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Luo Binghe’s appearance makes Shang Qinghua’s life only marginally more difficult. Her biggest offense so far has been her blatant, unrepentant stalking of Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua. There’s rarely a moment between the two that has not included Luo Binghe randomly walking by or ‘just so happening to be in the area.’ She follows them everywhere. Constantly calling Jiejie, Jiejie, Jiejie, like a broken record. Ah, couldn’t she call something else for once? Shang Qinghua is here too, you know! Why is Shen Yuan the only one Luo Binghe trails after like an innocent little lamb? I was the one who made you, Shang Qinghua thinks bitterly. Show your mother some respect! It just figures that her own creation would magically come to life and then ignore her in favor of someone hotter.
Shang Qinghua enters Luckin Coffee grumbling to herself. Another indignity, having to enter one of her jobs on a day off because she desperately needs their mobile coupon to work. How else is she supposed to power through this group project tonight? The one due tomorrow that all of her lazy, good-for-nothing groupmates left her to do by herself while they played sick, played the dead relative card, or just plain played around. The group member that keeps posting pictures at clubs and bars yet ignores Shang Qinghua’s WeChats is going to love it when she takes their name off the presentation and tattles to the professor. Oh, Shang Qinghua is going to tattle so hard. Once she finishes this project, they’ll see. They’ll all see. Shang Qinghua laughs evilly under her breath.
Then—a hand lands on her shoulder.
Shang Qinghua screams.
“Luo Binghe!” she hisses angrily. Because of course it’s her wayward daughter coming up from behind to scare the life out of her.
Luo Binghe smiles sweetly. “Good evening, Hua-jie.”
Shang Qinghua looks around the shop, ignoring the sudden warmth in her cheeks; everyone in line seems to be in their own worlds even after her little freak out. Still. “Don’t call me so familiarly. Only Shang-jiejie is appropriate in public.”
“So I can call you Hua-jie when it’s just us?” Luo Binghe tilts her head innocently.
Oh, she sees your maneuvers, Binghe. She sees right through them. “No, I didn’t say that.”
“Hua-jie, I have to call you something .”
Shang Qinghua steps forward in line without responding. Maybe she spoke too soon when she complained that Luo Binghe wasn’t paying enough attention to her. She shows the bored barista her order code and is handed a plain iced coffee. None of her usual shift-mates are here so no one to judge as she goes to the condiment station to dump gallons of sugar inside because she was too cheap to pay for add-ons. Luo Binghe watches her silently, hovering a little too close for comfort. Shang Qinghua takes a test sip and that’s when Binghe strikes.
“Should I call you Mommy instead?” Luo Binghe asks.
Shang Qinghua chokes on her iced coffee. “No!” She stares down in dismay at the coffee she’s spit all over the counter. “You did that on purpose, you awful girl. You’re killing me. You’re killing your mother. Fuck—ignore that last part.”
Luo Binghe laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, not gorgeous or stunning at all, no way. Shang Qinghua mops up the mess grumbling.
Shang Qinghua points seriously at Luo Binghe. “I mean it—don’t call me Mommy.”
“Or what?” Luo Binghe's smirk is goading. “You’ll punish me?”
Shang Qinghua power-walks out of the shop. Luo Binghe, of course, follows after her. Shang Qinghua leaves campus, she’s done with classes for the day, without acknowledging her add-on. She still doesn’t understand how Luo Binghe enrolled mid-way through the semester, let alone her schedule. Shang Qinghua suspected Luo Binghe just didn’t attend classes since she's always around. But the amount of strangers that come up and talk to Luo Binghe about assignments disproved this theory. Maybe it’s the protagonist's halo in effect? If Shang Qinghua thinks too hard about anything related to Luo Binghe, like which of her powers have transferred over, she’ll fall into another paranoid spiral. Those first weeks after Luo Binghe showed up and sat down at her table all casual, Shang Qinghua spent looking over her shoulder, jumping at every shadow, sleeping in shifts. If Luo Binghe was going to kill her, she at least wanted to see it coming.
Why else would Luo Binghe escape into the real world? Shang Qinghua definitely deserved this, didn’t she? She was the one behind all of Binghe’s suffering. A mastermind of misfortune. The vicious chapters she churned out while on her period alone—Shang Qinghua would beat the hell out of herself, too! A dismal childhood, a disciple under the overbearing thumb of Shen Qingqiu, an adolescence spent battling abominations in the abyss… And all as an out-of-this-world beauty. Shang Qinghua, of course, filled her world with rampant sexism and misogyny, too. The nearly all-female cast should also be given free reign to curb-stomp her.
