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Everyone is gathered for a cultivation conference, and in a quiet hallway just a little out of the way, there is a wall, and in the wall is a shapely bum and a nice pair of legs beneath a cheerful little sign that reads:
Free hole, please enjoy!
Nie Mingjue pauses at the tempting display. He can sense no sign that this is a trap.
It's been awhile since he indulged, and the demands of leadership are always great, so he shrugs and grips a plush buttock in each hand, parting them to inspect the offered hole. It is a clean little furl, glistening with oil but not yet looking used, and Nie Mingjue smiles to himself that he will be the first to enjoy this most curious guest accommodation.
He teases playfully up and down the crack, and the hips wriggle towards him, eager. "You've been waiting awhile, haven't you?" he chuckles. Whether the person on the other side can hear him, he does not know. Still, they're hitching their hips towards him, not away, and the sign said to enjoy, so Nie Mingjue takes his cock out and does just that.
He sinks into a gorgeous tight heat, slick enough to press right in but not yet sloppy, and lets out a low moan. The silky inner walls grip him snugly, and the round cheeks part so nicely on either side of his cock, so Nie Mingjue lets himself be a little selfish. He hikes the hips up until the toes at the end of those long, muscled legs are barely touching the floor and sets a punishing pace, thrusting fast and hard and enjoying the way that perfectly plump ass jiggles every time his hips slap when he bottoms out.
He's enjoying it too much to slow down—and not especially eager to be caught indulging—so it isn't long before he's grinding deep and spilling into this nice little hole. He pulls out slowly, spreading the cheeks wide again and savoring the curl of satisfaction in his belly at how the hole is now flushed and a little puffy. A dribble of come slides down the crack, and he scoops it up with his thumb to push it back in. Then he tucks himself away and gives the ass a pat.
Who'd have guessed the Lans could be such generous hosts?
Sect Leaders Yao and Ouyang—who surely have courtesy names, but alas, the tales have not passed them down—are having a friendly argument when they wander into the little out-of-the-way hallway. (The nature of the argument does not much matter, to our story or to them; it's merely the rhythm of the song of their long and genuine friendship.)
They notice the bum, in its welcoming frame, and exchange a curious glance. This would hardly be the first time they've shared, though never quite like this. Sect Leader Yao looks around, to see if perhaps there might be a mouth on the other side of the wall, but the corridor appears to be a construct, and it would hardly be good manners to go tearing it down looking for more than what was already generously offered by their hosts.
Sect Leader Ouyang shrugs. "After you then?" he offers.
"How kind of you," replies his friend, approaching the tempting tush and opening his robes. "Oh, someone's been here," he observes, feeling the sticky-slick catch of the soft hole against the head of his cock.
"Not surprising," says Sect Leader Ouyang, reaching in to squeeze the flesh of a cheek approvingly. "Cute little ass like this, so nicely presented—I'm sure it'll be a mess by the end of the day."
"Let's do our part, then!" Sect Leader Yao declares, and he thrusts in with enthusiasm.
A curious fact Sect Leader Ouyang has observed about his best friend over the years is that he truly never stops talking. Sect Leader Yao keeps up a constant commentary as he pumps in and out, praising the quality of the proffered ass, the pleasant surprise of finding it… and, of course, himself. After a respectable amount of time has passed, he cuts off mid-word with a low, satisfied grunt and curls over the ample hips to rest his forehead on the wall and catch his breath. He straightens up, pulls out, and gives the ass a firm slap, then offers his position to Sect Leader Ouyang with a flourish.
Sect Leader Ouyang is pleased to find that his friend's commentary was accurate—the hole is a fine one indeed, sloppy with oil and a few loads of spend, but pleasantly snug nonetheless, walls clinging blood-hot around his dick as little shudders run through the body beneath him. It’s nice, he thinks, to take a break from politicking and negotiating and just enjoy such a simple pleasure. He pinches the skin where the ass curves into thighs, making the hips jerk and the hole clench tight around him.
"Nice, isn't it?" Sect Leader Yao asks, and Sect Leader Ouyang smiles to himself, knowing how the rest of this encounter will go. Sure enough, Sect Leader Yao keeps up a running commentary as Sect Leader Ouyang fucks the delightful derriere, the familiar cadence of his friend's voice a pleasant accompaniment to the slap of his hips against the other’s and the squelch of his dick plunging in and out of the messy hole. When he's close, he pinches the tender thighs some more and lets the way the hole clamps down on him milk his orgasm out in satisfying spurts.
He admires the marks they left, redness blooming in the shape of Sect Leader Yao's palm and his own fingers to match the puffy red he sees when he spreads the cheeks wide to inspect the twitching hole once more.
"Now there's a well-used hole," Sect Leader Yao declares. Sect Leader Ouyang agrees.
