A Symbolic Message

Nuan heard it too. "Now don't give me that. You fed every beggar on the Bark Lane for a week with three cups and a pebble. If you could do that, you can help with this."

Another pause. The foot pulled out of Mel's mouth, and before he could reach for the other, it pressed over his forehead. His own saliva slathered his hair, and the ball of her foot blocked his vision. Her footpad, weirdly soft and tender, smothered his face.

"There's a boy," said the hostess at last. "A boy I've had in here a few times. He cleans the kitchen for a small fee. He's confided something in me. He's told me that he works for Guan-yin. But it's a poor fit for him. He's a good boy. I'll speak with him about what you want to do, and I'll tell you what he tells me. I know he would never betray my trust by telling on you." The toes on Mel's face curled harder, as if trying to hug him. "Will that do?"

Nuan gave a warm little laugh. "You see? Didn't I tell you you were resourceful? You're a true friend." The old chair creaked a little as she stood up. "Thank you. When are we going to hear back from you?"

"He'll be here next in two days. I'll find you the same day."

"I'll be glad. For now, we won't take any more of your time."

The woman released Mel's head, and he extricated himself. As he stood up and followed Nuan out, he puzzled at what he felt, and didn't feel. After serving as a Zallin gift, he had expected to feel like a whore—to feel violated and to hate himself for it. That was how he had felt back at the university when his female classmate had sold him the answers to a test in exchange for use of his tongue. He had betrayed his values that day, submitting to dishonesty, self-abasement and female privilege all at once. But today he felt different, more like he had on Cultural Immersion Week, when he attended a traditional Ulaan-Waila dance.

That hostess hadn't treated him as prey, the way women at the university did, but as a gift to be enjoyed. His participation in the Zallin ritual had not been prostitution at all, but merely a foreign custom. And his cultural sensitivity had seen him through it.

'This is it,' he thought. 'Broadening cultural awareness. I can't wait to tell the others about this at the university.'

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Nuan said to him.

Pulled out of his reverie, Mel looked at her. He remembered what he had heard under the table. "You have a son," he said hollowly. "A son you care about."

She nodded. "He's one of the smart ones. There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect him."

"So that's why you choose to fight male oppression. You have a personal stake in it."

"I do. Don't get me wrong, I want a taste of this." She grabbed a fistful of his butt and squeezed. "But boys who didn't do anything wrong, getting turned into monster boys? And when they don't even get to pick which woman they fall in love with? That needs to end."

Mel was impressed enough that he forgot he had just been sexually assaulted. "I haven't given you enough credit."

Back at the apartment, Mel dumped himself into the available chair, shocked at how exhausted he was. "As soon as I've eaten, we can go make our move on the human traffickers?"

"Weren't you paying attention? That's in two days, or we'll be going in blind."

"Oh... we wait, then."

"Now in the meantime, you're sleeping with me."

His sense of danger flared. "Why is that?"

Her smile confirmed his worst fears. With an irresistible pull, she took him out of his chair and placed him like a toy on her rug. Mel did not move as she rooted around in a chest by her bedside. She smiled, calm and fiendish.

When she turned to face him, her other hand held a device, a wooden facsimile of a male penis. Mel had come to know such replicas as accoutrements of the female homosexual community, worn by the submissive as she lay back for her dominant partner.

But in the rest of the world, they were used by women, to fuck men.

She stripped herself unceremoniously, revealing a powerful body under heavy breasts. "I'm guessing you've never done this before," she said. "Don't worry. You won't be the first boy I've done this to." She handed over the strapon. "Put this on me."

She would have him collaborate in his own sexual exploitation! But a deal was a deal. He shuffled up to her, still on his knees, and placed the base of the cock above her pussy.

Her fingers played with his hair, and he prepared himself for rough treatment. Then she started petting him. "Look at me, boy," she said.

He looked up into her hard, handsome face.

"You're so pretty," she sighed. "Damn, you're making me feel like I'm twenty again." She pointed across the room. "Now see that drawer? Second from the top? Open it, get out a condom and put it on me."

Mel had been hoping she would take that precaution. Businesslike, he retrieved and opened the packet and unrolled the rubber on her wooden cock.

Her right hand lost interest in his hair and gently stroked his cheek. Tender, it ran down the line of his chin. Mel was amazed. He had expected her to bruise him, insult him and throw him onto his back. His lovers back at the university had always gone too fast and too rough, as if trying to prove something. But Nuan handled him like she planned to marry him.

