The palanquin wound through the palace, but as it neared another hall, Jian slowed his steps, signaling the bearers to ease their pace.
This didn't escape Ren, who opened his eyes, instantly recognizing the place. He glanced at the ever-deferential Jian and said, "Acting on your own, what's your crime?"
"This servant deserves death!"
Jian dropped to his knees, kowtowing loudly.
"Three months' salary docked."
Though framed as punishment, it was a light tap. Ren stepped down, gazing at the brightly lit hall ahead. Through the curtains, the slightly ajar door seemed to beckon someone's arrival.
This was Yu's residence.
Jian had taken a risk, guiding the palanquin here. It could've been deemed treason, enough to ruin him or spark suspicion. But he'd gambled right.
Ren didn't blame him.
More importantly, Jian had seen tonight that Ren's patience and affection for Mei were gone. As his servant, it was time to back a new mistress.
Pushing open the door, Ren heard a sultry, enchanting voice. Through the dazzling light of lanterns and night pearls, past layers of sheer, misty curtains and fluttering silk ribbons, he glimpsed a figure. The hall's corners held warm braziers, incense drifting lazily. Even in midwinter, it felt like spring, a sudden heat rising within him.
Beyond the cascading veils stood a breathtaking woman, her sheer gown barely concealing her exquisite, curvaceous form. Her dark hair danced with her movements, her full breasts, slender waist, and plump hips a vision of perfection.
Her seductive eyes hooked his burning, lustful heart. Even through the veils, he swore he could feel her pulse, rapid and loud.
He hurriedly parted the curtains, but with a teasing laugh, she retreated a step. They chased each other through the hall, a playful game of hide-and-seek.
"Beloved!"
At last, he caught her, pinning her to the floor. His eyes blazed with desire and delight as he held Yu tight. His hands roamed her snow-white skin beneath the thin fabric, kneading her soft, elastic breasts, feeling the tender, rosy tips through his palms. He squeezed and rubbed, sliding down to tug at her flimsy skirt.
The texture was silky, smooth as water yet tangible, like milk with form. A gentle pinch lifted it, and it snapped back with perfect elasticity, clinging to her sleek legs.
Looking down, his eyes widened, his groin throbbing, his breath ragged.
Her flawless legs were clad in semi-sheer black silk stockings, long and shapely, her dainty feet wrapped in the fabric, mysterious and alluring. The fine weave of spider and silkworm threads formed a perfect lattice, a hazy, tempting beauty.
The stockings hugged her feet and accentuated her legs' curves, ending at her white thighs, the contrast with the glossy black far more enticing than bare skin.
"Your Majesty..."
Yu's eyes shimmered with allure, her face a mix of coyness and provocation.
"Where'd you get these?"
He couldn't stop touching the stockings, stroking and squeezing, panting as he asked.
"Last time Wally came to court, he bought them from the Golden Yuan Merchant Guild." Yu didn't dodge the question. She knew he'd find out easily if he cared to.
"That fat Wally?"
He recalled the timid, lecherous merchant. Who'd have thought that crude oaf had access to such treasures? The Golden Yuan Merchant Guild's survival under Ming clearly wasn't just about money.
"Your Majesty... do you like them?"
"Love them!"
He gripped Yu's plump rear, drawing a breathy moan from her. The stockings amplified her legs' bounce and feel, making them irresistible.
Her arms looped around his neck, her breath hot and teasing against his cheek. Her stocking-clad legs clamped around his waist, her body hanging onto him, her head resting on his shoulder as she whispered, "Your Majesty, love me well..."
With that, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
….
"Achoo!"
A sneeze broke the morning stillness as sunlight streamed through the window, warming the room. Opening the door for fresh air, a gust of cold wind made Elder Mu shiver.
The sky was still dim, caught between dawn and dusk, though the horizon glowed with the first light of day.
Though Qing had improved his life, dressing him warmly for winter nights, he was still old, and the chill bit deep.
He hadn't forgotten his task. Qing had put him in charge of her meals. Ignoring his usual morning urge to relieve the half-congealed load from his stiff erection tenting his loose pants, he hobbled to prepare her breakfast.
Elder Mu planned a pot of porridge. In the kitchen, eyeing the fine cookware Qing had somehow gotten from the imperial stores, he felt a surge of energy. He washed the pot, filled it with water, rinsed rice and vegetables, and stacked clean firewood in the stove, lighting it to cook.