Wen Qing is looking for a quiet place to calm her nerves when she slips away from the tense negotiations at the conference. She's glad, of course, that she was able to secure amnesty for non-combatants due to her and her brother's defection and service to the Sunshot Campaign, but there are still so many who would see anyone with the surname Wen stamped out. She's just hoping this out-of-the-way corridor is unoccupied, and she's certainly not expecting to be confronted with a marked up—though still perky-looking—ass. Intrigued by this surprising tableau, she approaches the rear end to investigate.
"I'm going to touch you," she says, her doctor's habits too ingrained to break whether the person in the wall can hear her or not. In either case, the hips press back eagerly as she slowly runs her hands over the exposed flanks, admiring the musculature and the scattered marks someone has left on the skin. She traces down the spine, noting the ribs are a little more prominent than she'd like to see in one of her own patients, but otherwise the body seems in good shape.
She wonders how long this person has been here in the wall, how many people so far have come by to take advantage of this unorthodox refreshment? There is a telltale shine of fluids on the insides of the thighs, and when Wen Qing nudges the legs wider apart, another little spurt of slick and spend slowly drips out from the softened, flushed pucker. "Oh, you have been having fun," she murmurs, tracing her fingers through the wetness and watching the way the body twitches and the hole flutters at the light, teasing touch.
She trails her fingers further down, over the messy taint and the hot, heavy balls, and finds a band of soft leather wrapped snugly around the base of the person's cock. She squats down to examine it more closely and senses that it's imbued with energy to provide a spiritual seal—no matter the stimulation, this person will be unable to come while wearing it. She considers the whole setup in light of this find and smirks. It's clever. And while she's a little disappointed she hadn't known to bring any of her cocks with her, she can still have some fun with this.
After all, the sign does not specify how guests ought to enjoy the offered hole.
Wen Qing straightens up to arrange the body to her liking—legs spread wide and hips bowed just so to put everything within reach. She rubs her hands all over the meaty buttocks and the strong thighs and the delicate places between them that she's exposed, watching the way goosebumps rise in anticipation as the skin warms. Her own breath is coming a little fast by the time she focuses her spiritual energy into her palm, pulls back, and lays her first slap on the plush asscheek opposite the faint handprint already there.
If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing right.
Wen Qing watches carefully to see how the body reacts. It jolts with her strike, legs closing on instinct, but then, as though the person in the wall has gathered their resolve, moves back into the position she'd placed it in.
"Oh, well done," she praises.
Wen Qing alternates blows all over the ass and thighs, enjoying the way the skin blooms red and the muscles twitch to hold their position, to stay open and receptive for her. It's thrilling. The alcove is well-constructed, she notes absently as she works—not a sound from the other side of the wall reaches her ears, nor does anyone come running to investigate the loud, rhythmic crack of flesh on tender flesh.
The body submits beautifully, bearing up under her blows even when she spanks across the red, raw hole, the delicate skin of the taint, or the tender flesh of the scrotum. The body's cock and balls sway with each slap, soft and pendulous, and she wonders how many orgasms the spelled leather has stopped so far today.
Her hands would be stinging without her use of spiritual energy, and the flesh is a deep, even red by the time Wen Qing is satisfied with her work. Wen crimson, she thinks amusedly, raking her blunt nails across the livid skin before sinking two fingers into the abused hole.
Inside is scorching hot, slick with oil and who knows how many men's come, and Wen Qing searches for that firm little gland with her fingertips. The hips jerk, startling out of position when she finds it, and Wen Qing grins.
She slips her other hand into her own robes and rubs at where she's soaked through her inner garment. She strokes across that sensitive spot inside the body in matching tight circles to the ones she draws over her throbbing clit, and when she comes, she presses her thumb hard against the body's hui yin accupoint, directing the energy of her orgasm to flow through the root of the body into its meridians. The cock jerks futilely, the binding keeping any of her shared jing from being spent in climax. Wen Qing lets her breathing and heartbeat return to normal, smiling as she traces the path of all the energy this body has absorbed today racing through its meridians like the first flood of spring through a dry riverbed.
She withdraws her hands and wipes the mess from both into the lurid marks she's left on those exposed cheeks. The body writhes at the touch against tender skin, and Wen Qing presses her fingertips into the bruised flesh once more, pleased with how the white of pressure looks against the bright red she's left behind. "We should do this again sometime," she says as she casts a cleaning charm on her hands and straightens her robes, fairly sure now she can be heard by her unseen partner. "You're more obedient than I'd have guessed."
Wen Qing returns to the discussions well refreshed.
The first few weren't bad. It was honestly a little exciting to feel unseen hands and cocks press in and fill him up, but by the time Sect Leader Fucking Yao was railing his ass while talking the whole time, Jiang Cheng was beginning to regret this whole hole idea.
