Chapter Text
Jinshi awoke the next morning, unusually refreshed. His mind was clear, his energy levels high, and his darling, adorable Maomao lay sleeping next to him, snug under the covers. Even if he had awoken in the foulest of moods, the mere sight of her was enough to tug at the corners of his mouth. In a slumber so deep, the palace could be under siege, and she would remain oblivious. But considering what they did last night, he expected as much.
Last night…?
With trembling hands, he peeled his sleeping wife’s shroud away, setting off a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. As more of her body came into view, his breath refused to leave his lungs. Her milky skin, now marred by deep crimson love bites along her back, glistened in contrast to the black strands of hair strewn across the mattress. His wife, his lovely wife, never felt more his, but the glimpses he caught of purple bruising around her waist brought forth insurmountable guilt.
Jinshi, of course, didn’t sincerely think he owned her. So long as her heart remained out of reach, he could only have her body with her consent. And those marks on her body, ‘the proof of his ownership,’ would also fade with time. But none of that mattered; nothing could change the fact that he had hurt her, and some dark, twisted, selfish side of him derived immense pleasure in doing so. That broken part, however small, implied she was the one to blame.
She had drugged him (with an aphrodisiac) and brought in that vulgar notebook (one he would prefer to peruse more thoroughly). She asked, nay, begged him for it. (She did no such thing.)
She…
She didn’t deserve to be tormented for hours on end.
Behind the curtain stood a handmaiden nearing her twilight years, with a change of clothing in her hand. “I am well aware of the follies of youth, young master,” Suiren’s voice sounded gentle as she spoke, “but it would serve you well to remember: Everything in moderation.” Her words, however, were anything but.
“Prince of the Moon, your meal has arrived!” Chue’s voice rang from outside his office door. Most of the room’s nuisances, thinly veiled as court officials, had already been ushered out.
“Ahh, just set it on the table,” Jinshi replied, clearing a spot among the documents.
He had expected the quirkish handmaiden to approach, but delivering his packaged meal was none other than his wife—soberly dressed and bespeckled as demanded. “Good day, Jinshi-sama.” It was a courteous greeting, dripping in a discourteous tone, along with a gaze he hadn’t had the pleasure of receiving in quite some time. The look his wife levied upon him hearkened to a time when she found a cockroach crushed underneath her sole.
He deserved that.
Hesitant, Jinshi began asking, “How’s your body…?”
“It hurts.”
“Are you–”
“I am upset.”
“Is there–”
“I won’t accept anything less than bezoar.”
This shrewd wench… Her temper was warranted, though when given her condition.
Jinshi’s laden sigh filled the entire office. “I don’t have bezoar,” he said, “but I did acquire a unique spice of sorts that a merchant insisted had medicinal properties. The name went something like nut–”
“Nutmeg?” Maomao’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, nutmeg. It’s–” Wait. Had she not claimed to be in pain? He’d sworn she had, and yet, his wife had just leapt over his desk, bringing her face a mere sun from his. His lunch remained undisturbed, but numerous sheets of parchment were now strewn about the floor, eliciting a rogue groan from behind the nearby curtain.
“I can have it, right?” she begged. “You’ll give it to me… right?”
“I mean, if you w–”
“I want it!” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn. With each cut-off sentence, she drifted closer until she sat squarely on his knees. He could see the excitement in her eyes as her wild breathing tickled his lips.
Forced to bury any inappropriate thoughts, Jinshi said, “Second drawer from the left,” while pointing to a cabinet close by. Maomao moved nimbly for an ‘injured’ woman once she had her prize in hand. Amidst the peculiar giggling and strange wiggling, he heard another drawer open. “There’s nothing in the others,” he advised, only to be met with a tongue click, followed by a faint mutter of the word ‘stingy.’ Such insolence, but he’d let it slide.
“I’m grateful for your ongoing support,” she said, beaming and sniffing her parcel of nutmeg. “I’d best be off now.” But just as he thought that would be all, Maomao paused at the doorway. “I’ll see you tonight.”
And with that, she left.
Sure enough, Jinshi’s wife sauntered into his bedchamber that evening, humming to herself.
“You seem chipper,” he said sarcastically.
“Anyone would be in a good mood with a generous husband like you around.” He’d be delighted if she sincerely meant those words. However, he knew all too well that her recent experiments with nutmeg had a more significant impact on her vivacious demeanour. “Now then, Jinshi-sama,” she continued, “please remove your clothing.”
“Eh? Um, but…” She had caught him off guard. He wanted to say, ‘Aren’t you rushing things?!’ Not that he would ever refuse her, but should there not be a bit more build-up to these things? Like kissing, and touching… No, before that, what about her bruises?
