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The second night, Meng Yao went to his knees for the king. He hadn’t gotten a good look the previous night at the cock that had split him so wide; therefore, when he pulled it from the king’s trousers, he was taken aback by just how large it was. How small his own two hands looked around it.
He applied his mouth. The king groaned. Meng Yao was not inexperienced, but he had yet to master the art of taking a thick cock down his throat, and he found he could barely take more than the head without choking. He stroked the rest with his hands, slicking the length of it with his own drool. He pulled off to lick and mouth at what he hadn’t been able to reach, tracing the veins from base to tip, before returning to suck the head. The king didn’t seem to mind but hummed appreciatively as he petted Meng Yao’s braids. Finally, taking the loose hair at the back of Meng Yao’s head, he gently tugged Meng Yao off.
“Stop,” he said. “I want to fuck you.”
Meng Yao had heard those words before. This was the first time they aroused him.
They shed their clothes, and the king guided Meng Yao to all fours on the bed. Meng Yao took the initiative of dropping to his elbows and spreading his knees so that his cunt and hole were exposed. The king knelt behind him, and he ate and fingered his cunt until Meng Yao was moaning and sopping wet. He pushed three fingers into Meng Yao and pulled them back out to rub his wetness over his asshole. Then he swiped his thumb through more of Meng Yao’s excessive wetness and pressed it into his ass.
Meng Yao groaned and pushed back against it. He rocked forward and back again, fucking himself on the king’s thumb, his cunt clenching on nothing. “Zōngzhǔ,” he gasped. “Please.”
The king complied. He fucked Meng Yao’s cunt with his thumb in his ass, his other hand moving between pinching Meng Yao’s nipple and rubbing Meng Yao’s cock. Meng Yao reached completion with the king’s hand between his legs. The king once again pulled out to hump Meng Yao’s ass until he came on his back.
It wasn’t necessary; Meng Yao was infertile. But he didn’t need the king to know that, or to ask how Meng Yao knew.
Sated, the king draped himself over Meng Yao’s lax body, smearing come over his own stomach. Kissing Meng Yao’s neck and ear, he said, “Stay the night.” It felt like an order. Then he took Meng Yao’s hand and kissed it. “Please.”
It was a request. It still felt like an order.
“Of course, zōngzhǔ,” said Meng Yao.
The king wiped them down, brought them each a cup of tea, and went to sleep with his arm around Meng Yao.
Meng Yao did not sleep easily. He had learned early on that sharing one’s bed with a man often meant waking with a cock where one did not want it. He supposed there was no material difference between waking mid-violation and being made while awake to acquiesce or not, but he’d rather see it coming. He lay awake, unable to trust that the king, who had thus far been gentle, would remain so. But nothing happened, and eventually, against his will, Meng Yao slept.
He woke to hand rubbing circles on his hip. He must have been caught waking because a pair of lips, scratchy with stubble, met the corner of his mouth.
“Good morning,” the king rumbled.
Meng Yao opened his eyes. The king was gazing softly at him.
“Did you sleep well?”
Meng Yao wasn’t sore. He hadn’t been pestered with nightmares. Once he’d actually fallen asleep, he had, in fact, slept well.
He made a small sleepy noise and rolled his neck. “Yes, zōngzhǔ.” He smiled sweetly at him.
The king was caught. He kissed Meng Yao again, and again, and Meng Yao reciprocated. He pressed his body closer to the king’s as they made out and felt the king grow hard against his thigh. Meng Yao took him in hand and guided him into his cunt. He wasn’t wet enough for the entry to be easy, but the king reached between them and attended to Meng Yao’s cock until it was. They kissed and slow fucked, Meng Yao’s leg around the king’s waist and his hands on his biceps. The king stroked and flicked Meng Yao’s cock with one hand. His other massaged Meng Yao’s breast, the calluses pleasantly rough on Meng Yao’s peaked nipple. As usual, Meng Yao came first. The king fucked into his cunt a few more times before pulling out to finish between his thighs.
***
The next night, the king brought him to climax with his tongue and his fingers twice before fucking his oversensitive cunt. Meng Yao had the presence of mind to be embarrassed about the high pitched noise he made as the king breached him before he was whimpering nonstop from the pounding of the king’s balls against his tender cock. Meng Yao screamed as he came again. When the king pulled out and made to finish in his fist, Meng Yao kicked his hand away from his cock and, cunt still convulsing, rearranged himself to deliver a sloppy blowjob. The king came in his mouth and, when Meng Yao pulled off with his mouth full, kept coming. It landed on Meng Yao’s face and chest. Embarrassed, Meng Yao tried to wipe it off before the king could see, but the king just laughed and licked it off himself.
