Chapter 85 of 98
The Lord's Feast
Li Yutang walked down into the barbarians' village like a king.
It was full dark by the time they reached the foot of the track. The fires were lit in front of the longhouses. Smoke hung low under the turf roofs. Dogs barked at them and then, smelling the lord, thought better of it and slunk away. Men stood up from the fires as he passed, and bowed their heads, and then lifted them again to look at what walked behind him.
He did not hurry. Luo Jin had never hurried. He had walked, the two women had told him on the way down, like a bear that owned the forest. So Li Yutang walked like that. Heavy. Slow. Rolling his shoulders. With the two chains wound once around his huge fist, and the faint chime of gold behind him every step.
His gold.
They had told him everything, on the track. Quickly, in low voices, because he had asked and because the plan needed it. Which longhouse was the lord's. Where the hall was. Which men were chieftains and which were only loud. The gambling house, where the lord went every night to drink. The bath. The servants. Who bowed and how low.
Nalan Meng had told him most of it. In her cold, clipped, City Lord's voice. Not looking at him. As if she were briefing a junior officer she did not much like.
He had listened very carefully. And all the while he had been looking at the way the gold moved on her body as she walked.
To think, he thought. To think I'd ever have a chance like this.
He had wanted her for years. Since the first day he saw her, maybe. He had schemed for her and lied for her and wished his brother dead for her a thousand times. And she had looked at him the whole time like something she had scraped off her boot. Brother-in-law.
And now here she was. Walking behind him. Naked except for a few strands of gold. On his chain.
And not only her. The Ice Fairy of the True Yuan Sect, too. As a gift. Fate had a sense of humor.
The village hall was still lit. There were men in it waiting with business. There always were.
He went in. Every man there turned, and bowed, and said Lord, and he grunted at them the way Luo Jin had grunted. Nobody looked twice at his face. They looked at the women.
He walked the length of the hall to the antler chair on the dais and sat down in it. It was enormous. It fit him perfectly. He laid his arms along the rests and felt the bear fur under his palms and looked out over the room.
He knew what came next. The women had told him that too. Not in words. Nalan Meng had said only, with her jaw tight, In the hall—he always—when he sits—and stopped, and Yun Xianchen had said, We know what to do, in a voice like ice cracking.
He knew what to do as well.
He unbuckled his belt. And took his cock out.
The mask had done a thorough job.
He had felt it working on the way down the mountain. Not just the face, the shoulders, the height. Everything. He had reached into his leathers in the dark of the track, out of curiosity, and nearly laughed out loud. Now it lay in his lap in the firelight, heavy and dark, half-hard and already rising: the barbarian lord's cock. Thick as a girl's wrist. Long as a forearm. The broad plum-colored head swelling out of its foreskin as he watched.
He looked down at the two women at his feet.
They hesitated.
Only for a breath. He saw it. Nalan Meng's eyes on his cock, and then on his face, and he saw her know. Not the face. Him. Behind the face. She had always known exactly what he was.
Then, slowly, she knelt.
And Yun Xianchen knelt beside her.
He watched them come toward him on their knees. Their tongues came out. Pink and wet. They reached for his cock from either side, slowly, as if it might bite—and touched it.
Li Yutang's whole body went tight.
Nalan Meng's tongue. On his cock. Not in a mask, not in a forfeit at a merchant's party with fifty strangers watching. Here, in the open firelight. Her own face. That cold proud face he had looked at across banquet tables for years, the high cheekbones, the dark eyes, the mouth he had dreamed about. That mouth was opening for him. Her lips parting, and closing around the broad head of his cock, and sliding down.
Warm. Wet. Soft.
He had to grip the arms of the chair.
On the other side, Yun Xianchen's tongue went slowly up the length of the shaft. Long, flat strokes, from the root to where Nalan Meng's lips were stretched around the head. Her tongue was cooler than Nalan Meng's mouth, and slick, and very careful. She licked like a woman who had decided to do a thing properly because she had no other choice and refused to do it badly.
