Floating World Bitten Peach Ch. 09

The visiting Jin kueilo monsters would become the talk of the kingdom—especially when rumors of their yang chu equipment—which Bolin now knew intimately and Xiu was about to—began to float around. Clients would flock to the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia to thrill in being where the giants from beyond the kingdom had been with their tree-trunk yang chus. "Aeiii," the clients would be heard to say. "I felt I could walk upright in the channel that kueilo drilled."

The zhaoguzhe obviously could not observe the moment for Bolin, which, from the sounds from the other chamber had already taken place and was moving into a second taking, but the zhaoguzhe was a modern jen of practicality. He would simply record what he hadn't actually seen, and he knew that Xiu would not naysay him, even though it was his duty to do so; he knew that Xiu would not subject Bolin to that dishonor and loss of future status.

Xiu's eyes were also on those of the hungmao. His eyes were focused on the peach he was about to bite. He wanted to see Xiu's reaction to his nakedness. And, trained as Xiu was, he was already prepared to respond with embarrassment and awe. Xiu had been trained to do this for a eunuch or castrati, if faced with that in this situation and they had been given access to him by the zhaoguzhe. Xiu needed no training to fall back on, though. The hungmao was huge in ways Xiu had never seen in life before. There was a statue the height of three men in the entrance hall to the nanleshijia with an erect phallus to assure clients they were in a nanleshijia—and the jinan often joked about fucking themselves on this triple-sized appendage. But Xiu gasped without feigning now to see a yang chu in real life that rivaled it.

The hungmao's body was well formed and hard and bulging in muscles, obviously from hard, honest work. He was covered in red, curly hair everywhere. And his yang chu was alarmingly heavy and long and thick—and standing proud in full erection as he gazed on the young man who soon would be writhing under him. Xiu gulped and his eyes went wide open and his jaw slack—all movements he had been trained in to please the jen he would be given to, but movements that came naturally under these circumstances. Xiu's channel tightened at the thought that for the first time he would be doing more to entertain a client's yang chu than fondling it and mouthing it—and that he would have to do it with what was standing up from the hungmao's belly. Xiu involuntarily moaned. His reaction pleased the hungmao, which Xiu could readily see as the giant's yang chu rose up even more in parallel with the matting on the floor and filled out impossibly larger.

The hungmao went into the bath with the help of the house servants. A couple of these carried off his clothing, undoubtedly to be double boiled, and the other house servants began scrubbing him in earnest. The past year's spring festival clouds and rain master, Wangan, glided into the room with willowy stride and, after slowly shrugging out of all but his diaphanous inner robe, knelt beside the tub. His hands went into the soapy water, and Xiu watched the hungmao's eyes slit and the pleasure fan out across his face as Wangan enclosed his hands around the hungmao's yang chu and began to stroke.

It was Xiu's time then—the beginning of the ceremony of the clouds and rain. He stood there, between the tub and the sea, between the hungmao and the pallet of his chenchieh farewell and untied the sash on his layers of hanfu and began to slowly unwind his red ceremonial robe and the deep purple under robe. Xiu took a long time doing this, and the hungmao's eyes were glued to his form the entire time. From where he stood Xiu could hear the giant sighing from where he stood from the ministrations of Wangan's delicate, expert hands and fingers on the kueilo's yang chu. Almost as if not realizing what he was doing, the hungmao had one hand searching inside the folds of Wangan's robes, where he obviously found what he was looking for and was stroking it. His other hand was lifted above his head and had snaked into the tunic of one of the house servants scrubbing at him and had exposed and was tweaking a nipple.

After a slow, orchestrated, long-practiced performance of revealing himself, Xiu stood there before him, less than half the kueilo's size, the folds of the red and purple robes swirling around his feet. Xiu placed his hands on his hips and swayed ever so imperceptively from side to side. Delicately formed against the hard muscularity of the kueilo, Xiu was lithe and willowy, but he too was muscle hard from years of ever-higher-level tai chi practice. He was smooth-skinned in his nakedness, completely shaved for this ceremony. His were the pert little yang chu and ball sac that Chungkuojen so highly prized in their clouds and rain masters. Xiu worried briefly if this would please a kueilo as well, but the look the monster man cast on the ripe peach's revealed body left no doubt that he did. As was wanted in a spring festival master, Xiu had the years of an adult but the body of a youth.