***
One night, Meng Yao was already in the king’s bedchamber when he arrived, removing his robes and folding them to place on a low table against the wall. He had done his outermost robe and was untying the sash of the second. The king came up behind Meng Yao and untied the sash for him. He handed it to Meng Yao to fold and stack, and then he did the same with Meng Yao’s middle and inner robes. Meng Yao was just in his boots and trousers now. The former he toed off and kicked under the table. The trousers... With the king standing flush behind him, he bent at the waist to draw them down to his ankles. The king’s hand landed on his spine, keeping him bent over. Meng Yao shivered. He carefully stepped out of the trousers and toed them aside in a crumpled pile.
“Is this all right?” The king asked.
His cunt was on display. The position was degrading. He spread his legs and grabbed his ankles. “Yes.”
The king thumbed his cock and fingered him. His anus was on display. The king fingered that, too. Meng Yao was panting, blood rushing to his head as fingers thrust into his cunt and ass in an alternating rhythm. When the king’s cock pushed into him, he grabbed the low table for support to push back against him. The king fucked him, one hand holding Meng Yao steady, the other two fingers into his ass. His fingers pressed down. Meng Yao moaned as the king rubbed himself through Meng Yao’s inner wall. He wanted more.
The king removed his fingers. “Up,” he said.
Meng Yao rose, biting his lip as the movements changed the press of the king’s cock inside him. The king urged Meng Yao forward until he was stepping onto the low table next to the stack of his robes and bracing himself against the wall. It was a better position for their heights but not a better depth. And as the king held Meng Yao’s hands against the wall and fucked him, all Meng Yao could think was how he wanted those fingers back in his ass.
***
“I am ensnared by you,” the king said later. They were lying on the bed post-coitus, the king staring into Meng Yao’s eyes with a frightening intensity. Meng Yao had averted his gaze earlier by habit, and the king had said, “I like when you look at me.” So here they were. Eye to eye.
“I am ensnared by you,” the king was saying. “Your beauty. Your intellect. Your devotion to this family. I admit, I grow fonder each day.” He paused. “Yet I don’t know how you feel about me.”
“I...” Meng Yao ran through the possibilities of what the king wanted to hear.
“Whatever you say, do not lie.”
“I am—flattered by your attention to this humble one,” Meng Yao decided, “not only because you are the king but because you are very, very handsome. I have never allowed myself to feel anything further about you, for it would be a presumptuous and fruitless longing.”
“Is it presumptuous when you are in my bed?” the king asked. He took Meng Yao’s hand and placed it on his chest. Meng Yao could feel the beating of his heart. “Is it presumptuous when I have just admitted my affection for you?”
Meng Yao said, “I am your family’s servant. It would be presumptuous.”
The king sighed. “It seems you are more honest in matters of sex than in matters of the heart. Very well.” He pressed himself closer to Meng Yao, his hand nudging into the space between Meng Yao’s thighs. “You make me feel that I must pleasure you. That I need to pleasure you. The way some men are devoted to liquor, I am devoted to your cunt. Your wetness.” He stroked his thumb over Meng Yao’s labia and found him slick. He lifted it to his tongue and sucked it into his mouth like he would suck Meng Yao’s cock. Meng Yao’s mouth went dry. “I always want to lick you. I always want to fuck you. I want to unravel your tight control. I want to make you, with your sweet clever mouth, dumb with pleasure.” He returned his hand, now saliva-slick, between Meng Yao’s legs. “So tell me. How do I make you feel?”
“I always want you to fuck me,” said Meng Yao automatically, and shut his mouth. He felt himself blush under the king’s pleased scrutiny. He was aroused from the way the king talked about him, and the king, with his thumb flicking over Meng Yao’s cock, dipping shallowly into his cunt, knew it. He swallowed. Nothing would satisfy the king but honesty, or something that passed for it. He tried again. “You make me feel—like no one ever has. You make me want things I’ve never wanted. You make me—wanton. Uncontrolled.” He closed his eyes. “You make me feel filthy. And that feels good, too.”
“Filthy? Look at me.”
Meng Yao made himself look the king in the eye to say, “When you use my other hole.”
“And that pleases you?” The king’s voice had deepened. That pleased Meng Yao, too.
“It debases me,” said Meng Yao, “and, yes, it pleases me.”