Soon, smoke curled upward, filling the air. He deftly sliced fish, heated oil, and sautéed ginger, garlic, and onions for aroma. Adding finely shredded meat and fish, he stir-fried with sauce, salt, and spices until the scent made his mouth water.
He cleaned three small fish, gutting and scaling them, soaking them in salt and soy sauce to mask the fishiness. Pouring extra oil into the pan, he coated the fish in flour and fried them in sizzling heat until golden, flipping them evenly with no burns. Scooping them out, he drained the oil, plated them, and sprinkled sauce and scallions, the fragrance filling the room.
With the side dishes done, the porridge bubbled, thick and white, its rice scent wafting out, making his stomach growl.
Checking the time, it wasn't yet time to deliver Qing's meal. He ladled himself a bowl of porridge, pairing it with leftover scraps from the vegetables, eating heartily before helping himself to another.
Sated, he savored the fullness.
He couldn't quite recall how he'd learned to cook so well. Years of torment and the voices in his head had eroded his memory and identity, even his name. He vaguely remembered cooking for others long ago, earning praise. Perhaps before Yong Row, he'd worked in the imperial kitchens.
As the saying goes, a full belly stirs lustful thoughts. With Qing's breakfast ready and time to spare, Elder Mu's pent-up desire surged, his swollen sack aching from a night without release. Glancing around to ensure he was alone, he shuffled to his room, flopped onto the bed, and yanked down his pants.
A monstrous, purplish-red cock sprang free, swinging heavily before standing rigid. Thick veins pulsed along its shaft, the engorged flesh hard as iron. Nearly thirty centimeters long and seven or eight thick, it was a terrifying python of a thing. The bulbous head swelled larger, its groove stark, throbbing with life as a few drops of last night's semen mixed with clear fluid oozed from the slit.
His gnarled, claw-like hand gripped it, slick with precum, the shaft wider than his palm. He squeezed tight, his bony fingers pressing the veined ridges, sending jolts of pleasure through him. He stroked harder, tugging upward, pulling the taut skin and patchy gray pubes along with it.
Pinching the massive head, too big for his hand to fully cover, he watched it twitch and pulse between his fingers. A sharp downward pull stretched the foreskin, exposing the groove and veins in stark relief, the fist-sized head grotesque and fearsome.
Such a colossal cock on this withered, ugly old man, half in the grave, was jarring. His gaunt frame showed every rib, as if all his flesh had gathered in that monstrous organ.
It thrust upward as his massive balls tightened and swelled, trembling with fresh seed. His eyes glazed over, the figure haunting his dreams drawing closer, her moonlit, serene gaze locking with his in his mind.
The urge to cum built, a tingling in his loins. He gritted his teeth, stroking faster until his urethra felt like a dam bursting. With a shred of sense, he staggered to the vat of thick semen he kept, opened it, and aimed his swollen cock, now thicker than before.
The slit gaped, unleashing a torrent of countless sperm. The stench was overpowering, the white, gluey mess laced with jelly-like clumps from the first few spurts, surging into the already brimming vat.
Staring at the frothy, bubbling surface, Elder Mu's mind wandered.
That pot of porridge... wasn't it just like this vat of cum?
Both white and thick, one dotted with rice and fragrant, the other reeking of musk and teeming with sperm.
If he mixed some in...
He recalled the thrill of dripping a drop into rice once, the ecstasy keeping him up, jerking off thrice before sleep.
A whole pot of porridge with more... she wouldn't notice, right?
He shook his head, guilt creeping in, but then reasoned Qing was kind and forgiving.
He'd cum in front of her so many times, even twice splattering her divine face and hair with his seed.
A little in her porridge... she'd probably accept it, right?
With that, he pinched his cock, holding back the rest of his load, pulled up his pants, and limped to the kitchen. Nervously shutting the doors and windows, he ensured no one was near, then dropped his pants again, freeing his cum-stuffed cock.
Pfft!
Releasing his grip, the twitching shaft fired off several cannon-like blasts of thick, foul semen into the pristine porridge.
One shot.
Pfft!
Two shots.
Pfft!
Three shots.
Three hefty loads of sticky, stinking cum merged with the porridge, blending seamlessly. But the smell betrayed it, rice fragrance clashing with musk into a bizarre odor filling the room.
Elder Mu sniffed, grabbed a ladle, and stirred vigorously. The rice and sperm melded under his efforts, the stench fading. He sniffed again, nodding in satisfaction.