The hungmao gave Xiu a wicked smiled. He reached up and pulled a surprised Wangan into the tub with him and turned the now sputtering jinan onto his belly, with his arms over the side of the tub and his nipples, freed now from the transparent, soaked robe by the hungmao's rough hands, resting on the lip of the tub. His eyes were wildly racing around the inside of the pavilion, trying to focus on something that would help him understand why he was in this position and where his saving help could come from. Did this kueilo have no sense whatsoever for the ceremonies of the clouds and rain?

The hungmao, crouching over the submerged hips of the jinan, never let his own gaze free that of Xiu, who stood there, frozen amid his symbolic blood-red pillows and pallet covering, trembling and trying not to show his fear and consternation, as Wangan let out a cry of violation and skewering as he never had experienced before. Xiu understood perfectly that this was a matter of foreplay between the hungmao and himself. The groaning and moaning that Wangan's gaping mouth was producing and his wild-eyed looks of impossibly full and cruel possession—and even the roiling of the tub water signaling the power and rapidity of the hungmao's thrusts—were all to demonstrate how the hungmao intended to possess and overpower Xiu himself. He was penetrating the hapless Wangan in long, strong thrusts of his yang chu.

The message was not lost on Xiu, and inside he was all turmoil mixed with anticipation, while on the outside he fought to maintain a haughty continence free from intimidation.

This was all just preliminary posturing by the kueilo, however. He was doing nothing but increasing his arousal and the length and thickness of his yang chu. He quickly lost all interest in Wangan and the house servant and, indeed, in his bath, although, happily he had been scrubbed sufficiently already. He rose up out of the tub, leaving the servants to help a whimpering Wangan rise and stumble out of the pavilion. The bit of appetizer the hungmao had indulged in and the effect of Xiu's own disrobing had caused the hungmao's yang chu to rise and fill out to put to shame the most virile of the stud stallions in the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia—the young men kept well away from the pavilions Xiu and Bolin lived in, the big-cocked young men who some clients came to visit for their own enhanced clouds and rain entertainments.

Xiu moved breathlessly to the hungmao, kneeling before him and gently enclosing the base of the giant's yang chu in his small fists, one above the other, and still leaving more than Xiu thought his mouth could accommodate. In a rustle of naked feet and soft silk, Xiu sensed more than heard the last of the house servants evaporate beyond the bamboo screens.

For the next several minutes, as the hungmao sighed and growled, rocked back and forth on the pads of his gigantic feet, and breathed heavily and noisily, he moved Xiu's head between his enormous paws while the jinan entertained him with everything he had learned in the art of the kiss and suck of the yang chu.

The hungmao was getting bigger and bigger and was pumping ever more rapidly with his yang chu inside the young jinan's mouth. Xiu's hands went to the giant's heavy orbs. Xiu could hardly enclose them in his hands, they were so large and tightly balled. None that Xiu had handled before now were anything like this size. The kueilo was a monster of a man, and Xiu was wondering if he was typical of his people of the north, beyond civilization, or a monster among them as well, as Xiu felt his bulbous knob pressing against the back of his throat.

Xiu lightly squeezed on the orbs, wanting him to drain himself now, before the clouds and rain, to delay that. Every moment of delay was precious time. Xiu understood that now.

But, with a roar, the hungmao, pulled the small jinan up and off his throbbing yang chu. He turned his prey and pushed him down on all fours, and Xiu understood that he was going to be invaded and become a bitten peach right there and then, years of training and preparation erased in one thrust of the sword. And it was going to happen in the humiliating, crude position of the dog.

That could not be, though. The customs and rules of a kingdom of Wu nanleshijia were quite explicit. Xiu had to lose his chenchieh on the red pallet across the chamber and in the face-to-face position, with the heels of his feet rubbing the buttocks of the client. The zhaoguzhe quietly grunted from across the room, where he was watching and assessing the taking, obviously making the same point. If the protocol wasn't followed, Xiu's future worth as a courtesan jinan would be jeopardized. But Xiu didn't need the zhaoguzhe to remind him of the ceremony requirements. Xiu had been studying these ceremonial requirements for four season cycles.

