"And you have too long followed the same path to the same failure. When will you change?"
He was right. Slowly, she let her hands drop to her lap. "Auntie Ting," she finally said.
"Auntie Ting—the woman who owns a brothel?"
Shi Po nodded.
"You took your early training from that bitter old toad?"
She felt her back straighten as she lashed out. "She knows more about pleasure than any man or woman I know."
He grimaced. "She also knows about perversion and sickness." He leaned forward, his words harsh. "I will not cause you pain. There is enough agony in life; why would one deliberately inflict it?"
"Because... because..." She had no reason for her actions. None beyond what she had already said.
Auntie Ting had taught her the practice and the reason when she was still a young girl, barely fifteen. She had not looked further than that.
Kui Yu continued to press her, delving into things she had never questioned. Things that no one had ever questioned. "Is there no sensation when I squeeze lightly?" he asked.
She shook her head. "There is..." How to explain? "There is no pain. No dulling of the experience. Only an excitement that builds."
His lips curved. "Isn't that good?"
"Without pain, how will I have the distance to control the experience?"
He arched a single questioning eyebrow. "Do you need to control it?"
"I have to ride the Tigress. How else can I get to Heaven?"
"Perhaps the Tigress dislikes the pain."
"Perhaps the Tigress will not obey otherwise," she challenged. "Have you ever seen a horse ridden without a crop? An ox led without a nose ring? Or a goose without a stick?"
He shook his head. "You are not a dumb beast, Shi Po. And pain was never a good motivator for one of intelligence."
She almost laughed at that. Imagine the stupidity of one who would discipline without pain. Except, of course, he had never beaten their children. He'd rarely even raised his voice. And they responded to him nonetheless. True, their children also leapt to obey her, but the greater respect went to her husband.
"You have always been gentle," she realized in a murmur. And revered because of it.
"Pain will not take you to Heaven," he said. He reached out and stroked the top of her breasts in a manner not dictated by the texts. "Let us try it my way and see what happens."
She knew what would happen. She knew the power of painless caresses. Had she not conceived three children with him? Had she not lost herself in his yang just last night? But there was nowhere for her to run, and no way to dissuade him. So with a trembling that began low in her belly, she took a deep breath and lifted her chin.
"Without the pain, how will I control myself?"
"I will hold you," he answered. "I will keep you safe."
Then he began. He pressed his fingers to the center of her chest, and she felt his heat quicken the beat of her heart. His hands stroked over the tops of her breasts, down their sides and then beneath, always spiraling in, always firm enough to heat her body, but not hard enough to hurt. All too soon she gave up comparing his spirals to her usual stroke. Kui Yu was ever his own person.
She tried to fight his seductive touch. The yin needed to be controlled in order to be ridden. But not this time. Not when his hands widened, touching more and more of her breasts. He surrounded her. He heated her. And he drew her purified yin to a boil.
Or so she named it. In truth, there was no burning, only heat. There was no crushing weight, only pleasure. Her breath began to rasp in her throat, not because he frightened her, but because she suppressed moans of pleasure.
Then he touched her nipples. No pinch, no twist; he gave a gentle tug, as if he were pulling on the yin river itself. He widened its boundaries and drew it up to meet his yang.
Shi Po felt her mouth go slack on a gasp. She could not breathe without his touch. She could not feel anything but him. And she could not think at all.
"Release to me," he murmured, even as he began his spiral again. Wider, then narrowing. Gentle, only to make her sob.
Why was this so hard? Why did she fight this escape? She wanted to open herself up, to simply enjoy without control, to ride without restraint. But still her muscles clenched and trembled. She fought what he did to her. She was facing him, her fists resting on her thighs. But now she extended her hands, needing to hold him, needing to ground herself.
She stroked a character on his leg without thought, an answer to her questions:
Fear.
He stopped his movements. Her breasts were full and hungry, and the yin river pounded in her heart and mind. Her husband lifted his hand and touched her cheek, wiping away the tears she hadn't known were there. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, murmuring nonsense words against her mouth. She had no idea what he said, and no mind to interpret if she had. All she knew was his touch and his gentleness.
And her fears eased.
"Take it," she whispered. "The yin is too strong. Take it."
He drew back to search her face, but she grabbed his wrists and pulled him closer.
"More," she said, as she placed his hands fully on her breasts. "Now."
Then she guided him, not in the spirals he had been making, but in the way of a man massaging an aching muscle or stretching a twisted cord. Part of her still wanted the pain, but she ruthlessly suppressed that. And as Kui Yu lifted and shaped her breasts, she leaned back on the pallet. He followed, stretching over her.
"Take it," she said again. "I cannot hold it all." The yin tide was too full, the surging ocean too overwhelming. Soon she would drown in it if he did not help her.
He did. Fortunately, he didn't require explanation, because she had no breath to tell him, only the arch of her back and the frantic plea of her hands on his face, his neck, and broad shoulders.
"Please," she murmured, as he lowered his head.
He expanded his grip to use his entire hand to hold each breast. Then, slowly, he pressed his fingers in just hard enough to make her moan, and drew his stroke up. He narrowed his fingers and pulled inevitably to a nipple.