Shang Qinghua had written up to Luo Binghe clawing her way out of the Abyss, wresting control of both worlds, and beginning a harem but then Shang Qinghua’s computer crashed and ate the entire outline. The emotional devastation—along with her workload—had stalled the novel indefinitely ever since. Her despair over the novel’s stall had nearly propelled her to rewrite everything as a straight, reverse harem novel with Luo Binghe as the sole female character. If only she’d written something then maybe Luo Binghe would still be in her story. Not here, walking Shang Qinghua home. Menacingly. Shang Qinghua looks up, up at her creation. Luo Binghe’s easily taller than most of the people they pass. She is not at all feeling faint about this.
“How’d you even find me?” Shang Qinghua finds herself asking.
“I always know where you and Jiejie are,” Luo Binghe replies cheerfully.
Shang Qinghua feels a shiver go down her spine. What the hell does that mean? Did Luo Binghe somehow place a tracking chip on them? Are her days numbered?
“I see…”
Luo Binghe’s eyes curve into ominous crescents. “Would you like to know how?”
“Oh, looks like we’ve arrived,” Shang Qinghua exclaims, changing the subject.
They come to a stop in front of her apartment building. Luo Binghe is standing almost expectantly.
“I’m going in alone,” Shang Qinghua says. She tries to project a firm, stern air. “Don’t follow me.”
Luo Binghe gives her an amused look. As if you could keep me out, it seems to say. At least pretend to listen, Shang Qinghua says back with exaggerated eyebrow motions. Allow your poor mother some face. Luo Binghe purses her lips, holding back a laugh.
“Good night, Hua-jie,” Luo Binghe says indulgently.
Shang Qinghua huffs at her blatant insincerity. “Good night.”
She walks through the automatic doors without looking back. Right as the doors shut, Binghe calls out, “Sweet dreams.”
✈️
Every time Shang Qinghua enters her apartment she swears it’s cleaner. This morning, she left a dirty bowl on the floor—her kitchen/dining/desk table had been occupied by textbooks and schoolwork—and now it’s gone. She finds it in her cupboard, clean and stacked neatly with her other chipped dishware. Lately, this has been happening to all of her dirty dishes. Usually if she remembers to clean them, she’s lost an embarrassing amount of dishes to mold, often forgetting them in a corner somewhere, they languish on her drying rack. Maybe she’s subconsciously becoming a neater person? Man, her brain must be working on hyper-drive. That doesn’t really explain the crawling, oppressive feeling of being watched she gets sometimes but the human brain is a mystery. Always playing tricks.
Shang Qinghua tosses her bag on the ground. She sets up camp in the living room for this all-nighter. As she settles cross-legged onto the carpet she notices a red hair tie. She picks it up, curious. She doesn’t remember buying this color. She tends to stick to the black ones that come in cheap twenty-packs. She shrugs and slingshots it at the couch. Random items have been turning up in her apartment lately: black Nike socks, red nail polish, a pair of trackpants. Probably leftover stuff from the last tenant. Or maybe gifts she’s forgotten about. From one of her zero friends though? Shang Qinghua snorts at herself. Well, that’s not so accurate anymore. Shang Qinghua thinks she can tentatively call Shen Yuan a friend now.
During these weeks of budding friendship, Shang Qinghua has learned a lot of baffling yet cute things about Shen Yuan. First, is she’s as loaded as Shang Qinghua suspected with two boss babe older sisters set to inherit the family business. Second, is just how much of a Straight Girl™ Shen Yuan is. Shang Qinghua had been dropping hints that she’s gay to make sure she wasn’t befriending a homophobe and Shen Yuan obliviously walked right past all of them. It was only at a sleepover, Binghe off in the kitchen making Shen Yuan a snack, that Shang Qinghua finally came out in the most awkward way possible.
(“So you know how some girls think other girls are really, really cute?”
“Only some? Girls are cute though,” Shen Yuan said.
“Okay, but when I say it I mean it in a gay way,” Shang Qinghua replied. “You get that, right?”
Shen Yuan’s lips parted in a small ‘o’ of understanding.)