She avoided me for years, he thought, looking down at Nalan Meng's bobbing head. Years. And still heaven gives me the chance. Again and again.
She could not avoid him now.
Somebody was talking.
He looked up. A man stood at the foot of the dais, holding his cap in his hands—a dispute about goats, something about a broken fence. Li Yutang had not heard a word of it.
He looked at the man. He grunted.
The man went on talking.
It was a barbarian village. Everything was settled by strength in the end. The problems that reached the lord's hall were small ones: goats, fences, a man who had struck another man's slave, a quarrel about a well. Li Yutang listened with half his mind, and gave judgments with the other half—pay him two goats; let them fight it out in the morning; I don't care, throw him in the pit—and the men bowed and went away satisfied. Nobody noticed anything strange. Luo Jin had been known for not caring.
And the whole time, between his knees, two of the most beautiful women in the land were sucking his cock.
He could not stop looking at their faces.
Nalan Meng's eyes were half shut. Her cheeks were hollowed. A flush had crept up from her throat across her face, and her nostrils flared every time she drew breath around him. When she drew back to the head, her lips clung and stretched; when she went down, they slid wetly along the veins, and he felt her tongue moving underneath, pressing, curling. Every so often she made a small sound in her throat. He did not think she knew she was making it.
Yun Xianchen had moved down to his balls. She took one into her mouth, gently, and rolled it on her tongue, and then the other. Her black hair spilled over his thigh. Then she came back up the shaft, and her mouth met Nalan Meng's at the head, and for a moment the two of them were kissing around his cock, lips sliding over lips, tongues touching, spit running down between them in a shining thread.
It was too much. He had been hard since the mine. Since the council. Since the morning before, when he had first watched that gold chain sink between her cheeks.
The last petitioner bowed and backed away.
Li Yutang leaned back in the antler chair, put his hand on the back of Nalan Meng's head, and came.
He pulled back at the last moment. He wanted to see it.
It went over their faces. Thick white ropes of it, hot, one after another—the mask had given him the lord's balls as well, and they were full. It splashed across Nalan Meng's cheek and her closed eyes and into her silky brown hair, and hung there. It struck Yun Xianchen across the mouth and the chin. It kept coming. He pumped it out of himself onto those two flushed faces until his thighs shook.
When it was over, a string of it still hung from the head of his cock to Nalan Meng's tongue. And from her tongue, another, to Yun Xianchen's. Swaying a little between the three of them in the firelight.
It was the most stimulating thing he had ever seen in his life.
And then they did something he did not expect.
They leaned in again—both of them—and took his cock back into their mouths. Gently. And licked it clean. Their tongues went over the head, and down the shaft, and gathered up every last drop that was still leaking out of him, and they swallowed it. Without hesitation. Without a word.
He stared at them.
Willingly, he thought. He did not know that the lord had trained them to it in two days, with his hand in their hair. He did not know that Nalan Meng's mind was somewhere very far away, behind a door she had shut, and that what was licking him clean was a body that had learned in Heaven Lust and the barbarians' hall to do as it was told. He did not know that the warmth spreading in her belly as she swallowed was not for him at all, but for any man's yang; that the thing in her blood would have drunk from a beggar. He knew only that his sister-in-law was licking his cum off his cock with her eyes half closed, and his cock was swelling again in her mouth.
When they drew back, their faces were still covered. Cum in Nalan Meng's lashes. On Yun Xianchen's lips. They knelt there and did not wipe it off. They had not been told they could.
He was hard again already.
He looked at them for a long moment. Then he tucked himself away, and buckled his belt. Not here. Not yet. There was a routine to keep.
Luo Jin, every night, went to the gambling house to drink.
So Li Yutang went to the gambling house to drink. With the two women behind him, their faces still glistening in the torchlight of the street.
It was the same smoky place the lord had brought them to on the first day. Low-beamed and loud. Dice clattering on the tables. Men shouting over bones and cups. And slave women everywhere—serving, pouring, sitting in laps. Being used. In one corner a woman was bent over a table while a barbarian fucked her from behind between rolls of the dice. In another, a girl knelt under the table with her head in a man's lap, and he played on as if she were not there.