Now both of her hands traveled down his face. Fingers picked at the collar of his shirt, then started undoing the buttons. There wasn't a sound in the room as the buttons came undone, one at a time. Finally, his shirt fell open, and despite himself, he felt the same pang of doubt he always felt in a woman's bedroom. 'Do I look good enough? Does she think I'm fat? Was she expecting a six-pack?'

"Stand up," said Nuan. There was a reassuring smile in her voice.

Mel took to his feet, more eager than he expected to be.

Her hands pressed into his butt, and he restrained a shiver. For a moment, he stood there ridiculously as she rubbed and pressed him, then finally reached around him and undid his belt.

In a minute, he was naked. With a closed-lipped laugh, Nuan put her hands on his skin, gave it one more squeeze, then turned him around with a gentle push and a pull. She eased him to his knees.

Nuan lifted the tip of her wooden cock with one finger. "Kiss it," she said. "Just the tip. Start slow."

Mel leaned in slowly—it was easy to be slow with Nuan setting the tempo—and put his pursed lips to the tip.

"There you go," Nuan purred. "Now a little farther. Open up that mouth."

Mel hesitated.

"Oh, quit worrying!" Nuan giggled like a girl. "I'll put on some real lube before I put it in your ass. Now go on, take me in."

Mel obeyed—why was it so easy to obey?—and his lips admitted the bulbous head. He sucked on it softly, knowing she would enjoy seeing his cheeks flex.

"Now suck harder. Get it deeper."

He pushed himself farther. The cock was shorter and thinner than the genuine article—thankfully, considering the use she would put it to—and Mel was almost able to touch his nose to her flesh.

"Yeah," Nuan purred. "Swallow that cock." She reached down and touched her sex, and her voice drowned in a feminine moan.

Mel leaned into what he was doing and closed his eyes. His own cock had gone painfully stiff, but he didn't touch it.

Nuan let out a long, infectious grunt of satisfaction. She kept going, and Mel found himself sucking harder and faster as if she could feel it. In a minute her legs trembled with orgasm. A wet hand pressed on Mel's forehead and pushed him off her cock.

"That's enough," said Nuan. Her chest still heaved, straining her words. She pointed to the open drawer. "Lube me up. Then turn around and get on all fours."

This was it. Mel should have been frightened, but he felt too submissive to care. He took the opportunity to replace her condom—the mouth and the rectum had different microbial ecosystems, after all—and then wetted two fingers with the viscous, translucent lubricant and slathered it onto her. Then he turned around, presented his rear and did his best to relax. She grabbed his rear, and he could feel the mattress sink and bulge as she shifted her weight to get behind him.

It was cold. That was what he noticed first. Most of his sucking had been wasted by replacing the condoms, and now the cold lube and the cold wood stung his anus.

He forgot the cold immediately. Her hand on his butt held him in place, and pressure like he had never felt before shoved into him. His body opened and accepted her. He was no longer in control.

She pulled out. It was almost as disorienting as having her push in, but she didn't give him long to regather himself. She accelerated, then eased into a rhythm too slow to hurt him but too fast to let him think. His knees pressing into the rug, his wet mouth drooling on the floor, the woman holding his butt and fucking him: that was all he knew. Even her heavy, satisfied breaths were a distant thing in his mind, unconnected to anything.

The pumping slowed. Some of Mel's consciousness came back, and he looked over his shoulder. Seeing his clueless expression, Nuan laughed, playfully slapped his butt cheeks a few times and pulled out for the last time.

Mel stayed where he was for a moment, then rolled over and sprawled on his back.

"Like it?" asked Nuan.

"Like nothing I've ever had," he said.

"Older women don't get to bed you a lot, do they?"

"No," he said, and this time he was telling the truth.

"You should let them. Girls think they're entitled to ride on anyone, but older women, they'll appreciate you."

Mel noticed her watching his still-erect cock and knew he should be affronted. "You're exploiting me," he said, not feeling it.

"Exploiting you? I told you the deal. I help you take on the monster boy ring, and you're my whore until it's done."

"And it won't be done for two more days."

"Hey now, I didn't know this would take that long." She ran her hand over his hair. "Now get yourself washed up. And get some rest. I plan to get my money's worth out of you, come morning."

Mel stood, no longer worried that she was watching his butt. In fact, he liked that she was looking at it. The way she treated him broke all the rules he had learned in college—everything about affirmative consent, boundaries and no quid pro quo... but somehow he couldn't get enough of it. "Until we take down the slavers, I'm yours. I can live with that."

To be concluded.