Thankfully, Shen Yuan wasn’t too weird about it. They still had sleepovers, mostly at Shen Yuan’s way nicer apartment, and only sometimes Shen Yuan stiltedly asked if she thought a girl they’d just passed was cute. For some reason, staring up at Shen Yuan’s flushed face, a soft breeze ruffling her bangs, Shang Qinghua never tells her yes. “Not really my type,” Shang Qinghua says instead, with a small shrug and apologetic smile. One of the few times she wished Binghe would interrupt and yet never does.
Shang Qinghua pulls her attention back to this stupid project. She begins to type with extreme prejudice while aiming thousands of mental middle fingers at the backs of her useless groupmates. Fuck this class, fuck her life. If this is supposed to be the best years of her life then she doesn’t need to go on anymore. She demands a re-do, a refund, a re-whatever. This can’t be how her precious school years are spent. Slaving away in service of other people.
Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what time she finishes. She sends it off to her professor anyway, uncaring of seeming professional. Let the professor see her suffering. Take notice of her namea as the sole creditor on the document. Her hands are two big cramps. Her eyelids are glued together from dryness. She doesn’t even have the strength to make it to her bed before she’s listing to the side and falling asleep right on the floor.
She doesn’t expect to dream. She’s actively been avoiding it since the last time. She somehow gained the ability to lucid dream and batted away even a wisp of dream in the black void of her mind. She must’ve exhausted herself too much. She can’t do anything as a bright, sunlit cafe forms around her. It’s one of those overpriced and trendy places she never goes into for fear everyone inside will laugh her poor, unfashionable self out the door. Across the table, Shen Yuan is delicately cutting a fruit-laden slice of cake in half.
“This is my favorite thing they sell here,” Shen Yuan says. She looks around for a moment, frowns, then leans across the table. “It seems there’s only one fork. Just try it off mine, I swear it’s really good.”
Shag Qinghua hesitates. Shen Yuan holds the cake-covered fork closer, a pout forming on her lips, and Shang Qinghua gives in. It’s not like real Shen Yuan wouldn’t obliviously do something as suggestive as this. Nothing to be weird or pervy about. Shen Yuan watches closely as Shang Qinghu’s mouth wraps around the fork and she scrapes the tines with her teeth—can’t let even a crumb go to waste, who knows how expensive this cake was. Shang Qinghua chews contemplatively. The cake tastes like both nothing and everything. As she gets ready to tell Shen Yuan this, she notices. Shen Yuan’s silky white button-up is gone. She’s sitting there in just her black bra. A bra with thin trim around the cups and a tiny bow in the middle. Shang Qinghua gapes.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes snap back up to her face when Shen Yuan clears her throat.
“Well?” Shen Yuan asks.
Shang Qinghua doesn’t know if she can form words. “Uh, I, it was… fine. Totally fine.”
“Just fine?” Shen Yuan’s brow furrows.
“Sorry,” Shang Qinghua squeaks. “Um, I just couldn’t really focus on the flavor. There’s—a lot to focus on.”
Shen Yuan takes a bite for herself. Indirect kiss! Shang Qinghua’s stupid gay brain yells. Shut the fuck up, she tells it. Shen Yuan looks disappointedly down at her plate.
“I could try it again—oh, my God—” Shang Qinghua blue-screens.
Shen Yuan’s bra has now disappeared, too. Shang Qinghua is now staring directly at Shen Yuan’s boobs. Her super cute and super perky boobs. They’re like the perfect mouthful. The dark nubs of her nipples are standing at attention, just waiting to be bitten.
“What?” Shen Yuan asks, breasts jiggling slightly. “Is there something on my face?”
“No, uh, the problem is a bit lower.”
Shen Yuan looks down and shrieks.
She slaps her hands over her chest. This makes things ten times worse for Shang Qinghua. The image of Shen Yuan, hands cupping herself in a futile attempt at modesty, aloof expression cracked open to reveal an embarrassed, super red face, is a critical hit to Shang Qinghua’s heart. It’s an image too erotic to stand. It’s enough to make someone, specifically her, crazy. How is she supposed to survive this? She barely has the wherewithal to help as Shen Yuan kicks up a fuss.
“I can fix this,” Shang Qinghua says, half-standing up in her seat. She waves a hand over Shen Yuan’s chest area and a familiar ratty sleep T-shirt appears on Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan blinks in surprise down at herself.