“I’d like to examine your body for any negative side-effects. Specifically, your pelvic region.”
Jinshi stared at Maomao in silence.
Of course, it’s a check-up, he reasoned, while removing his lower garments and pelting them to the floor.
His wife always approached her work methodically, so nothing about her palpation was inherently erotic. She spoke to him in a tender, calming tone. “Sometimes, there can be minor abrasions in the skin tissue,” she said while cupping his sack. “I’ve also observed a few cases of friction burns forming from overuse.” Should she not be concerned about that as well? Jinshi lacked the courage to ask as Maomao’s fingertips deftly handled his shaft, gliding along its skin in a clearly professional manner. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” Jinshi responded to what was an unmistakably clinical squeeze.
“Any numbness?”
“… No.” He had endured every single one of her light touches, but they were undeniably that: light touches. Her current position, kneeling between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed, was not erotic in the slightest either. This skinny, nondescript woman, whose body he savoured for over two dual hours last night and whose face was perched less than a half shaku from his loins, was not erotic at all.
“…… Jinshi-sama,” Maomao said, glaring at him past her half-lowered lids, “perhaps you should consider taking in another consort.” Or five, she added under her breath.
“At least you know it still works.”
“I suggest you lie down.” Her glare sharpened.
That seemed sensible. If he shut his eyes and relaxed, perhaps he could keep a tighter rein on his thoughts. Her dull, light touches soon resumed, although firmer this time. Was she having difficulty examining him while erect? Had he not known better, he would have assumed she was pleasuring him, and this soft, moist sensation was her…
“Oy!” Jinshi bolted upright to discover his wife kneeling at his side, her hands steadily squeezing along his shaft and her lips resting exactly where he had envisioned them. “Wh-what are you doing?!”
“Service,” she replied. “For my uselessly frisky husband.” A sardonic smile accompanied her words.
“There’s no need to—hngh!” Despite his protests, her lips enveloped his cock once more, pushing back on the foreskin. The second her tongue made unimpeded contact with the bell-shaped crown, Jinshi shivered, unable to withstand the sudden surge of stimulation. It left him knitting his eyebrows and clawing at the sheets.
“My apologies,” she said, freeing him from her mouth. “I’m not very good at this.” Her hands, however, kept on stroking.
Maomao’s comment was correct; she was indeed ‘not very good’ at it, but not for lack of technique. What this woman did was go through the act as though she were sprinting to the finish. On both occasions, when he was curious enough to allow her near his nethers, he could only hold out for a couple of minutes. After such unbearable humiliation, Jinshi made sure to avoid it.
“But you know,” she said, brushing the tip of his prick against her lips, staining them in a sheen of their combined fluids, “if I sit here, it also counts as one of the positions: Qiān niǎo zhī qū.”
Who cares about that now?! He should have figured she had ulterior motives the instant he detected that malicious gleam in her eyes. With her gaze locked on to his, his wife kept on rubbing him. Then she returned his rigid manhood to her warm, open mouth, taking him in bit by bit. The way her tongue danced around his rod felt more ticklish than anything else. But the noises she made—the obscene slurping, smacking, sucking noises—kept pushing him closer to the edge. What did she call this? Service? Jinshi scoffed, growing more convinced that her ‘service’ was nothing but a flimsy excuse to punish him for what had occurred the night prior. Whenever pleasure built, she would stop for some unfathomable reason and release him from her lips, squeezing at the base. It was as if she sought to forcibly prevent him from spilling seed.
“Does it feel good?” With a coy smirk, she’d ask him something to that effect each time her mouth was empty, but that only garnered his irritation. He desired nothing more than to seize her by the head and ram full tilt into her throat. Her mouth was so tiny; she’d probably gag if he filled it up. No, filling up her other hole would undoubtedly feel better. Yet, with his most sensitive parts literally in her hands (and that bothersome guilt stabbing at the back of his mind), he had no choice but to comply.
Until…
One of Maomao’s hands crept up his chest, landing on his nipple.
“Don’t. You. Dare.” In between the waves of pleasure, he tried to admonish her, taking hold of her slender wrist, despite his weakened grasp. But in a show of bold-faced defiance, she pinched his nipple instead, twisting it between her fingertips while simultaneously devouring more of his hardened prick. Jinshi bit his lip; far be it for him to moan now. His body, however, betrayed him—his hips quivered, legs buckled, and as she swallowed his rod to the hilt, a whimper escaped. He could feel himself at the back of her throat, her lips squished against his base, and the drivel seeping out the edges of her stuffed orifice. Up and down, his wife’s head bobbed, in and out, sliding along his throbbing cock, smearing it in increasing amounts of saliva.