Then he took that nipple into his mouth.
Her womb convulsed, and the yin tide surged. She bucked on the pallet. It was a harsh, abrupt movement that dislodged Kui Yu, and she cried out at the loss.
He came back to her, but not quickly enough. She tightened her hold on his shoulders and maneuvered him to lie on top of her. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her cinnabar cave into his hips.
Again and again she ground her pelvis against him, and the yin pulsed with every push.
"Now," she gasped. "Take it now."
He did. He put his lips to her left nipple and began to suck. On the right breast, his hand pulled and kneaded in time with his mouth. And both joined in the rhythmic push and pull of her hips.
The yin began to flow in earnest. The deepest cavern and fastest rush of such a river came from the center of her womb. It flowed upward in a straight line to where Kui Yu's tongue lapped and circled her nipple. His lips kept the suction strong and the nipple distended in his mouth, but it was the yin river that joined them together and made them one body, one flow of power. Shi Po's inner muscles contracted, lifting and pushing as a pump, and she thrust toward him to disgorge her power into his mouth, his body, and therefore his spirit.
Shi Po did not mourn the loss of yin. She had too much, and he too little. This was her gift to him even as the fullness of her river was his gift to her. There was no riding this yin Tigress, no controlling the flow, only an overwhelming thrusting into her husband. She was subsumed in the yin river, and she poured herself into him. Easily. Beautifully. And with such an ecstasy of energy that for a moment she became her own yin. She was no longer Shi Po, no longer his wife or General Kang's prisoner. She was simply an eternal female power, pulsing with life as she emptied into him.
Many times she thought she finished. A woman could only have
so much yin; a body could only contain so much. But there was always more. As Kui Yu shifted to her other breast, there was more. And again and again.
At last, her body faltered. The river did not end, but her limbs could no longer pull, her womb could no longer writhe. And yet, still the energy moved, the river remained. It flowed endlessly as she floated upon it, borne away and reborn.
Kui Yu kissed her breasts, her shoulders, her chin, and her mouth. His body was heavy upon her, his eyes dazed when he took in her features. He knew they were still connected. She could see the wonder shimmering in his eyes.
Then the strangest thing happened. Never before had she heard of such a thing, and yet it was right. Her yin searched for another outlet, another means of expression. It found it in her mouth and her heart:
She laughed.
* * *
Kui Yu looked down at his wife's serene face, still stunningly beautiful even slack-jawed in sleep. She had laughed. Shi Po had laughed, and not in the suppressed titter typical of Chinese women, not even the giggle of a young girl, but in a deep belly laugh that had filled the room. The sound was rich and expressive and still echoed in his mind. Joy—pure and overflowing.
It was a wonder. And a miracle. And he had no idea what it meant.
Had she become an Immortal? He hadn't thought so, but then he was only two days into this bizarre practice.
He sat back and dropped his head against the cold, stone wall. Damn, he was stiff. His shoulders ached from supporting his weight while his wife writhed beneath him. His mouth and jaw felt tight, but mostly his dragon was rock-hard and hungry. His body didn't care that Shi Po had dropped into an exhausted sleep; it smelled her in the air and knew she was wet and soft, and a bare handbreadth away. He wanted her, and in a most painfully insistent way.
And he was supposed to withhold release forever? Yes, because that's what dragons did. He had read it quite clearly in the sacred texts: He was to keep his fluids inside at all times or risk losing a year of his life.
Frankly, a year of life in this state wasn't worth keeping.
His gaze drifted back to his wife. What would he give to feel such joy as she pursued, even for a moment? What would he do to return to Heaven once again?
He shook his head. Hers was a bizarre religion, one he had secretly scorned for years. He hadn't cared, so long as she was happy. Who would have thought that these women had found the pathway to Heaven through sex? Ridiculous! And yet he could not deny his experiences or his wife's serenity.
He sighed, his breath temporarily clearing the fetid air. But then the stale prison scents returned, only partially masked by what he and Shi Po had done. His gaze traveled to the door and the narrow view of the hallway beyond the barred window. He needed to get out of here. He had business ventures that needed his attention. He had sons to care for and a son-in-law to watch. And he had a wife who was changing before his eyes—one day threatening suicide, the next overwhelming him with her happiness.
But how to escape? Protests would not serve. Their guard would not break General Kang's order, not even with the promise of an exorbitant bribe. What recourse did a Han merchant have against a Manchurian general? None.
Which meant he and his wife were stuck here, with nothing but the certainty that they were being watched and the faint hope that Shi Po's brother would forsake his drinking and whoring long enough to render some aid. Kui Yu almost laughed out loud at that thought. Instead, he released a frustrated grunt and lay down beside Shi Po.
Settling himself around her, he tucked her close, her back to his chest, her bottom heating and torturing his throbbing dragon.
Odd, he realized as he closed his eyes, he didn't mind so much. His discomfort was a small price to pay to have his wife in his arms again, to have joy spill from her spirit into him. Even this incarceration was an acceptable price.
Assuming, of course, it didn't go on much longer. Assuming, as well, that Shi Po remained full of joy, and did not succumb to the crushing depression of their situation.
