The Duke of Yu's Daughter Read online

  Zhao caught her nipple in his fingers. He chuckled softly in his throat when he found it to be distended and elongated even before it had been touched. He removed his other hand from her now overflowing sex, causing Bo Lien to moan, “Please don’t…” before she was able, with a great effort of will, to stop herself from asking for him to continue to stroke her.

  She need not have troubled herself, as Zhao well understood her unfinished thought. “Do not despair, Bo Lien, for I will satiate your lust in time, after you have begged me prettily. But now I wish to see how hotly your flame will burn, for I enjoy a lively bedmate,” he said. He rolled both nipples in his fingers, now pressing harder, now more lightly, now gently tugging and twisting the taut heads, until her body writhed beneath him as madly as when he had been toying with the slippery stamen hidden inside her jade gate.

  “Shall I stop now, O pure daughter of a Duke?” he asked, twirling the bulbs of flesh a little faster. “For I will stop, if you think I am being over-familiar.

  “Ahh… ahh… no, no, do not stop… it is so good, the feeling… you must not stop…” Bo Lien gasped. She did not truly know what she was saying now, or rather the words came unbidden, formed not by her mind but forced out by her body’s overwhelming need.

  “Perhaps you would like me to stroke your lute strings again,” he suggested, pausing with her nipples still in his hands.

  “Yes, yes… please touch me there, I beg you Master Zhao!” she burst out.

  In a moment, his fingers were inside her again, and his long fingernail was strumming her love button as though it was in truth a lute. Each touch made the girl cry out from shafts of pleasure so intense they could hardly be distinguished from pain.

  “Ah! Ah! Ahhh!” she shrieked. She wriggled her lower body lewdly. “You must stroke me, sir! Rub me, stroke me, I beseech you, or I will surely go mad!”

  “First you will admit that the Precious Lotus is no more pure than a common slut,” Zhao commanded, suddenly withdrawing his finger.

  “Yes, yes it is true!” Bo Lien shouted in extremis of sexual need and ready to say or do anything for relief. “I am a slut, a dirty whore! Please now, I will die if you do not touch me!”

  “Very well,” Zhao said. “I will this one time cater to your shameless lust. But be aware that I will not always be so solicitous.” His fingers reached for her sex and rubbed it vigorously for a few seconds.

  Bo Lien exploded in a massive climax. She cried out wordlessly, her hips pressing on his hand, her entire body shuddering in an uninhibited transport of rapture. Zhao, for all his experience with girl-flesh, had never seen anything to equal it. As her orgasm went on and on and he watched her naked body writhe on his hand, Zhao was already pondering how he could best use Bo Lien’s unique sexual responsiveness to torment her.

  At last her frenzied squirming slowed and stopped, as the towering wave finally receded. Zhao removed his hand from Bo Lien. He went back to stand before her and lifted her head, which hung downward on a limp neck, by the hair.

  “Here you see the product of your unbridled lust,” he said. “If you would still deny the evidence of your eyes, perhaps you require additional proof from your other senses. Smell it!” he commanded, thrusting his wet hand directly under her nose.

  Bo Lien made a face and tried to twist her head away, but his grip on her hair was too strong. She inhaled the scent on Zhao’s hand, a somewhat musky odor which was neither especially pleasant nor unbearably foul, but which represented to her mind, a great humiliation.

  “Now you will confess all to me,” Zhao demanded. “Tell me of your lovers and of all the arts you have been taught to ensnare unsuspecting men in your webs.”

  She looked up at him, fear evident in her eyes. She had nothing to tell him, and yet he was clearly expecting something, some sort of admission. If she persisted in speaking the truth, he would grow angry, and do she dared not guess what to her already aching, welted body. Could she create a story to satisfy him, and fill it with sufficient invented incidents and experiences to satisfy him? she wondered desperately. But no, she had no talent at all for untruths, and she knew almost nothing about the kinds of things he would expect her to describe. She could never fool him. It was hopeless.

  “Well?” he insisted, pulling sharply on her hair again. “I grow weary of waiting for you to formulate new fictions. Speak up.”

  “I… I will freely tell you of all the men who have known my body, and everything I know about the arts of love…” she said, and paused.

  “At last,” Zhao said. “Say on.”

  “Of the first, there were none,” Bo Lien continued, “and the second I can describe with one word only: ‘nothing’.” She closed her eyes and waited, trembling in every limb for an enraged Zhao to begin a new round of merciless punishment. When a rain of blows did not immediately follow, she cautiously opened her eyes and peered at him through slitted lids.

  “This is much as I suspected,” Zhao said mildly. “I was curious to see if you would try to pass off some invented tale, thinking that I expected an answer other than the truth, and I am reassured to find that you attempted nothing so foolish. You are at present but a blank parchment, Precious Lotus of Yu, and upon you I shall inscribe my requirements for the ideal mate.”

  So cowed was Bo Lien by this time that she was genuinely grateful to Zhao for withholding a completely undeserved punishment. “Thank you, honorable sir, for believing me at last.”