Still, it was better than the horrifying scheme Wei Wuxian had first tried to pull. They'd fought about it—Jiang Cheng had yelled, jiejie had cried, the Wen siblings had very politely pretended they overheard nothing—and then the five of them had figured out a plan and marched to Qinghe together, Zidian on Jiang Yanli's wrist.
So when Wei Wuxian came to him with a new method to rebuild his burned-out core that would only cost him a few hours of discomfort and a little dignity, well, Jiang Cheng figured he had just enough left to spare.
Jiang Cheng does not want to think about how Wei Wuxian had managed to talk Lan Xichen into letting them set this up at the conference, nor exactly why there had already been a perfect alcove in which to construct the array. (And who knew the Lan library contained so many sex rituals?)
Jiang Cheng had not had, objectively, a lot of experience before this whole experiment, but he feels he's becoming something of a connoisseur throughout the day.
Many of his visitors are quiet, almost furtive, spreading his cheeks and fucking with a brisk efficiency that he can appreciate.
Some go for a long time, churning up his insides and making his knees weak as they pound into him in long, overwhelming strokes. (He has a terrible suspicion one of these may have been Lan Wangji, and he never, ever wants to know if he was right.)
Still others are chatty—like fucking Yao and Ouyang—calling him names or projecting their own lewd fantasies, and Jiang Cheng wonders if they realize he can recognize their voices. These aren't his favorite, but yang energy is yang energy, and Jiang Cheng passes the time by musing whether it's ethical to use these fascinating insights into certain people's fantasies to benefit jiejie's political maneuvering. (He recognizes Nie Huaisang's influence in this line of thinking and snickers, glad no one outside of his pocket nook can hear him.)
Wei Wuxian is a chatterer, of course, but Jiang Cheng already knows all his inane secrets.
Nie Huaisang somehow knows exactly who he's fucking and gives Jiang Cheng friendly updates on the day while he does. "I sent Da-ge this way earlier," he adds, when he’s done. "Didn't tell him why, of course. He's even better the other way—come visit sometime and you can try."
So there's that.
Lan Xichen, mortifyingly, stops by multiple times, always cheerfully announcing himself before thoroughly fingering more of that long-lasting slippery stuff into him and proceeding to drive him completely out of his head. Jiang Cheng is honestly impressed.
The good news—and the bad news, because it means Wei Wuxian will be insufferable—is that it's working. Jiang Cheng can feel the energy flowing in, more direct and raw than a healing transfer, and more to the point, he can feel it staying in his meridians, catching in his lower dantian and spinning up faster and tighter every time the godsforsaken magic cock ring stops another orgasm.
("It's not a magic cock ring!" Wei Wuxian had insisted. "It's a spiritual tool, based on proven designs the Lan Sect has used for dual cultivation rituals going back to Lan An, just... modified, a little, to work with the array we'll have you set up in." Semantics.)
Jiang Cheng’s sole request had been not to tell Wen Qing what they were doing, so when he hears her familiar voice say she's going to touch him, he freezes as all the blood drains from his face and makes a valiant effort to overcome the not-a-magic-cock-ring and get him hard. Still, he can't resist pushing back into her touch, holding the position she places him in and wondering what she's going to do to him.
The bright bloom of pain across his ass surprises him.
She's not the first person today to hit him, but this time he wants it.
It's not really what he's here for, and it won't really help, but he can be good for her anyway, he decides. He straightens back up and spreads his legs for her, ready to take whatever she'll give him.
She gives him pain and quiet praise, and it's bliss.
Jiang Cheng doesn't know how long he's been floating on the rhythm of her hands against his tender flesh when he feels the rake of nails against his skin. It feels like lines of fire, like possession, and he jerks when she presses fingers into him and rubs over that spot inside that sends sparks up his spine. He nearly weeps. He's so sensitive and overstimulated from being fucked all day, and she's smart—she has to have noticed the band and figured out what it's doing, so she must know this can't work.
Maybe she's just being mean.
(He probably shouldn't like that so much.)
Then he hears her breathy moan and feels a pressure against the very root of him followed by the now-familiar sensation of jing entering his body, enhanced by the array and flowing through his meridians, and he realizes what's happening. Wen Qing just came, and she's worked out a way to send her energy into him, even like this. He still can't come, but the rush of warmth and pleasure he feels is almost as good.
She wipes her hands off on him, the filth from his hole and the wetness from her own body, and he almost crawls out of his skin with the mortifying-wonderful-too-much of her satisfied groping at his tender flesh.
"We should do this again sometime," she says, and Jiang Cheng thinks he might die right then. "You're more obedient than I'd have guessed."
He takes it back—this is the best idea Wei Wuxian’s ever had.