It was less a gambling house than a brothel with dice in it.
When the lord came in, the noise dropped. Men turned. And then every eye in the room went past him to the two women behind him.
He looked around for the chieftains. That was the purpose. Find the four. See where they sit. Who they drink with. But they were not here tonight. Not one of them.
Damn, he thought. Then: Well. I can't walk out the minute I've walked in.
At a big round table near the fire, a group of barbarians was waving at him.
"Chief! Here!"
Strong men. Not chieftains. But the barbarians did not have much rank, in the end; they believed in strength, and a strong man sat where he liked. They shoved over to make room in the middle of the table, and he sat, and the two women came and stood behind his chair.
Every man at the table had a slave. One or two. Bronze chains, most of them; a couple in silver. Beautiful, by any ordinary measure. One was sitting in her master's lap, riding his cock slowly while he talked. Another was sucking the man beside her under the table. A third had her breasts out of her chains and her master's hand on them, idly, like a man fiddling with a coin.
And every one of the men was looking at Nalan Meng and Yun Xianchen while they handled their own.
Li Yutang slapped his thighs.
"Sit," he said.
They sat. One on each knee. He felt their weight settle on him—the soft, warm, bare cheeks of their asses pressing down on his thighs through his leathers. The golden chain between Nalan Meng's cheeks lay against his leg. He could feel the heat of her pussy through it.
He put his arms around them both. And put a hand on each of their breasts.
Oh, he thought.
He had had them in his hands before. At the party, through cloth. Never like this. Bare. Heavy. Each one more than his big hand could hold. He squeezed, and the soft flesh swelled up between his fingers and around the fine gold chains, and the nipples poked stiff into his palms. Nalan Meng's were bigger. Darker pink. Yun Xianchen's were smaller and harder and so sensitive that she flinched when he pinched them, every time.
He squeezed and kneaded and rolled, and talked.
"Chief," said the barbarian on his left, staring frankly at Nalan Meng's breast swelling out of Li Yutang's fist. "Only a man like you's worth women like these. Look at those tits. They're in another league."
Li Yutang laughed. Luo Jin's big booming laugh.
"Of course they are!"
On his knee, Nalan Meng looked at the table and did not lift her eyes.
Her face was still sticky. His cum had dried on her cheek and in her hair, and she could feel it tighten when she moved her mouth. His hand was on her breast. His fingers were pinching her nipple. Around the table, a dozen barbarians were watching him do it and making remarks about the size of her.
Li Yutang. That was what she could not get past. Not the barbarians. Not the hall. Him. The man she had refused for years. Who had always looked at her like that—like this—across tables, through doorways. She had made very sure, every day of those years, that he never got so much as her hand.
At the merchants' party, he had got her mouth. That had been a forfeit. A game. A mask.
Now he had everything. Her bare body on his lap. Her breasts in his hands. Her face, still painted with his seed. And she could not say a word.
For the mission, she thought. For the mine. For the fourteen.
His thumb rolled over her nipple. Her pussy clenched, wet, against the chain.
She hated him. She hated her body more.
Li Yutang was having the best night of his life.
At the merchants' party, he had got a blowjob from her. One. He had lasted less than a minute. He had lain awake afterward and cursed himself for it. Now—now he could enjoy her whole body as much as he liked. Her tits, her ass, her mouth, that pussy he could feel hot against his thigh through the chain. And Yun Xianchen as well. Whose beauty they said was the first in the land.
A man came and set down food and drink. A roast bird. A jug. A big wooden mug of beer.
Li Yutang did not take his hands off their breasts.
He did not need to. He had seen how it was done. At every table, the slaves fed their masters. So Nalan Meng took up the bird and tore off a piece and held it to his mouth. And Yun Xianchen lifted the mug of beer and held it to his lips.
He ate from his sister-in-law's fingers. He drank from the Ice Fairy's hands. And all the while he kneaded their breasts.
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