  He opened his robe, revealing once again his organ. “Instruction in your wifely duties will begin at once,” Zhao said. “You shall show me your devotion by licking, starting with my jewel purse, and thence up the shaft to the very cap of my stalk, until it shines.”

  Bo Lien closed her eyes again and groped out with her tongue, feeling for his manhood. To her surprise, she encountered nothing. She opened her eyes and saw that he had moved away to another part of the room. She understood the nature of the errand when he returned holding a whip consisting of a wooden handle two chi in length, to which were attached three long, knotted cords with leather tags on the ends.

  He returned to his previous position, with his stiff organ right before Bo Lien’s eyes, and said, “It is disrespectful to look away when you honor my jade stalk with your tongue. You must look up at your husband at all times as you perform, to see if you are pleasing him.”

  With this, Zhao snapped the whip down to cut at her well-striped and still up-thrust bottom. The three cords cut directly across the still tender ridges of flesh the bamboo had earlier raised, re-igniting the flames of agony that had begun to cool. The stroke made Bo Lien’s lower body bound into the air, and she shrieked in renewed distress.

  “Eeeee! Aaaaah! I… beg… beg your pardon, Master Zhao,” she gasped. “I meant no discourtesy. Please have mercy, and I will do my poor best to be both dutiful and respectful.”

  “Resume the assignment I have given you, then,” he said coldly. “Show me that you possess the zeal Morning Star so noticeably lacks, and I will have no further occasion to encourage you with this instrument.” This was not quite true, of course, for as we have already seen, Zhao Hua gained nearly as much pleasure from chastising the dainty beauties unfortunate enough to fall into his hands as he did using their sweet bodies for sex.

  Bo Lien was as yet unable to comprehend the darkness in his soul, however, and she hoped that a heartfelt showing of obedience could win his approval, or at least save her from any further corrections. She lapped at his hirsute bag, controlling her reflex to gag and trying not to think about what she was doing, not even pausing to spit out loose hairs that came dislodged to end in her mouth.

  The whip descended again without warning, the cords feeling like hot irons branding her inflamed hemispheres, and again she screamed and capered under the blow. “Draw them into your mouth, one by one, then both together,” Zhao directed. “And return to the position at once, unless you wish another stroke like the first,” he added sharply, for Bo Lien’s shapely bottom was
still bobbing up and down involuntarily in response to the painful stroke.

  She drew in a deep breath and forced her legs and bottom to remain in place. Then she threw herself unreservedly into the task of tongue washing. First, she gave the attention to his stones that he required, carefully rolling them about in her mouth. Then she drew her tongue upward along the underside of his pole, and then turned her head to one side to wrap it around the shaft. Zhao found the sensation of her soft tongue extremely pleasant, and the sight of the lovely Bo Lien reduced to submission, her great eyes staring at him, desperate to satisfy him, made the experience more exciting still.

  “Lick, slut! Take it between your lips! Kiss it!” Zhao demanded. As if to punish her for arousing him, he lashed downward viciously across the whiteness of her back as she bowed before him. The knots bruised the hitherto unmarked flesh, while the cords raised angry new lines between her shoulder blades. Bo Lien screamed in pain and begged indistinctly, “Please Master,”, but her tongue never ceased to busy itself on him, even as her tears fell to further moisten his manhood.

  She instantly moved to lap at the end of his rod. As he had directed, she enveloped the flesh in her soft lips and held it there while applying her tongue over the opening at the end. This produced a sensation so exquisite that Zhao was sorely tempted to seize her by the head and ram his entire length into her, as he had earlier done with Chao-Xing. He restrained this impulse, however, reminding himself that the plundering of a girl so unique should be done slowly, to extract the maximum pleasure.

  “Take me in your mouth,” he growled, “and do not allow me to feel a single tooth, or by sunrise you will no longer have one remaining in your mouth. Do you understand?”

  “Uhhhh!” she mumbled. She moved her head forward so that he filled her mouth with the upper end. As she did, her tongue continued to swab at him. She stared up at Zhao, trying to see if her efforts were sufficient.

  Zhao was on the verge of exploding. He shouted “Suck me, whore!” and lashed her repeatedly, sending the cords of the whip down between her open legs, nipping her sex with the leather tags on the ends.

  Bo Lien thought she had somehow displeased him, so even as she screamed in pain she redoubled her efforts, sucking his manhood in and out and stroking it with her tongue.

  This final effort was more than Zhao could resist. He dropped the whip and seized her head in his hands.

  Bo Lien nearly choked, but she somehow managed to keep in control of her body. The task was done.

  She looked up for his approval. Zhao leaned forward, his hands resting on either side of the top of the pillory that confined her head, breathing heavily. He stared suspiciously at her for a long time before speaking. “Precious Lotus, are you quite certain you have never…” then trailed off when he saw how she awaited his question with an expression of unalloyed innocence.

  “Yes, Master Zhao?” she asked. “Am I certain of what?”

  He turned away, shaking his head. “Never mind. You are a quick study, that is all.”

