Sunset ^beta

Shang Qinghua originally thought up Mobei-jun as Luo Binghe’s fifth wife (back when she was actually outlining and foreshadowing and setting up, rather than just vomiting out a chapter every few days to pay the bills). She had the ice queen thing, the demon thing, they would bond over the way she was different from his other wives, and then they would have intense, hot, hours-long breeding-kink sex where Binghe could let loose in a way he didn’t with his human wives. By the time wife number three was wifed, though, it just didn’t seem to make sense for Mobei-jun to be like that at all. Being enthusiastically bred didn’t feel like her, you know? OOC.

Qinghua knew this because by then she was regularly getting off to imagining herself being fucked by Mobei-jun, and that did feel IC. Mobei-jun didn’t actually like men. Mobei-jun topped, too.

All her suppositions are turning out to be correct. Or maybe she made Mobei-jun this way even without writing it down. She doesn’t know how this works.

And she doesn’t have the mental thing. whatsit. to try to puzzle it out, because she’s pinned to the bed with her wrists in one giant hand, another possessively resting on her stomach. With the warming spells on her, Mobei-jun’s skin isn’t going to give her frostbite, but it feels just cold enough to be dangerous. In a sexy way. Like iceplay, or how Shang Qinghua imagines iceplay, anyway.

She’s basically naked. Shang Qinghua, that is. Although actually, Mobei-jun is as well, since she’s always dressed in the very brief leathers and silks that Shang Qinghua wrote her demons to wear. There’s a narrow black leather strap buckled around her bicep that catches Shang Qinghua’s eye, partly because it’s, like, right in front of her face with the way Mobei-jun’s looming over her to hold her wrists out of the way, and partly because it’s so tight against the bulge of the muscle.

It’s weird. Well, of course, the fact that she’s living inside a book she wrote is always really weird, all the time, but what’s specifically weird is that Shang Qinghua let Sha Hualing dress her up in slave-concubine-chic in order to seduce this insanely hot character she made up. It’s not at all like Shang Qinghua, either the way she was back in the real world or the way she wrote the person she’s now inhabiting. But … it is a lot like one of the fantasies she used to return to.

Maybe that actually makes sense. PIDW is fap-fodder for nerds who want to imagine themselves as Luo Binghe, plowing through dozens of nubile maidens with massive boobs, or else as a nubile maiden getting thoroughly plowed — so it runs on porn logic. Or maybe Shang Qinghua has more power than she thinks in this setting and is altering it in some way so that Mobei-jun responds to her inadequate frame draped with sheer silk like she’s pulled with a magnet?

Mobei-jun leans down and bites Shang Qinghua’s tit right next to her nipple, lips forming a seal so she can suck hard on the soft skin there. That’s going to leave a mark. Oh god, Mobei-jun is leaving a mark on her. Shang Qinghua makes an inarticulate little whine at the thought, and the feeling, and Mobei-jun’s hand shifts lower on her abdomen. Her fingers curve around and down and then suddenly she’s plunging two of them into Shang Qinghua’s cunt, at least two knuckles deep.

They’re big fingers. Mobei-jun’s built on a different scale from a human (and Shang Qinghua’s not a very big human) and her two fingers are the size of an averagely-thick vibrator. There’s room to go, for sure, but it gives a just-getting-warmed-up Shang Qinghua the feeling of being stuffed full. This whine is longer and breathier, a sound she never made before and wasn’t even sure anyone would really make.

This is all the story she wrote. It’s not going the way she actually wrote it, but — it’s still a story.

It’s pornfic, is what it is. Shang Qinghua’s starring in her very own pornfic, and that means she gets to act like it. “Oh, my queen,” she moans, and lets her back arch so she can try to grind down on those fingers, to make them sink further into her. The slight ache in her shoulders when she pulls against the iron grip on her wrists is incredible.

Mobei-jun pulls back, her lips a dark blue and her eyes black pools, and she gazes down at her wriggling victim with a look that is slightly, slightly less blank than usual. A few silken strands of hair fall forward over her face. “Look at you,” she says. “Such a shameless whore.”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua agrees shamelessly. “Yes, I’m a whore, I’m your whore, I want you inside me so bad, my queen.” She’s never said anything like that out loud, in her real life or in this one; she’s ready for it to sound corny, but she’s not ready for how incredibly fucking hot it makes her feel. It’s a combo of the self-degradation and the way Mobei-jun is still looking at her pretty impassively, like even when Shang Qinghua’s completely embarrassing herself for her, it doesn’t matter to her.

“Really. Then show me how badly you want it.” And Mobei-jun sinks her fingers in farther, giving Shang Qinghua even more to work with — it lets her pull herself up toward her trapped wrists and then push back down, fucking herself on Mobei-jun’s fingers. It’s not enough, but it’s better than nothing, and it’s what her queen expects of her. When she bends her knees, she can dig in with her heels and get more leverage so that she’s practically pounding herself.