“See? All better.”
Shang Qinghua smiles reassuringly at a suspiciously damp-eyed Shen Yuan. The dream swirls around them, blurring Shen Yuan and the cafe into a whirl of shapeless colors. Bleeding out of existence. Her surroundings sharpen into focus again.
Shang Qinghua is now staring up at a red, gauzy canopy. She can feel soft bed sheets underneath her bare back. Her clothes feel different than before, skimpier. Shang Qinghua looks to see what she’s wearing. Or rather, what she’s not wearing. She’s draped in red scraps of fabric that are arranged like robes but cover none of the parts robes do. They criss-cross over her breasts, cinched at the waist, with one long scrap covering her front and another draping over her butt. Wait, is this Sha Hualing’s outfit? She pushes herself up onto her forearms and, yep, there’s the bells on her ankles. What a weird choice for her subconscious. She waves a hand over herself. Her trusty sweatpants and sweatshirt replace it.
“Aw, I picked that outfit out just for you, Hua-jie,” Luo Binghe says with an over-exaggerated pout, emerging from a shadowy corner.
Shang Qinghua yelps. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that!”
“Maybe you’ll like this one better.” Luo Binghe slinks over, climbs onto the bed, and runs a proprietary hand up Shang Qinghua’s side. Shang Qinghua tries to swat her away, to no avail. For the second time, Shang Qinghua feels strange robes settle on her body. She doesn’t even have to look to recognize these ones.
“Really?”
“You did name this character after yourself.” Luo Binghe runs a finger underneath Shang Qinghua’s high collar. “Surprisingly, you suit An Ding robes.”
Shang Qinghua scowls. “I ran out of names.”
“So you gave yours to the traitorous spy?” Luo Binghe asks, amused. “Let’s do a little role play.” She pushes Shang Qinghua down and holds her wrists above her head. “Beg prettily for your peak and maybe I’ll consider sparing it.”
Shang Qinghua feels a throb between her legs. That low, threatening register Luo Binghe can drop into is so unfair.
“I don’t even look like her,” she complains. The shoulder-length bob she favors is one of many strikes against their resemblance. She’d also purposefully written all of her characters to be hot, even the unsavory ones, and she’s perfectly aware of how average her looks are. It’s like comparing apples to oranges, if you found the oranges squished on the ground.
“You have a point,” Luo Binghe concedes. She one-handedly tears Shang Qinghua’s robes clean down the middle, prompting a squawk of outrage. What’s the point of putting her in this ridiculous get-up if she’s just going to rip it apart? “I guess the first difference is these marks.”
Shang Qinghua blinks, confused, before she realizes, “Oh, my freckles? Did I really not write freckles into my universe?”
“I’ve never seen these before. But they’re cute.” Luo Binghe leans forward and licks the side of her throat. “Little suggestions for where to put my mouth. I rate them very highly.”
Shang Qinghua squirms, hot and embarrassed, testing Luo Binghe’s grip. Tight. Just one of Luo Binghe’s wide hands easily holds both her wrists. Luo Binghe notices her wriggling and throws a leg over Shang Qinghua to straddle her. Shang Qinghua can feel those powerful thighs bracketing her hips. The hot core of Luo Binghe pressing into Shang Qinghua’s lower stomach. Shang Qinghua can’t move even if she wanted to. Knowing this, Luo Binghe presses a smug kiss to her sternum. That’s when Shang Qinghua remembers her boobs are essentially flying free in the wind. Has Luo Binghe been looking at them this entire time?!
“Aren’t you supposed to be pursuing Shen Yuan?” Shang Qinghua babbles nervously as the reality of her situation sinks in. She’s seconds away from being eaten by her carnivorous protagonist! Her cherry is going to be popped against her will. Albeit in a dream, but still. “She seems like she’d be more into monogamy. Not that I’d let you find out,” Shang Qinghua says with more bravado than she feels.
Luo Binghe chuckles.
“It’s cute how you still haven’t given up. You’ve been very clever, stopping yourself from dreaming these past few weeks. But to answer your question, you wrote me a harem, Hua-jie,” Luo Binghe continues, letting go of Shang Qinghua’s wrists to cup her breasts. “Why would I choose one when I could have both?”