  Chapter Eight: The Art of Love

  At some point during that first session under Master Zhao’s bamboo rod and then his whip (she was not certain exactly when), Bo Lien had made up her mind to surrender to him and to obey his every command to the best of her ability. She now had a much better understanding of the nature of pain, and it was not in her, she now knew, to withstand the torments he could subject her to. Her only defense, therefore, was to submit fully to his every demand, no matter how bizarre or unnatural.

  Of course, at this time the unworldly Lotus had no idea of what kind of unusual activities Zhao planned for her, and this was probably just as well, for had she known, she might not have thought that she would be able to keep her new resolve. But she would soon learn how difficult it was to comply with Zhao Hua’s demands.

  She was summoned to him again, the next evening just after sunset. Once again she was bathed, perfumed and clothed (if one considered an ensemble consisting of a robe of semi-transparent silk left open in the front and no undergarments “clothed”,) by a pair of female servants (neither Xiu Mei nor Shushun, but two strangers), and escorted past what felt like the entire staff of the house to Zhao’s bedroom.

  He appeared to be in a good mood when Bo Lien was brought in, although, given Zhao’s usual stony-faced expression, it was not always easy to divine his mood. Bo Lien based her estimation on the fact that he dismissed the two servants quickly, without taking the time to intimidate them.

  He was sitting on a chair, with the nude Morning Star kneeling on a table at his side. The girl was holding her ankles in her hands, while Zhao’s fingers roughly probed the openings between her outspread thighs. Her head was hanging low in misery, and silent tears dripped from her lips and the end of her nose as he casually explored her private places.

  “Come closer, my wife-to-be,” he urged. “You have much more to learn about the art of love, and I do not doubt that you are as impatient to broaden your education as I for you to learn.”

  “Yes, Master Zhao,” she answered dully, moving closer as slowly as she dared. “I can scarcely contain my excitement.”

  “I see your hands are confined,” he said. “That will never do. You will need them to be free for today’s first lesson. I should give those two idiot girls twenty strokes of the bullwhip on their slits for making such a foolish mistake. What do you say, Lotus? You will be running the household one day, after all, after we marry. How would you suggest I handle the matter?”

  Bo Lien’s mind whirled at the thought of administering so terrible a punishment for such a trivial an offense. Twenty lashes on the soft flesh of their mounds with so harsh an instrument would surely lay the poor victims open to the bone. “It is most prudent to keep one’s servants on a strict regime of discipline, lest they grow complacent,” Bo Lien began.

  Zhao nodded approvingly.

  “But I fear so severe a correction, although well deserved…” she hastily added, “… might render them unable to perform their normal duties for a considerable time.” In her thought only, she added, “…or kill them.

  “I would therefore suggest a birching on their careless bottoms,” she went on, “to remind them to pay proper attention to their duties.” She then fell silent, waiting to learn if her words had pleased or displeased him. If it was the latter, she knew he was capable of carrying out the original sentence on her in addition to the servant girls.

  Zhao pondered her words for what seemed to the worried Bo Lien to be a very long time before he rendered his verdict. “That is well reasoned,” he said at length. “I see that your reputation for wisdom has some substance. It shall be as you say. You shall carry out the correction yourself tomorrow morning, before the entire staff.”

  Bo Lien was relieved that she had been able to save the two young women from a terrible whipping and substitute a comparatively mild punishment in its place. On the other hand, she was not looking forward to birching their bare buttocks the next day. That, however, lay in the future. At the moment, she still had to endure whatever Zhao had planned for her this evening.

  Zhao slid off her robe, and then released the catches on the bracelets to free Bo Lien’s hands. Then he ordered Chao-Xing down from the bed to stand facing Bo Lien.

  This was the first time the Lotus had seen Zhao’s concubine when she was not either in disfiguring bondage or posed in some slavish attitude, so although she already knew that Morning Star was beautiful, she had not until this moment fully appreciated the loveliness of her companion in misery.

  The Count’s daughter was a little taller than Bo Lien, and her shape, although still slender, was considerably more curved than the reed-like Lotus. Her breasts were round and stood out proudly from her chest, although they were not as impossibly firm as Bo Lien’s girlish cones. Her hips swayed gently with each graceful step, highlighting the gentle swell of her buttocks. Her nose was small and straight, her lips the color of a ripe plum, her eyes a delicate shade of green like the
finest jade, her hair long, fine and light brown. Her skin was darker than Bo Lien’s, a light golden-brown everywhere but on the tips of her breasts, which were pale pink. Her expression, suggesting both gentle patience and long suffering was almost enough to break Bo Lien’s sympathetic heart.

  “Today you will learn the rudiments of working a part of a team,” Zhao said. “To begin with, you and Chao-Xing will caress one another for my pleasure, and then you will be introduced to the practice of performing several tasks at once. Begin.”

  Bo Lien looked the other girl’s body up and down. She had heard rumor of girls making stars and rain with others of their own sex, and she had thought this even less attractive than normal couplings. She had, as we have seen, already made up her mind to obey Zhao, whatever his demands might be, and she fully intended to do so but she needed a little time to overcome her revulsion for this assignment, and the impatient Zhao was unwilling to wait.