Shang Qinghua always talks too much, and now is no exception. “Oh, my queen, you’re so — I can’t — I can’t believe you want me, it’s so good, it’s too good —” There is a tiny thought at the back of her mind that maybe she’s misreading this, maybe her queen came in and pounced on her because she was so offended that Shang Qinghua would dare to do all of this and now she’s trying to punish her slutty subordinate. Well, if that’s what’s going on, Mobei-jun’s made a rare misstep, because the idea of being punished this way takes her fevered excitement to new heights.

“Enough.” Mobei-jun pulls out her fingers completely, making Shang Qinghua whine like a child whose favorite toy’s been placed out of reach. “Stop talking. Clean this.” She places the same fingers in Shang Qinghua’s mouth, and yes ma’am, Shang Qinghua dutifully sucks on them, her tongue swirling in unnecessary flourishes as she licks up the evidence of her own arousal. Her legs remain splayed open.

“I should keep you like this,” Mobei-jun muses in the sudden quiet. “You could be my little human pet, with a silver collar and leash.” Oh, fuck, Shang Qinghua’s seen the exact set she’s referring to during the annual treasure inventory. The collar’s impossible for the wearer to remove — only someone else holding the leash can will it open. “You could kneel next to my throne just the way you were when I came in here.” Her voice is getting harsher, huskier. “For everyone to see.”

Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck! What did Shang Qinghua ever do to deserve this, and how can she make sure to do it again? Her hips lift up on their own accord, her cunt wanting desperately to be filled. She starts to babble more, but the fingers in her mouth won’t let her do more than mumble — which is actually hot too, like she can’t really talk because her mistress, her queen is using her and doesn’t need to hear from her?

Then Mobei-jun’s pulling away, her fingers slipping out from between Shang Qinghua’s lips; her grip even looses and disappears from Shang Qinghua’s wrists. It’s so unfair, is she realizing that this whole thing is a bad idea? But no, Shang Qinghua turns and lifts her head slightly off the bed and watches Mobei-jun shrug off her robes, undo the ties that hold up her leggings, and drop all of them to the floor. Shang Qinghua’s seen her in the process of getting dressed and undressed before, helping with clothes has been part of her duties on many occasions, but that context was totally different, even if the queen has a lax attitude about walking around naked in her quarters before Shang Qinghua can get the new clothes on her. (Like a toddler, she’s thought in less generous moments.)

When Mobei-jun turns around again and walks toward her very deliberately, Shang Qinghua thinks she might faint. What a wonderful, wonderful brain she has, to have invented this six-and-a-half-foot-tall miracle. Every inch of Mobei-jun is perfect, and not just by her own partial standards — it’s an objective fact. Full but firm breasts practically the size of Shang Qinghua’s head, thighs like tree trunks, and a sweetly curving waist that still manages to be solidly muscled.

Her movements as she climbs back onto the pile of furs are smooth and powerful, like a panther. A sexy humanoid panther. Shang Qinghua holds her breath and waits for Mobei-jun to grab her wrists again (she’s been very obedient and left them up above her head to make it easier for them to be seized), but she’s left a bit disappointed when Mobei-jun just … sits next to her instead?

But then she reaches over with her big, strong hands and just manhandles Shang Qinghua, flips her up and over so she’s on her hands and knees and facing the other direction, like she’s some kind of little doll, the sheer silk hanging around her like streamers. Then Mobei-jun drags her over her own body, pushing Shang Qinghua’s head down between her legs.

“Get to work,” she says, and then those magnificent thighs come up and just hold Shang Qinghua’s fucking head in place with her mouth at Mobei-jun’s cunt. She could die, she really could — if she were smothered, it would be the happiest death she could imagine, not even murder. She’s still being obedient, but even without the order she’d start to lick and suck in order to give her queen the best damn orgasm she possibly can.

Being shoved forward the way she is, her own backside is up in the air, and with her knees on either side of Mobei-jun’s body, she’s totally exposed. The feeling actually pushes her on to, well, slobbering and making more unnecessary noises, because she just wants to! It’s adding so much to her experience. She experiments with trying to talk, and just like before she can’t get anything intelligible out, but it does some interesting things with her tongue and teeth that her queen seems to like, judging by the way her thighs clench.

When she feels the first touch of Mobei-jun’s fingers on her, she squeals and jumps as far as she can with her head trapped. She can’t see anything like this, can’t tell what Mobei-jun might be doing, except for what she can feel. What she feels is icy fingers tracing around the edges of her cunt lips, then idly plunging in and dragging out again. Held like she is, she can’t even push back on them, which is so unfair. It’s very distracting.

She only gets more distracted when Mobei-jun’s sopping fingers find her clit and start to circle it. It seems like she’s going to be played with some more in a desultory fashion, but then the fingers speed up and holy shit, Shang Qinghua’s flung off into a new year’s fireworks display of an orgasm. Once she stops shaking and collects herself, she just sits there for a moment, panting, until one of her nipples is pinched and twisted sharply, making her yelp.

“Keep going.” Mobei-jun’s voice is muffled because of the way her thighs cover Shang Qinghua’s ears, but her ever-commanding tone still comes through as clear as a sheet of black ice. As ever, Shang Qinghua obeys, but even as she gets back to the task of pleasuring her queen, the fingers return and start tormenting her again. She’s really trying to provide excellent service despite her minimal experience, but it’s so hard when Mobei-jun holds her in place at both ends and seems determined to make her come over and over again — each time, Shang Qinghua has to pause her own efforts and is rewarded with a slap or a pinch and a command to get on with it.