Shang Qinghua bites down on a groan as Luo Binghe kneads her chest. It fits perfectly in her hands. Big and sword-calloused, squeezing her just on this side of too hard, thumbs circling her nipples maddeningly, avoiding the nub. She can’t go down like this. Where is her conviction? Where are her morals? Did they get lost in her pu—no. Focus, Qinghua. Luo Binghe is making it very hard to think. She’s rolling one of Shang Qinghua’s nipples between her thumb and forefinger, each pinch sending a shock straight to her cunt.
Fortunately, Shang Qinghua is incapable of shutting up. “What do you need both for when Shen Yuan is one of the options?”
Luo Binghe gives her a look. Then leans forward and nips the soft underside of her left breast. “Hey!” Shang Qinghua objects, but Luo Binghe ignores her. She engulfs the entire breast in her warm, wet mouth. Shang Qinghua arches up in surprise. Damn, now it looks like she’s urging Luo Binghe on. She’s definitely not though. It was only a reflex. That moan just now from Luo Binghe’s tongue licking around, laving at her, wicked and teasing in its movements? Totally just a poorly timed cough.
“I’d be terrible in a harem,” Shang Qinghua whines. “All that scheming and backstabbing. It’s not good for my health.”
Luo Binghe detaches with a slick pop. “Are you and Shen Yuan not interested in each other sexually?” she asks, lips glistening.
“What—I—Shen Yuan’s straight—”
Luo Binghe raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Straight?”
“You don’t think so?”
“I know so.”
And with that, Luo Binghe sucks a dark hickey onto her right breast. Then worries the nipple between her teeth. This intense, slow pressure that has her brain leaking out of her ears. One of Luo Binghe’s hands moves down to the crux of her legs. Luo Binghe cups her pussy, just holding for a moment, the heat of her palm a hot brand through thin robes. A questing fingertip slides along Shang Qinghua’s seam. She clamps her legs shut on reflex. This only presses Luo Binghe’s hand closer, pushes that finger in deeper, so now her lower lips are closed around it, like a lewd kiss. Luo Binghe laughs at her futile resistance. She braces her forearm on Shang Qinghua’s neck in warning. Shang Qinghua goes a little lightheaded at this. Luo Binghe’s hand continues its administrations. It inserts itself in between her legs, strokes her inner thighs, and then forces them apart with ease. Even Shang Qinghua’s robes part easily for her. She can’t struggle as Luo Binghe’s hand snakes under and firmly strokes her embarrassingly wet folds. She must be so soaked she’s dripping down Binghe’s arm. Shang Qinghua moans pitifully.
“Yes,” Luo Binghe purrs. “Just give in.”
“No. I’ll never give in to you!” Wow, she sounds dramatic. What is this a kid's after-school special?
Luo Binghe’s eyes dance, gleaming an incandescent red. “Your obstinacy is so delicious. How could I not dedicate myself to breaking it?”
That’s not hot at all, Shang Qinghua tells herself.
Luo Binghe thrusts two fingers inside Shang Qinghua. The fingers push up and in, immediately bullying her twitching walls, unused to appendages not her own, especially ones so thick. The stretch is—it’s—it hurts, but it hurts in a good, aching way that has her bucking into it, hips tilting up to let Binghe’s fingers slip in to the knuckle. She can’ stop from bearing down on them, clenching up. A thumb comes up to lightly press on her clit. Not doing anything yet, just resting there, anticipatory, like a promise. She can’t keep in her gasp. She can’t stop making these—noises. These breathy, high-pitched whimpers as her insides are spread and stroked roughly. Why was she trying so hard to fight a free orgasm earlier? The only orgasm ever offered to her by another person? Binghe is watching her unabashedly, greedily drinking in her expressions. What’s so entrancing about Shang Qinghua’s sweaty, blotchy face she doesn’t know.
“I’ve never made a god cry before,” Luo Binghe muses idly. “How about we change that?”
“I’m not a god,” Shang Qinghua protests weakly.
“You created me and my world. What would you call that, if not the work of a god?”
Shang Qinghua tries to deny this, but Luo Binghe begins fingering her within an inch of her life. She can no longer think anymore let alone argue. The heel of Binghe’s palm grinds against her clit. Her fingers are screwing into Shang Qinghua at a punishing angle. Shang Qinghua isn’t even pretending to be quiet anymore. She cries out loudly as a third finger forces its way in. Tight, too tight, then it shifts into that spot and it’s good, too good.
