flowing from the furthermost places of her body into her womb, where it concentrated into two tight lines that headed directly for each breast. Each nipple.
And then he began the tightening spiral again.
She hadn't even realized she was breathing rapidly, her body beginning to tremble with what he was doing to her, until he began his circles again. Her breath slowed, but only slightly, fitting itself to his timing. And as the circles tightened, the river flow began again. And when he put his hands on her belly, she felt her stomach cave deep inside, letting him press almost to her spine. Except it wasn't her spine. It was this incredible river of power that flowed upward, following the path of his hands through her breasts and to her nipples.
And his mouth came down over her left breast.
She didn't cry out. Indeed, she barely registered the change from his hands; it all seemed one and the same. His mouth was wet and warm, just like the river that now flowed through her, peaking at her breast. And he sucked in the same tempo, the same pulse as he had built within her. The river flowed to him, bringing heat and moisture and joy as it passed.
Out of her. Into him.
But only through the left breast. The right was left full and aching and closed.
And yet she barely noticed that, so amazing was the feel of his mouth. His tongue continued the circles just as his fingers had done. His mouth lifted her breast, just as his hand had done. But there was more. So much more, as her breast quivered from the flow. On and on he sucked, and she felt as if he drew her very last breath out of her.
Then he stopped—not suddenly, but slowly, gently narrowing his lips, tighter and tighter against her nipple, drawing the peak seemingly to the sky before releasing it with the gentlest of kisses.
And as he at last released her, so did she release her breath, letting the last of it flow outward from her mouth.
"It was helpful, yes? Releasing that yin?" he asked, his eyes gentle, his expression slightly dazed.
How to answer? she wondered. It had been more than helpful. It was incredible. And yet, it was not enough. "Please," she whimpered, not even knowing what she meant.
"Ah," he said, "your other breast is overflowing." And so, with the gentlest of touches, he began his circle again, but only on the right breast.
She felt the yin gather, just as before. She felt his palms press deep into her belly, just as before. But this time, she gave herself completely over to the experience. She not only experienced the flow of yin, she sought it out. She encouraged it. She wanted it. So that when he at last opened his mouth around her right breast, she thrust her nipple inside, crying out in joy as he began to suck the river from her.
This flow went on even longer than the other. The power, the pulse, the beat of her yin gushed into him, and she trembled with its leaving as she throbbed to the circling of his tongue, the pumping of his suction.
And when he at last released her breast, she stared at him in dazed confusion.
He said, "You must rest now. We will continue tomorrow."
He stood, a serene smile upon his face as he bowed deeply, respectfully to her. And after he left, Fu De came into the chamber, quickly releasing her bonds, before he too bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.
Lydia remained where she was, her body still humming, her mind still swirling in chaos.
What had happened? Had she really just released this Chinese yin? It could not be, and yet she could not deny the experience of the last hour.
Hour?
She looked out the window, seeing the total blackness of the night sky. It had been an hour at least. And at that moment she knew the truth: she had fallen into the abyss. She had tumbled, and now she was lost to the person she once was. It was not because a Chinese man had tied her down and suckled at her breasts. It was not because yin had flowed from her body into his.
She was lost because she had enjoyed it. Not just
And then he began the tightening spiral again.
She hadn't even realized she was breathing rapidly, her body beginning to tremble with what he was doing to her, until he began his circles again. Her breath slowed, but only slightly, fitting itself to his timing. And as the circles tightened, the river flow began again. And when he put his hands on her belly, she felt her stomach cave deep inside, letting him press almost to her spine. Except it wasn't her spine. It was this incredible river of power that flowed upward, following the path of his hands through her breasts and to her nipples.
And his mouth came down over her left breast.
She didn't cry out. Indeed, she barely registered the change from his hands; it all seemed one and the same. His mouth was wet and warm, just like the river that now flowed through her, peaking at her breast. And he sucked in the same tempo, the same pulse as he had built within her. The river flowed to him, bringing heat and moisture and joy as it passed.
Out of her. Into him.
But only through the left breast. The right was left full and aching and closed.
And yet she barely noticed that, so amazing was the feel of his mouth. His tongue continued the circles just as his fingers had done. His mouth lifted her breast, just as his hand had done. But there was more. So much more, as her breast quivered from the flow. On and on he sucked, and she felt as if he drew her very last breath out of her.
Then he stopped—not suddenly, but slowly, gently narrowing his lips, tighter and tighter against her nipple, drawing the peak seemingly to the sky before releasing it with the gentlest of kisses.
And as he at last released her, so did she release her breath, letting the last of it flow outward from her mouth.
"It was helpful, yes? Releasing that yin?" he asked, his eyes gentle, his expression slightly dazed.
How to answer? she wondered. It had been more than helpful. It was incredible. And yet, it was not enough. "Please," she whimpered, not even knowing what she meant.
"Ah," he said, "your other breast is overflowing." And so, with the gentlest of touches, he began his circle again, but only on the right breast.
She felt the yin gather, just as before. She felt his palms press deep into her belly, just as before. But this time, she gave herself completely over to the experience. She not only experienced the flow of yin, she sought it out. She encouraged it. She wanted it. So that when he at last opened his mouth around her right breast, she thrust her nipple inside, crying out in joy as he began to suck the river from her.
This flow went on even longer than the other. The power, the pulse, the beat of her yin gushed into him, and she trembled with its leaving as she throbbed to the circling of his tongue, the pumping of his suction.
And when he at last released her breast, she stared at him in dazed confusion.
He said, "You must rest now. We will continue tomorrow."
He stood, a serene smile upon his face as he bowed deeply, respectfully to her. And after he left, Fu De came into the chamber, quickly releasing her bonds, before he too bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.
Lydia remained where she was, her body still humming, her mind still swirling in chaos.
What had happened? Had she really just released this Chinese yin? It could not be, and yet she could not deny the experience of the last hour.
Hour?
She looked out the window, seeing the total blackness of the night sky. It had been an hour at least. And at that moment she knew the truth: she had fallen into the abyss. She had tumbled, and now she was lost to the person she once was. It was not because a Chinese man had tied her down and suckled at her breasts. It was not because yin had flowed from her body into his.
She was lost because she had enjoyed it. Not just
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