Assuming, as well, that controlling his yang did not kill him.
August 2, 1880
Friend Kui Yu,
My sister is not the untouched bud you imagine. She is a poisoned creature with a vile tongue and large, ugly feet. Whoever is cursed with her as a bride will suffer eternal poverty and daily recriminations.
In honesty,
Lun Po
* * *
August 3, 1880
Lun Po—
I will meet this termagant. Or I will find and beat you for your slander. Thursday afternoon in the park where we used to play.
Kui Yu
One day, a teacher fell asleep during class. After waking up, he said to his students, "I dreamt of Prince Zhou."
The next day, one of his students fell asleep in class. The teacher woke him with a whack of his wooden stick, saying, "How dare you fall asleep in class!"
The student said, "I dreamt of Prince Zhou, too!"
"What did he say to you?"
"He said that he didn't meet you yesterday."
Chapter 11
Kui Yu was awake when the guards changed. Indeed, he was awake most of the time now. One day's lying about had more than made up for the interrupted night's sleep, and by the eighth day, he was out of his mind with irritation at his lack of activity.
He and Shi Po's only source of information was when the guards greeted each other and gossiped about the world. He knew more than he wanted about one soldier's corns and the other's aching tooth; the men discussed their bodily functions with the frankness of age and long acquaintance.
But neither guard had the slightest idea when the General would return, or what was happening in Peking, or any news that would ease the growing panic in Kui Yu's heart. So Kui Yu and Shi Po sat in the darkness and listened to nothing.
They spoke little but practiced much. There was nothing else to do. And that made Kui Yu even more irritable. One day with a rock-hard dragon was uncomfortable; four were excruciatingly painful. After a week, the slightest twitch set his yang fire to pulsing. He didn't dare walk. Indeed, he wondered if he could stand, so intense was his need.
Shi Po understood his condition. At home, she had herbs to ease his pain, special teas to soothe the yang fire. And he would have had privacy to break training and ease his torment. (Indeed, he was convinced that most young dragons did exactly that.) But he was trapped in a cell with his wife, a woman growing more beautiful, more lighthearted, with every passing day.
He hadn't a clue how she managed it. She cared nothing for their miserable conditions, the hideous food, or even the vermin that nightly visited their cell. Her only thought was for practice, and when not spent with him, she meditated in a joyful stillness. If anything, their incarceration was an aid to her, because it had ended all the distractions of teaching and household management that frittered away her time.
In short, he was amazed by her even as he was eaten by jealousy.
How dare she find joy in this deplorable situation? How could she embrace captivity with such grace? And why was she allowed to find her yin release with every touch while he had to hold his dragon back, feeling it swell with frustration and pain?
She had offered once to relieve his ache. She knew how difficult was his path, but it was the path of the Jade Dragon, and Kui Yu had decided he would not abandon it. Not because it would take him to Heaven, and not even because there was nothing else to do in this devil pit; but because, for the first time in his life, his wife seemed proud. And she looked truly happy.
And he would do nothing to upset that, not even release his seed and end his agony.
He sighed, and his wife stirred from her meditation. She was sitting on the pallet, her legs folded beneath her, her body still as a statue. Even as she opened her eyes, the rest of her remained frozen, not softening even for speech.
He turned away, his bitter gaze fixed on the door. "They ought to give you clothes," he growled.
It was hi
s most frequent complaint: that his wife remained garbed in her ripped blouse and torn skirt. No matter what she did, both gaped open, revealing her flesh. She only wore the rags for warmth.
He had demanded new clothing for them, of course, but the guards ignored him. He daily offered her his own pants and shirt, but she claimed complete ease with her nakedness. Indeed, she said, it made some aspects of practice easier.
But it also meant his wife's charms were constantly before him. Her breasts bobbed a hand's-breadth away, her tattooed tigress too. He smelled her musky scent with every breath, saw her high-pointed breasts with every glance, and could touch her cinnabar cave whenever his dragon madness seized him. And he did, foolishly trusting his strength of will.
But he did not have faith in his will today. Today, the yang fire burned with white-hot power. So he turned his head to stare at the door and grumbled nonsense, while his wife watched him with an aggravating stillness.
He banged his head backward against the stone wall. It felt so good, he did it again. Then again. And again. He had no understanding of why, he just did it. And with every impact, he released a small measure of frustration.
"Stop, Kui Yu." His wife's voice was gentle, filled with peace.
It made him slam his head against the wall even harder.
"Kui Yu, enough!"
He flinched, embarrassed, but his dragon was riding him hard and he could not stop himself. Pain in the head was infinitely preferable to what tortured him every other moment of this incarceration.
"Kui Yu!" Her hand interfered, pushing between his skull and the wall. He had to stop or risk smashing her fingers.
"Leave me be, wife," he warned. "I am in an ill mood."
"Your yang has built up to the level of insanity, husband," she replied. "You must abandon this foolishness."
He whipped around and glared at her. "This is what your religion teaches, is it not? This is what all young dragons go through, is it not? To contain their power? To grow greater with every breath?"
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 76