Luo Binghe kisses under her tear ducts, kissing away the moisture gathering there. “I can be patient. I can make you want it. Beg for it, even. You’re mine now, Hua-jie, whether you’ll admit it or not. My creator, my god. All mine.” No, no, I’m gonna, Shang Qinghua thinks desperately, unbearable pleasure building up inside her, white-hot and dizzying. Luo Binghe ruthlessly circles her clit, faster and faster. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter how much you deny me. No matter how much you run. I will find you. You will never be rid of me.”
Luo Binghe seals her promise with a deep, possessive kiss. Mortifyingly enough, this is what pushes Shang Qinghua over the edge. She cums with a choked half-yell, Luo Binge’s fingers still curled up inside her. They don’t even pause. They continue to rub her walls as aftershocks of pleasure zing up and down her body. Milking her orgasm until she’s trembling from overstimulation. Luo Binghe also doesn’t stop kissing her, slightly too long tongue plundering her mouth. Why did she write Luo Binge all those wives? She’s going to die at this rate! Fucked to death by her horny wish-fulfillment OC. Shang Qinghua gathers all the strength in her boneless, fucked-out body to weakly slap the side of Luo Binghe’s arm.
“You look like you need a break,” Luo Binghe says kindly.
Shang Qinghua nods in emphatic agreement.
“Okay, then let’s switch.”
What does she mean by that? Shang Qinghua wonders. Luo Binghe lifts up from her perch on Shang Qinghua’s thighs, divesting herself of her red and black robes. She also discards what’s left of Shang Qinghua’s clothing despite her complaints. Luo Binghe settles astride her hips again. Except this time there’s nothing in between then. Shang Qinghua can feel where Luo Binghe’s pussy is touching her stomach, spread wide by the position, silken, slick.
“I hope you watched closely earlier for pointers.” Huh? Then, Luo Binghe leans down and shoves her chest right into Shang Qinghua’s face.
Oh, my God. Is Luo Binghe motorboating her?! Shang Qinghua is pushed into the mattress by Luo Binghe’s boobs. All she can see is round, supple flesh. The brown moons of her areolas. Binghe takes her hands and holds them to her breasts. They’re so soft. Shang Qinghua can’t help but squeeze them. Their give is amazing, plush and squishy. They’re so big Shang Qinghua’s hands can’t even cup them fully.
“Open your mouth,” Luo Binghe instructs.
Shang Qinghua obeys instantly. Luo Binghe guides her nipple into Shang Qinghua’s open mouth and she begins to suck without instruction. Luo Binghe moans shamelessly. She starts—rubbing on Shang Qinghua. Her folds directly sliding up and down her lower belly, burning hot inside, leaving lines of wetness on her skin. Luo Binghe presses against Shang Qinghua harder. Rubbing her chest in Shang Qinghua's face. Shang Qinghua can barely breathe. Her breath is coming in fast puffs. She’s panting for air but can’t stop, won’t stop sucking on the breast in her mouth. Luo Binghe tastes like sweat and skin. Fuck, she’s getting wet again. She probably never stopped being wet.
“Hua-jie is like a baby, sucking on them so intently,” Luo Binghe jeers, voice sweet.
Shang Qinghua’s face burns as she moans around her mouthful.
“What would Shen-jie think of you looking like this?”
Shang Qinghua shakes her head as best she can, pinned completely under Luo Binghe’s weight.
“You don’t want her to see?” Luo Binghe asks. “What if I told you she’s already seen everything? That she’s watching us right now?”
Shang Qinghua shakes her head again. A powerful cocktail of shame and arousal rolls through her body. Her fingers tighten on Luo Binghe’s breasts anxiously. Luo Binghe laughs breathlessly. She rolls her hips, forcefully taking her pleasure from Shang Qinghua’s body. Is Shen Yuan really watching them—no, she can’t. Luo Binghe wouldn’t be cruel enough to conjure a dream version just to do a little voyeurism play.