Finally, after who knows how many times Mobei-jun teased her into paradise, she’s sure she’s making headway. Mobei-jun’s skin is cold, and colder still in her core, and when she starts to seem even colder under Shang Qinghua’s tongue (a really weird sensation), her servant senses that she’s getting close. At the same time, Shang Qinghua’s getting close, too. She can hardly believe that it’s still possible for her to come again, but the feeling’s unmistakable. Her fingers clutch at Mobei-jun’s thighs — it’s a race, because if she has to pause again, Mobei-jun will cool off, or, er, warm up, and then she’ll be back at the beginning and this will never end. She’ll probably die of dehydration or something, which is too bad since sex with her dream woman is now apparently on the table.

What Shang Qinghua has to do is apply herself, use that ruthless efficiency and ability to give 120% to a difficult task that she’s learned in An Ding Peak. Who knew these skills were transferable?

And somehow, she pulls it off. Just as she crests the wave of her next climax, Mobei-jun’s legs clamp tighter around her head, so tight that she’s practically seeing stars, oh god, she never considered that success could bring her death too, and even with that and the exhausted whine she’s making she can hear — or maybe feel — Mobei-jun letting out the most delicious kind of low, relieved moan.

There’s a long, still moment in which Shang Qinghua goes limp because she just can’t hold herself up at all, and then Mobei-jun’s thighs spread, freeing her. Before she even has time to get anxious about how she should act now to show the proper respect, those amazing hands, imperfectly wiped off on the furs, take her by the waist and manhandle her back up to lie beside Mobei-jun with no effort at all.

Their hips are pressed together, side by side. A fur comes out of nowhere to cover both of them, and, without thinking, Shang Qinghua leans in and snuggles close. Mobei-jun has no body heat, it doesn’t warm her up, but it’s what she wants to do in this moment. Well, she can hardly do anything else — she’s wrung out, her stamina depleted.

Mobei-jun doesn’t gasp. Shang Qinghua’s never heard her gasp and never wrote her gasping, so she must not have done it. The sharp intake of breath is something else. After it happens, a well-muscled arm wraps behind her shoulders and pulls her closer. “You’ve done very well,” says Mobei-jun in a soft tone Shang Qinghua’s rarely heard from her.

“Mm. Thank you, my queen.” Her eyes are shut tight now. This is more than she’d ever hoped for since getting isekai’d into her own stallion novel, and it’s already starting to feel like she’d imagined it. It would be really nice after all that, that intensity to be cuddled, but she can’t really expect the Queen of the Northern Realms to —

Mobei-jun’s other arm falls across Shang Qinghua’s body. Shang Qinghua is encircled by Mobei-jun’s arms. Mobei-jun is … hugging Shang Qinghua?

“Very well,” Mobei-jun repeats firmly, and leans in to plant a kiss on Shang Qinghua’s forehead, sending her a brisk stream of qi that immediately makes her feel refreshed and strong despite not fully erasing the ache in her thighs and neck. She’s done it before, of course, because Shang Qinghua’s qi isn’t up to most tasks on its own, but usually with a hard poke from a finger or a pinch, some other mildly unpleasant form of physical contact. Shang Qinghua’s eyes pop open, revealing Mobei-jun still hanging above her. Mobei-jun’s boobs hanging above her, specifically, which is Quite A Sight, and then Mobei-jun’s lips leave her forehead so Mobei-jun’s eyes can look down at her.

Now that Shang Qinghua’s mind is working again, refreshed with the influx of qi, her anxiety’s starting to kick back in. What the fuck is she doing?! What the fuck has she done?! “I’ll just — I’ll just go back to my duties, so many things I should be working on — thank you so much, my queen, this has really been —” But the arms are immovable, no matter how much Shang Qinghua wriggles, and they even get a bit tighter.

“You’ll stay here until I’m finished with you,” Mobei-jun orders, and it’s sharp but not angry. “You need to rest. That was a lot for a human.”

Shang Qinghua’s not going down that easily, even though she does stop struggling and presses her cheek up against Mobei-jun’s soft bosom. “It would have been a lot for anyone,” she says sulkily, and is rewarded with a quiet laugh that she feels more than hears.

It doesn’t feel real. Yes, this is essentially what she was trying to do with the outfit (now hardly attached to her; she’s lost at least one of the strips of silk that was wrapped around her and a couple of the chains seem to be broken), but … she guesses she didn’t really think it would work? It seemed like despite Mobei-jun’s comparatively softer touch in recent weeks, there still haven’t been any clear signs of affection. She thought she was just trying to prove that Mobei-jun couldn’t possibly have any interest in her, not … not …

One of Mobei-jun’s hands comes up to cradle her head, fingers working their way into her hair, and Shang Qinghua sighs luxuriously.

She’s never going to let Sha Hualing know that all of this was down to her assistance, though.