The Moon Closes

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

She gazed at the shallow pond in the garden, the unfamiliar ripples guiding familiar scenes from her memory. The surging water poured from the sluice gate, spreading outwards. The man who had once been so arrogant, leaving the deepest mark on her life, had vanished with the rushing water. She closed her eyes, accepting her fate; being a gift passed from one another was her only destiny.
At the garden gate, a blood-red horse obediently followed its new master, its long, deep eyes glancing over him briefly before turning away to avoid suspicion. Why not him? She asked herself, immediately finding the answer. Because he wasn't the most powerful among them, nothing more. In chaotic times, that was the best answer. The setting sun cast its
last rays; she lightly tugged at her thin robe, but couldn't ward off the deep chill. The downfall of a once-powerful figure would naturally allow these people to celebrate for a while.
A maid called to her from afar; it was time to change into her palace attire and prepare for the dance. She clutched her trembling shoulders, helplessly recalling her past as a dancer and the series of fates that followed. If only she had been born into a wealthy family… She shook her head. What were such "ifs" in this world?
The autumn wind blew into the hem of her skirt, like a cold, rough hand gently caressing her smooth calves. She sighed softly. This unparalleled beauty had brought her only endless suffering. From the stench of her decaying, rotting body to the shackles of her powerful physique, she had long since given up hope. Her beautiful body was no longer worthy of being offered to any man she should.
Every pair of eyes that saw her only thought of the warmth of a boudoir and the depths of spring in a secluded chamber. If looks could be sharpened, she would have been barely clothed when that burly, dark-faced man brought her here.
Who was she being offered to? She couldn't help but wonder. The woman beside her dutifully removed her clothes and began meticulously applying perfume to every inch of her skin. The pungent smell made it hard for her to think; it was this smell that had accompanied her as she left her innocent girlhood and plunged her into an endless cycle of suffering.
She was merely a gift at the victory celebration, a toy for the joy of triumph. She let the women drape silk robes over her shoulders, staring blankly at her stunningly beautiful reflection in the mirror. Those women's hands had once again given her a new lease on life—a single glance could topple a city, a second glance could topple a nation, a third glance could shatter a soul. She could almost foresee that when she appeared, the scene of the disaster that had started when the curtains were lifted in her adoptive father's house would be repeated. And
she was right. Behind the plain-looking dancers, her appearance froze time itself. The war continued, and the victory celebration was as simple as a family feast. The people seated weren't particularly excited, but half an hour after her arrival, everything changed. Crimson eyes were brazenly scrutinizing her; that's often how warriors are. The only exceptions, however, were not the person at the head of the table, the one who would be her master tonight and for all days to come. His desire wasn't overt, yet it couldn't escape her notice.
Hypocrisy. She calmly concluded amidst the graceful dance. She sadly realized she couldn't even compare to that blood-red horse; its new master's gaze merely swept over her body before settling on the silver-armored young general beside him, engaging in conversation, no longer paying attention to the surrounding revelry.
Amidst the chorus of praise, the hypocritical man, born with an imperial air, slightly tipsy, pulled her into his arms, his humble face unable to conceal the smugness in his eyes. Behind the table curtain, unseen by others, his hand slipped beneath her gauze skirt, skillfully and swiftly exploring the forbidden area between her legs.
She helplessly raised her cup for a sip, concealing the rapid flush rising on her face. She didn't know what this man was like in other matters, but he was certainly a seasoned lover; his calloused fingers, after feeling sufficient moisture, plunged deep into her rear, probing the depths of her secluded garden. An uncontrollable, warm current surged from deep within her, leaving her utterly weak. She could only feign intoxication, collapsing softly into his arms. To onlookers, it would likely appear as another scene of a femme fatale.
He remained composed, occasionally feigning a tipsy state, resting his head on her fragrant shoulder, letting his slight stubble and moist lips brush against her bare skin—a sight that would be undeniably alluring. But she knew he was perfectly sober, and was instead tempting her, igniting the deepest desires within her.
His fingers didn't penetrate further, but merely caressed the entrance to her paradise, licking the tender lips with the slippery fluid, rubbing it against the still-dry areas. She finally understood why the maids of the last two ladies had insisted she wear only a slip and no undergarments.
The banquet continued, but she was no longer able to pay attention to what they were saying. Occasionally glancing sideways, she saw the man who had captured her was holding a dancer, laughing and drinking, his hands groping the woman's chest. The horse's new master, however, watched her coldly, as if observing a disaster. She felt a chill, a chill that mingled with the waves of heat emanating from her lower body, almost shattering her reason. Her eyes blurred, and the man beside her, seen through her watery gaze, seemed to possess a hint of heroism.