Luo Binghe’s rhythm starts to falter, stuttering, as she grinds her clit in tight circles on Shang Qinghua, thighs tightening around her hips. Her moans are lengthening, getting even more obscene. Shang Qinghua desperately wishes she could see. Does Luo Binghe close her eyes when she comes? Or does she keep them open, kiss-swollen mouth open, too, stretched in a scream? As if hearing her thoughts, Luo Binghe sits up. Now it looks as if she’s riding Shang Qinghua to completion, defined abs tensing, pushing Shang Qinghua up the bed with each roll of her hips. Shang Qinghua reaches forward and twists both her nipples. Luo Binghe cums with a low, guttural groan. A gush of clear fluid shoots from her. When did I write her to be a squirter? Shang Qinghua wonders as her stomach and thighs are soaked, dripping in Luo Binghe’s juices. It’s kind of hot being marked so filthily but she refuses to delve further into that base part of her brain.
Luo Binghe’s chest heaves, catching her breath. There’s a self-satisfied smile playing at the edges of her red lips. How does she look so pink-cheeked and energized in the afterglow? Shang Qinghua felt like she had died after hers.
“Hua-jie, I’m tapping you back in. We need to give Shen-jie a good show.”
Before Shang Qinghua can ask what the hell is she talking about, the back of her knees are grabbed and lifted up. Her knees are bent and forced backward until they nearly touch her chest. Confused, she looks up and sees something that makes her heart stop. There, standing in the corner of the room, is a wide-eyed Shen Yuan. Dressed in a pair of wide legged pants and Shang Qinghua’s sleep T-shirt. Getting a direct, premium view of her pussy. She hasn’t even shaved. Oh, God, she hasn’t even shaved.
“Luo Binghe!” Shang Qinghua snaps, voice cracking halfway through.
She tries to claw her way upright but Luo Binghe raises her legs higher, using the force of gravity and a braced arm on her thighs, to pin her in place.
“I can’t keep Hua-jie’s slutty pussy all to myself, can I?” Luo Binghe says.
Shang Qinghua kicks her feet. “I’m not slutty!”
“Be good for Jiejie,” Luo Binghe says, grabbing her ankles and holding them together. Shang Qinghua flushes. At the words or the easy manhandling, she can’t tell. “I want her to see this. I’m going to make you feel really good so stay still.”
“But—”
Luo Binghe bends down to her cunt, making sure to not block Shen Yuan’s view, and licks Shang Qinghua from bottom to top. Shang Qinghua squeals, scandalized. Luo Binghe does it again.
“Binghe—stop—don’t—”
Shang Qinghua devolves into whimpers as Luo Binghe sucks on her folds, traces the creases with her tongue, then dips into her entrance, still sore and sensitive from earlier. Luo Binghe spreads her open with two thumbs. Exposing her to the cold air and Shen Yuan’s impassive gaze. Shen Yuan almost looks like she’s… straining closer to see better? What kind of unrealistic doppelganger did Luo Binghe’s mind create! The real Shen Yuan would never act like this. Or, let’s be honest, be interested in seeing Shang Qinghua in this compromising position.
“You’re kind of puffy and red here,” Luo Binghe says like she’s commenting on the weather. “I was a little too rough but that’s only because I know you like it. Let me kiss it better.”
Luo Binghe eats her out with a dedicated fervor that reduces Shang Qinghua into a shivering puddle of a person. Who gave her a tongue more devilish than a demon? It certainly wasn’t Shang Qinghua. Luo Binghe keeps doing this thing where she licks around, not on, her clit until Shang Qinghua starts begging. Then she fastens her lips onto the nub and sucks until Shang Qinghu feels like crying, sheets all twisted up in her hands, before easing off and starting the cycle all over again. There’s another, even more crazy-making trick, Luo Binghe does where she wriggles her tongue all the way up inside and strokes this one spot that has Shang Qinghua shaking out of her skin, barely an octave away from screaming. After what feels like hours of edging, Shang Qinghua cums all over Luo Binghe’s face with a moan worthy of a pornstar, staring right at a stunned Shen Yuan, hand pressed to her mouth. As Shang Qinghua falls apart, so does the dream, sensation and sight melding together into nothing.
Shang Qinghua wakes up feeling like she was hit by a truck. The smell of congee wafts in from the kitchen. Luo Binghe is cheerfully humming a song she doesn’t recognize. As Shang Qinghua listens, she thinks about all the indignities she suffered last night, getting steadily more and more annoyed as the stupidly chipper song continues. Finally, she can't stand it anymore. Shang Qinghua gets up and throws a shoe at Luo Binghe.
🥒
Across the city, Shen Yuan sits up in bed. Well, that was certainly—a dream, she thinks, flushed.