Xiu disengaged from the hungmao somehow and half crawled and half scuttled toward the red pallet. The hungmao misinterpreted, assuming most probably, that he had frightened Xiu too much and that the jinan was trying to escape. The renewed cries from the other chamber across the Vermilion Pavilion only added credence to this thought. Bolin was being plowed hard and rough, as he was loudly and plaintively complaining of—just like a stable boy, completely wiping away his dignity and social status. Xiu could only hope that only the zhaoguzhe and he remained to hear of his dishonoring—that the house servants were well beyond hearing. But Xiu knew that was a hopeless thought. All that comforted Xiu was knowing that any house servant heard gossiping about this night would lose his tongue—and maybe his yang chu as well—and that the servant would just need to be paid under the table to affirm that all of the ceremonial requirements were met.

Xiu's perceived attempt to escape didn't cool the giant sea captain down. It only increased his ardor. This is how he liked to take his captives in sea battles—the panicked young men scuttling ineffectually across the boards of his ship's deck. No place to go. Their cries of anguish when he caught up with them and rode their bodies down to the decking. The piercing scream of his victory as he thrust inside their channels.

The hungmao reached Xiu and toppled him down on his belly in a cloud of white powder as the jinan reached the red silk pallet. Xiu did manage, however, to pull up onto the pallet on his hands and knees as the hungmao encased his hips between his strong knees. Technically, the customs were being satisfied—if only barely, as any client with the money to pay to bite the peach for the first time was refined enough to do so in full accordance with the proper rituals, which did not include brutality and wild taking—or the crude position of the dog. If wild taking was what the client wanted, he had to return another time as a patron.

Xiu heard the rustle of the zhaoguzhe's robes as he decorously approached with a pot of scented clouds and rain ointment and calmed the hungmao long enough to convey that he was trying to aid the inevitable act. The hungmao held Xiu down on all fours with one arm wrapped around his chest as he crouched over the jinan and invaded his tight and virginal anus with lubricated fingers. At the same time, the zhaoguzhe worked ointment on the hungmao's prodigious, throbbing yang chu.

Xiu had the sense then of being in the embrace of a silken-pelted bear as the zhaoguzhe faded back to the entrance of the chamber and the hungmao held the bulbous head of his yang chu to the jinan's back entrance in an encasing, directing fist.

The hungmao panted hard as he worked himself inside Xiu, and the soon to be bitten and gobbled up peach panted even harder and suppressed his groans and moans as best he could as the giant forced the channel open with his yang chu and moved deep. The groaning and moaning was meant to be saved for later, when the patron was fully saddled and was stroking and needed to hear that he was the master of the Central Kingdom.

But Xiu could not help it. He cried out in pain and invasion, nothing like this having been part of what he had learned over the last four season cycles. Although, to rights, no one involved in his training could have been known that he was destined to lose his chenchieh to a monster horse-sized foreign ghost yang chu.

"I must not faint," Xiu kept repeating to himself. "I must pleasure him with my body for as long as possible." Xiu gritted his teeth and took the monster cock deeper inside his channel and clenched his entrance muscles as he had been taught and listened in triumph to the hungmao gasp in pleasure at that. And then, as the monster yang chu sank in and in and in, Xiu tried, through the wall of pain, to conjure up all of the exercises he had learned to control the muscles of his passage—to make them ripple around and across the kueilo's yang chu, to make internal love to his manhood as he had been taught to do. The clouds, the important clouds before the rain—the beating of one cloud against the other, the friction that brought on the rain, with the greater the cloud beating, the greater the rain.

Once the rains had come, the peach will have been fully bitten.

The kueilo groaned and gasped in pleasure and his lips went to the hollow of Xiu's neck, where they ingested the enticement powder. He murmured and sighed and moaned, and Xiu felt the powder working in the impossible reality that the throbbing yang chu grew even larger inside the compromised channel. His horse yang chu slid back and forth, shallow and then deep, to the surface and then diving down, down, down and holding as Xiu's muscles contracted around him and worked on his yang chu.