“Mmm, Mao… Mao,” he groaned. “This isn’t, hngh, ahh… a checkup anymore.” His breathing became laboured. He needed to touch her, hold her, anything. Jinshi extended his arm, just to stroke her hair, entangling his fingers in the ebony strands, settling his palm on her nape. From that point onward, her technique softened. She caressed his chest and thighs and resumed stroking his rod in between her sucking.
“You’re mistaken,” the tender voice informed him. Even her breath felt erotic as she traced the underside of his manhood with her tongue. “I need to make sure you’re capable of release.” She tapped on its nearly purple-hued head, drawing thin threads of liquid excitement. “So, will you?” The following words were whispered after bestowing a solitary kiss at the very tip. “Will you come for me?”
Despite Jinshi’s refusal to answer, his lower half did on his behalf, twitching and leaking clear fluid onto her lips. Once Maomao resumed her ‘service’, the overwhelming pleasure rebounded. The urge to release was nigh, and yet, this time, she refused to stop, instead speeding up and further coaxing his climax. “Hey, slow down for a, aah–” Jinshi tried pulling out. He had learnt before that a man’s emission did not taste pleasant, so he simply wished to be courteous. Except, at this point, he was so close to an orgasm that his hips spasmed, unconsciously thrusting his engorged prick further into her mouth. “Maomao, nngh, I-I can’t…!” She refused to budge, latching on like a leech, sucking him until he sprayed his issue where she’d intended—deep down her throat.
She had swallowed it. All of it.
“Thank you for the meal,” Maomao said, wiping her mouth with a nearby scrap of waste paper. “It was delicious.”
“Ugh.” Jinshi rolled over, unwilling to face her for the time being. A myriad of complex emotions swirled within him, including deep-seated inadequacy. Naturally, he was sulking.
“Was it that bad?”
“No.”
“Are you upset?”
“……… No.” A warmth sneaked up behind him, and thin arms wrapped around his body, ones belonging to his wife who enjoyed nestling her head against his back. Jinshi sighed, releasing what little tension he had left. “I’m guessing that’s it for the night.”
“That’ll be all for the next five nights,” she said. “At the minimum.”
Well, that was to be expected.
This bears mentioning: Jinshi was no monk.
Let’s make that doubly clear: Jinshi did not possess the disposition required to enjoy a life of celibacy. Not since he left the inner palace, and especially not since he had a taste of her. And after that night, his latent longing only grew in severity.
‘At least five days’—that was how long he’d been advised to avoid night-time activities. He understood the healing process, but contrary to good sense, he flirted with the idea of ruining her even more. Maomao had not forbidden sharing a bed, but she had a nasty habit of rolling towards him as she slept. Due to this quirk, their chaste nights together involved her body pressing against his and her limbs wrapping around his waist. Maintaining abstinence became aggravating, and by the fourth day, he had taken to refusing her presence entirely.
Initially, he hoped to let her recuperate. As the five days apart turned into ten, he squandered the opportunity to ask her back. Before he knew it, fifteen days had passed since he last held his wife. He still saw her at meals, and they did share the odd conversation or two in passing, but outside of those encounters, Jinshi made a concerted effort to avoid being alone with Maomao.
Yes.
This was for the best.
She likely found him a chore to deal with, anyway. While he may have loved her, that did not mean the same applied to her. Quite the calculating woman, Maomao must have had her own reasons for accepting him after all those years, none of which denoted mutual feelings.
Jinshi knew all this, but despite harbouring those feelings, he found himself pacing outside his wife’s chambers late one evening.
Like some kind of perverted prowler.
It didn’t take long to spot her, idly grinding up the herbs she adored, a towel draped over her shoulders. Her eyes seemed vacant, and her hands acted on muscle memory. Even with her dampened hair, she was irresistible, and as she gazed absentmindedly out the window, her eyes struck the ones gazing in. If not for the tenuous fetters of self-restraint, Jinshi would have jumped through the narrow opening and devoured her right there and then.
But he dared not hold her while harbouring such wicked thoughts.
“Good evening, Jinshi-sama.” No matter how often he heard her speak, he never tired of that dry cadence. “What brings you here?”
“I’m just…” Finding a plausible answer proved challenging. “Taking a stroll.”
“Ehhh? At this hour? Aren’t you cold?”
“Yeah. A bit.”