He smiled at her in his arms, his fingers suddenly tightening, his thumb parting her firm buttocks, lingering before her vulva, his fingertips subtly probing the entrance. The tender skin of her perineum trembled under the attack from both ends, almost causing her to cry out. She used her long, flowing hair to shield herself from others' view, her cherry-like lips tightly biting the man's collar, afraid to utter a sound and be utterly humiliated.
But he was in high spirits and had no intention of letting go of this beautiful, defenseless toy; after all, he had been a virtuous man in front of everyone for far too long. His thumb gradually increased the pressure, slowly smoothing out the folds of her anus. The narrow, untouched passage writhed nervously. He inserted his index finger, kneading it along with his thumb through the thin flesh between her front and back. Waves of tingling,
itchy sensations assaulted her jaw, and a trickle of saliva uncontrollably spilled from the corner of her mouth, leaving a glistening trail. She felt as if her most intimate area was being crushed, a torrent of pleasure washing over her. Her muscles gradually lost their strength, and her clenched teeth loosened little by little, like a drowning person releasing their last lifeline… “Brother, it’s getting late. Get some rest. Your sister-in-law is waiting for you.” A cold voice came from the only one still somewhat conscious, his phoenix eyes filled with icy chill.
He withdrew his hand, as if deep in thought, and placed it in front of his mouth. Only she saw him lingeringly licking his index finger. Relieved, she turned around and met a pair of eyes that held a murderous glint in them. Why? She didn't understand. She had only seen that look in other women, like in the eyes of his two wives.
"My brother is right. I was a bit out of line. Chun Tao, help Miss to the guest room." He rubbed his forehead, looking like he was drunk. "Everyone enjoy yourselves. I won't keep you company any longer." With the help of the maid, she stood up limply. Her opinion had changed somewhat. After all, he still had to go back to his wife. Those acts of playing around were probably just a necessary outlet beneath his sanctimonious facade. She didn't want to think about anything else and let the maid help her into the room.
Leaning against the gauze curtain, a deep weariness gripped her. The price of her whirling dance was her aching feet. She slowly took off her light dancing shoes and stockings, revealing a pair of delicate, lovely, white feet that were still well-maintained despite her frequent dancing. She gently stroked her feet with one hand, easing the muscle soreness, while the other, to release the pent-up frustration in her chest, quickly untied the ribbon at her bosom, revealing a tantalizing pink hue and the alluring shadow between her breasts.
Her slender toes slowly straightened and curled to relax, her fingers gently massaging the insteps and backs of her feet. The most tired areas received ample solace, and her mind began to relax. She couldn't help but savor the wonderful sensations beyond shame from the earlier playfulness.
Her free hand, almost unconsciously, slid across her proud breasts, completely exposing her already disheveled clothing. The rosy nipples of her breasts stood erect, a testament to the springtime within the tent. Her feet were far more sensitive than most, and the continuous pleasure surging through her chest was stirring her crumbling heart; a thin stream of fluid had already quietly soaked her petticoat.
The hand resting on her feet sensed the desire in her lower body, tracing its way up her delicate ankles, lingering for a moment on her smooth, alluring thighs before finally slipping into the most mysterious corner beneath her skirt. Playful nipples, glistening with slippery fluid, darted and weaved under her slender fingers, forcing them to circle the sensitive clitoris.
A fire consumed her reason; instinct took over. Her middle finger, as if possessing its own will, plunged straight into the tight passage. She bit her lower lip, the hands on her chest and between her thighs gradually increasing their pressure, but the unbearable spring passion deep within her remained unresolved. Her slender fingers were like a drop in the ocean against the flames of desire; the growing restlessness almost brought her to tears, the deep tingling numbness intensifying with the emptiness in her heart.
A gentle breeze stirred, causing the candles to flicker and the curtains to sway. The sudden chill brought her back to her senses. She absently withdrew her hand, noticing the glistening stains on it, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She then realized that the hem of her outer dancing skirt was soaked through. With a bitter smile, she left the bed, removed her clothes, and spread out the brocade quilt. Perhaps she would never again sleep so peacefully alone.
Suddenly, a pair of strong hands encircled her waist, lifting her high and slamming her onto the bed. She snapped out of her daze and realized it was the man who had presented her to her elder brother as a gift. His dark face was flushed with alcohol, and he growled in dissatisfaction, "I really don't know what my brothers are thinking. Such a beautiful woman, and they don't want her. Isn't that a waste?" Looking at the erect, dark member between his legs, she felt a chill run down her spine and shrank back into the corner of the bed.

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