Xiu could hear Bolin screaming out that he was being split asunder and that his insides were being flooded—again—from the other chamber, and Xiu began to wiggle his hips, no longer in as much pain as at the beginning. Something else was moving inside him now. Wanting. Actually wanting this clouds and rain. He was working the clouds—the touching and the sighing and the moaning and the movement under him and back against him as he thrust, meeting the giant thrust for thrust now. Listening to his ragged breathing. Giving him the best clouds he had ever received. Living up to the reputation of the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia.

Then the rains came. The hungmao cried out in ecstasy and the rains came. Deep inside Xiu's channel. One, two, three gushings. The kueilo collapsed on top of Xiu, pushing him down on his belly on the red silk pallet, and Xiu heard the rustling of the zhaoguzhe's robes as he left the pavilion, his official duties finished—back to his dark room and his vermilion ink and his triumphant collection of a favor from the Duke of Shi, a favor that could sustain the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia for generations to come.

As the zhaoguzhe wrote out his report, he took time to write it in flowery language and giving the swallowing of the peach its full, detailed description. He wasn't just writing for the record. This story would be floated throughout the prefecture. The men's house of pleasure would not lose in Xiu's inability to qualify for the spring clouds and rain auction. The story of the thunderstorm with the giant foreign devil and the tree trunk of a yang chu Xiu's channel had satisfied would disseminate like wild fire, and rich patrons would flock to the nanleshijia to follow the pathway the hungmao had reamed. And he would write of the uncivilized crudeness of the kueilo captain—biting the peach in the position of the dog. Such was unheard of in the civilized world. As he wrote, the sharp ache in his chest settled on zhaoguzhe. He did not feel that he had much time left, but he should have enough to pen this legend to parchment with the traditional vermillion ink.

Xiu heard Bolin crying out from the other chamber. He was screaming that his wrists had been tied and he was doubled over the rim of the unused tub and was being roughly entered again and again and again—in the position of the dog. Did these monsters know of any less crude manner of coupling? That the golden-haired kueilo smelled vile and cruelly bit and had a yang chu thicker than the pillars in the Vermilion Pavilion. That his rains were a flood. But there was nothing Xiu could do for Bolin now. Bolin had abandoned all sense of decorum and the best that anyone could do for him now was to forget what they had heard from him.

Xiu had to delay the departure of the vessel. And he knew it would not leave without its captain. Perhaps if he could detain him even for a night.

That was, of course, not permitted in the clouds and rain ceremony. Once the peach had been bitten, the ceremony was over. The jinan was to retire to his nanleshijia and engage in ritual cleansing ceremonies that could take up to a full phase of the moon. In the interim, unless the man who had bitten the peach wanted to pay to step forward as sole patron, the zhaoguzhe started to set up subscriptions for the new jinan's services. After the cleansing period, the jinan was available to entertain all who wanted him and could pay for him in succession as long as he could maintain interest or his body could endure the entertainment.

But that initial clouds and rain? Just the one ritual.

The hungmao rolled off Xiu and lay on his back on the platform, still panting. Gathering all of the resolve and resources he could, Xiu sat up and moved his head over the hungmao's heaving chest and started to lick his nipples and set his red chest hair aswirl. He must do what he could to delay the monster's departure. Xiu's hands danced over the kueilo's torso and down to his yang chu, still huge but now in repose. Despite tradition, Xiu knew he needed to coax him into clouds and rain again. Xiu needed him to believe that only with this lover could he accomplish rapid recovery and multiple clouds and rain. He must want to stay with Xiu as long as possible. Xiu knew this was vital to the pride of any man, Chungkuojen or kueilo. All the same in the vanity realm. Entice three clouds and rain in an assignation, and the man is yours forever.

Xiu put an arm around the hungmao's neck and lifted his mouth to his nipple. The kueilo sucked and licked Xiu's nub while Xiu worked his other hand across his cheek. Xiu moved the hungmao's mouth around the nipple, coaxing him to ingest more of the enticement powder, which he did. This had the desired effect, in consort with the jinan's stroking, on his yang chu. The giant was regaining virility. Xiu stroked the slit in the head of the man's yang chu with the tip of his finger, and the kueilo gasped and began to writhe in pleasure, his life's fluid beginning to bubble up onto Xiu's finger. The jinan felt him trembling at the knowledge that there would be a second clouds and rain so soon after the first. He already was nearly a captive of the bitten peach.