balance and sat down on the table, and before he could rise again she was over him, one knee on either side of his thighs, her palms flat on his chest, pushing him down onto his back on the oiled wood.

He let her. The table creaked under their combined weight. Her silver hair fell around both of them like a curtain, and her breasts hung above his chest, full and flushed, the tiny red marks of the needles at their tips, swaying with every breath.

"I felt it all afternoon," she said, looking down at him. "Every time you touched me. I felt how much you wanted to." Her hands slid down his chest to the sash at his waist. "Let me, Master."

She did not wait for him to answer. She tugged the knot loose and pulled the sash away and dragged the front of his robe open, baring his chest and belly, the long hard muscle of a body that did not look sixty years old. Then she hooked her fingers into the waist of his thin gray trousers and pulled them down over his hips, and his cock sprang free and slapped up against his stomach.

She went very still and stared at it.

She had seen it through a window, in lamplight, from the far side of a room. She had never seen anything like it this close. It was thick and long and veined, flushed dark at the head, so hard it twitched against his belly with each beat of his heart, and a clear bead of precum had already welled at its tip and was sliding slowly down the underside.

It smelled of him — the same deep male musk she had caught in this room that morning, stronger now, thick in the warm air. Her mouth watered. She swallowed. She wrapped her hand around the base of it and felt the heat of him against her palm, the hard pulse under the skin, and her fingers did not meet around it.

"So big," she whispered, and lifted her eyes to his face.

He was watching her with his lips parted and his breathing ragged, and for once there was nothing calm in his expression at all.

She held his gaze, bent her head, and took him into her mouth.

She did not know how. She knew only what she had seen her mother do, and she tried to do that, and it went wrong at once. Her lips stretched wide around the swollen head and her teeth scraped along the shaft as she pushed down, and he hissed through his teeth, and she pulled back with a guilty start and tried again, more carefully, opening her jaw as wide as it would go.

The head filled her mouth completely. She could taste the salt of his precum and the bitter tang of the medicinal oil still on his skin. She pushed lower, trying to take more of him the way Cao Ying had, and the head bumped the back of her throat and she gagged, eyes flooding with tears, spit spilling from the corners of her lips.

Glk.

She came up gasping with a string of saliva stretching from her lower lip to the tip of his cock. Her eyes went to his face. He reached for her — to stop her, perhaps, or to steady her — and his fingers slid into her silver hair.

"Slowly," he said hoarsely. "You don't have to take all of it."

"I want to." She caught her breath, wiped her chin with the back of her wrist, and went down on him again with stubborn determination, and this time she went slower.

She learned him by mouth. She found that if she kept her lips tucked over her teeth he groaned instead of hissing. She found that if she swirled her tongue around the ridge beneath the head, his hips jerked up off the table, and she did it again, and again, delighted, until his hand tightened in her hair.

She found that she could take him a little deeper each time if she breathed through her nose and relaxed her throat, and she pushed herself until her lips were stretched halfway down his shaft and her eyes were streaming.

She gripped the base of him with one hand and stroked what her mouth could not reach, slick with her spit, and with the other hand she braced herself on his thigh. Every few strokes she lifted her eyes to look at him, and every time she did, his cock jumped against her tongue.

Slrrp. Slrrp.

The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room, louder than she could have imagined, and she did not care. Spit ran down over her knuckles and into the dark hair at the root of him and dripped onto his balls.

Her cheeks hollowed. She moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. Her own pussy was dripping onto his shin where she knelt astride his leg, and without thinking she began to rock against him, grinding her swollen lips along the hard muscle of his calf, smearing her wetness over his skin with every motion of her hips.

His hand guided her head now, not forcing, only steadying her rhythm. Her silver hair spilled over his hips and belly. Her face, the face half of Jinling dreamed about, was flushed and wet and stretched around his cock, and her eyes kept coming back up to his.

He had held himself back for nearly two hours. Through the oil and the needles, through her breasts in his hands and her pussy under his fingers, through every moan she had made. Now his restraint broke all at once.

"Ning'er —" It was the only warning he gave.

His hips lifted off the table, his cock swelled against her tongue, and the first thick pulse of his seed flooded her mouth. It was hot and thick and salty, so much more than she expected that her eyes flew wide, and the second pulse came before she had swallowed the first.

She held him in her mouth and swallowed, and swallowed again, her throat working in long convulsive pulls while he jerked and groaned beneath her, his fingers locked in her hair. A little escaped the corner of her lips and ran down her chin. She swallowed every pulse until there were no more.

Then she drew back slowly, letting him slide out of her lips, and looked up at him while she licked him clean.

She did it the way she had seen her mother do it — tongue dragging up the underside from root to tip, curling over the slit, circling under the head, catching every last drop. His cock twitched under her tongue, oversensitive, and he groaned and did not stop her.

She caught the drop on her chin with a fingertip and sucked the finger into her mouth, holding his eyes the whole time. The heat of what she had swallowed sat warm in her belly. Her pussy throbbed.

The ache in her had not lessened at all. It had only sharpened, and focused, and pointed lower.

She climbed up his body.

She straddled his hips with her knees on the wood on either side of him and settled her weight over his cock, which had barely softened and was already thickening again against the inside of her thigh. She reached down between them and took him in her hand, slick with her spit, and held him upright, and looked down at him through the curtain of her hair.

"Master," she whispered. "I want you inside me."

His hands came up and found her hips. He did not pull her down. He did not push her away. He held her, his thumbs pressing into the oiled hollows beside her hipbones, and watched her face. She lowered herself.

The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she gasped at the heat of it. It was nothing like his finger. It was nothing like the dagger pommel. It was blunt and hot and alive and far too big, and her virgin ring stretched around the very tip of it in a tight, stinging circle that made her thighs shake.

She breathed out, the way he had taught her to breathe out for the needles, and pressed down a little further. Her lips parted around him and closed snugly over the swollen head, kissing it, holding it, and the stretch burned and throbbed and felt so good that a high, thin sound broke out of her throat. He groaned beneath her. His fingers tightened on her hips.

She tried to sink lower. Her body would not let her. She was too tight and he was too thick, and the ring of her entrance clung around the head of his cock and would not open any wider no matter how she breathed. She rocked her hips in small, desperate circles, trying to work herself down onto him, and every circle dragged that hot crown against her inner walls and sent sparks shooting up her spine.

"Help me," she gasped. "Please, Master —"

Then the surge came back.

It rose from the gates he had opened, a second pink tide far larger than the first, and it broke over her all at once. The room went white. Her nipples, her clit, the place where his cock was kissing her open, every point he had touched all afternoon flared at the same instant, and the pleasure of it was so enormous that her body simply could not hold it.

Her thighs gave out. Her vision filled with rose-colored light and then with nothing. She felt herself falling forward, felt her cheek strike his chest and her breasts crush against his ribs, and as she fell the head of his cock slipped free of her entrance and slid wet along the crease of her thigh.

The last thing she knew was the beat of his heart under her ear, fast and hard, and his voice saying her name.