Maomao put her yagen aside and glanced around. “Would you like to come inside then?” She had invited him into a space indisputably her own, albeit still within his residence. Even so, was there room for him amid her hobbies? And more importantly…
“Are you aware of the implications?” He tried searching for a motive behind the invite in her expression, but he perceived nothing in the calm face staring at him. Should he be more explicit? “You’re inviting a man… into your room… at night.”
“No, I’m inviting Jinshi-sama into my room… at night. But,” she said, narrowing her gaze, “you’re free to interpret it however you like.” And there it was again—that slight smirk—the one that felt like she was taunting him, and he could only roll around in her palm. Was he not also a man, or did their recent time apart preclude her from considering that fact?
This sort of idle chatter continued for quite some time. It was pleasant. If he could keep a tight-fitting lid on his lechery, maybe the couple could co-exist like this, sharing each other’s company, as close friends do. Neither he nor his wife would need to worry about his carnal desires if he could satiate his needs with pleasant conversation. Alas, Jinshi was greedy and grew weary of speaking to her through a window. “I think I'll take you up on that offer.”
Her eyes briefly widened in confusion before returning to their default half-closed state.
“Understood,” she replied.
After marriage, one’s residence typically sees an increase in serving staff brought in to accommodate the new spouse. For Maomao’s chambers, in particular, the newly hired personnel consisted of married (or soon-to-be-married) women. It was these women who began scurrying to tidy up upon realizing the Imperial Brother’s arrival.
Jinshi seldom visited. Why would he when calling Maomao over was just as effective? Because of this rarity, her abode may as well have been another apothecary, what with how the scent of medicinal herbs permeated throughout the building.
The maidservants ushered him into an antechamber where he was urged to wait in a chair. Despite informing them that there was no need for all the fuss, the women heeded no such remarks. They likely viewed Maomao’s appearance as unfit for receiving a member of the imperial family. All the same, it wasn’t long before they scurried back out, one saying, “Please feel free to enter now,” before rejoining the others in waiting outside the bedchamber.
Inside her room, the medicinal scents mingled with incense to create a heady, almost noxious aroma. Herbs, hung out to dry, lined her walls, contributing to the otherworldly atmosphere. Maomao herself sat on a modest-sized bed at the far end of the room, visible only as a silhouette beyond the simple décor.
“I told them it wasn’t necessary,” she said, pushing the bed’s curtain aside. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, after all.”
What nonsense is she spouting now?
His wife’s attire was nothing short of erotic. Illuminated by the wavering candlelight, the swell of her breasts pushed taut against the thin front covering. A sheer robe dangled off her pale shoulders, alluding to her narrow waist and subtle hips. All in all, tantalizing. He may as well have imagined it, but her cheeks looked a tad flushed. She wasn’t one to feel embarrassed in such apparel, but perhaps the attention her handmaidens paid to her made her uncomfortable.
As Jinshi stood transfixed at the doorway, Maomao arose and moved towards him. With every step forward, her garment shifted, tempting the man with what lay hidden just further up, where her exposed legs met. At a closer distance, he noticed the rouge applied to the corners of her downcast eyes, as well as her lips—lips that resembled a legendary fruit forbidden to taste. She never looked up at him. Was she wary of how his eyes traced every inch of her body? After all, one need not have special proclivities to be ensnared by her appearance.
“Um,” she spoke up, breaking his trance, “would you like some tea?” She then gestured over to a table near her bed, whereupon a teapot and two cups were placed.
“Is this…?” Jinshi picked up a cup, eyeing the contents. With this sort of mood, it wouldn’t surprise him if she tried to drug him with stimulants again.
“It’s not an aphrodisiac,” Maomao said, taking a sip herself. “I barely escaped Suiren-sama’s punishment last time.” To refer to a handmaiden so respectfully, let alone the notion of one punishing his lawful wife, would be absurd in any other scenario. But this was Jinshi’s palace, and even if it were his wife, his elderly handmaiden would be strict in such matters. “It’s just the usual. For a restful sleep.”
“Do you drink it often?” Jinshi asked, sipping from his own cup.
“As of late, yes. Seems like I, too, cannot sleep alone.” Those words were uttered without sparing a glance in his direction.
How unfair. He was trying to hold back (for her sake), and yet, she lured him into her room, seated him on her bed, dressed like that, saying things like that. “Maomao,” he had to ask. “Why did you invite me here?”
‘Do you want to be with me?’ was what he wanted to inquire but felt unable to.
“… We didn’t finish,” she mumbled.
“Finish what?”
“… Every trick in the book.” Somehow, her voice was even fainter than before. “We’re ten days behind.”
Completely unfair.
Jinshi took another swig of tea, and a familiar, slightly bitter taste flooded his mouth.