The king slid three fingers into Meng Yao’s cunt and fucked him slowly as he leaned forward to kiss him. “Thank you,” he said, “for your honesty.” His fingers pulled out and slid back over Meng Yao’s twitching hole. Meng Yao shivered and buried his face in the king’s shoulder. The king’s finger entered him. “You must not be shamed by this,” the king murmured. He fucked the finger in and out of Meng Yao’s ass. “This is how a man takes a man. It is an honorable custom.” Two fingers now. Faster. Meng Yao gritted his teeth and pushed back against them. “If it pleases you, I would honor your anus as I do your cunt.”
“Please,” Meng Yao breathed. “Please honor it.”
The king pushed Meng Yao down onto his stomach and pulled his ass up. And he feasted. He circled his tongue around Meng Yao’s hole, sucked noisily on his rim, plunged into him, fingered him. Meng Yao moaned and shoved his own fingers into his empty cunt. The king’s tongue moved inside his ass, sometimes alone, sometimes between two fingers. It was a new sensation, and it made Meng Yao’s toes curl.
He was close, and he hadn’t gotten a cock inside him.
“Zōngzhǔ,” he gasped. “Zōngzhǔ, unngh. Please.”
“Use your words, Meng Yao.”
Meng Yao blushed fiercely. He would be furious at the condescension if he weren’t so aroused. “Zōngzhǔ, please fuck me with your cock!”
“Good boy.” The king raised himself from Meng Yao’s ass and sank into his cunt.
He fucked him hard, balls slapping wetly against Meng Yao’s cock. Meng Yao made a frustrated noise that now his cunt was filled but his hole, slathered in cooling saliva and slick, was neglected. He was disgusted with himself for wanting every opening filled, for wishing the king would slap his holes and spank him, for drooling onto the sheets from his ceaseless moaning, for every time he exchanged dignity for pleasure and grew wetter at the humiliation, for how close he was before his cock was stimulated, for how much closer he was now. There was no shame, Meng Yao knew, in being taken by a man, even in the way a man takes another man; the shame was, instead, in wanting it.
The king pressed his thumb back into Meng Yao’s hole, and when Meng Yao clenched down in the throes of his orgasm, he was grateful, unsatisfied, and ashamed, all at once.
Awareness came back to him in the sensation of the king dragging his cock carefully between Meng Yao’s nether lips and back over his hole. He rubbed himself over both Meng Yao’s entrances, his breath quickening. Meng Yao caught his cock when it slipped between his legs. “No,” he tried to say. It came out like “Mmnnogh.”
Distantly, the king: “Are you with me? How do you feel?”
“Don’t come on me,” Meng Yao said, still slurring. There was no further he could fall, so he may as well ask for what we wanted. “Come in me. Come in my ass.”
“Meng Yao.” The king kissed his neck and back. He sounded strained. “It will be difficult to take me. Are you sure?”
Meng Yao pushed himself to his knees and reached back with both hands to hold himself open. “Please.”
The king sucked in a breath. Then his fingers returned to Meng Yao. Two, at first, despite Meng Yao’s impatient snarl. Then, gathering more wetness, three. The fingers wrenched him open so he could feel air inside his ass. Meng Yao whimpered involuntarily and cursed himself when he felt the king’s fingers leave him. “Stay,” said the king, and he left the bed. Meng Yao heard him cross to the other end of the room but stayed put with his face toward the wall. The king returned, and his fingers returned to Meng Yao’s ass, oiled. He opened him up, poured the oil directly inside him, spread it around Meng Yao’s aching rim. Then, the king’s cock re-entered Meng Yao’s drenched cunt. It thrust twice. Then it repositioned itself at Meng Yao’s ass and began to push in.
It hurt. It hurt, and it felt good, and Meng Yao would take all of it even if it split him open in the process. He remembered how it felt to take the king the first time: the whiting out of thought. Unraveled. Insane. He let the pain and the pressure wash over him, expelling his disgust and doubt. He had been hurt during sex before. He had been taken anally and found the experience excruciating. A part of him couldn’t understand how he so lacked self-respect that he would beg for it to be done to him again. But this was not that. This pain was the pain of a challenge, the pain of progress, the pain of someone who cared whether or not he hurt giving him what he’d asked. Meng Yao had known that. Mingjue had done his best to make it painless, and he didn’t know that it hurt. And Meng Yao wouldn’t tell him. Because this pain was his. It belonged to him the way so few things did. His name. His choices. The king’s heart. So he encouraged him instead: “Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. Feels good.”
The king bottomed out inside him. Both their bodies trembled. The king kissed his jaw and his shoulder and the tears on his cheek. “I’m too close to make this good,” Mingjue admitted.
Meng Yao replied, “It’s already good.”
The king hooked two thick fingers in Meng Yao's cunt, thrust three times, and came inside Meng Yao’s ass.