***** WARNING ***** R18 ***** MATURE CONTENT *****
Ling Li chuckled. "So impatient." She said as she kneeled on top of him, played with his nipples, nibbling them one after the other. At the same time, her wet entrance was slowly grinding the shaft of his hard cock. Up and down, watering it all over with her cum.
"Fuck! Ugghhhhhhhh..." Four Eyes granted loudly. His cock wants to scream with him. "Dear... please..."
Ling Li, looking at Four Eyes directly in his eyes, teasingly let her wet entrance play with the tip of his cock.
Four Eyes’ hand gripping tightly, his breath heavy, as he looks back into Ling Li’s eyes with red eyes.
Ling Li could see the lust in his eyes. She then slowly slid down to let his cock enter her. It was so slow that Four Eyes retaliated by forcing his way up to his pussy and started to ride him with his limbs tied.
Ling Li swayed her hips to match him.
Four Eyes silently thought, ’Finally! Fuck!’
"Ride my cock hard, Baby! Suck it dry!"
Ling Li didn’t disappoint him.
The night was long, and Four Eyes was grunting, yelling, and cursing all throughout. And for the first time, Four Eyes slept ahead of Ling Li.
That same evening, Mushu guided his brother Sisu down the quiet corridor to his chambers. The lamps and chandelier flickered, their warm light casting long shadows that moved in tandem with the brothers as they walked side by side.
I didn’t know you were arriving today so that I couldn’t prepare the guest room — it’s still cluttered with my training gear and old books. Just stay in my room tonight," Mushu said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, as if the arrangement were perfectly ordinary.
Sisu froze mid-step, his entire body going rigid as heat surged from his chest to his face, staining his cheeks a deep, betraying crimson.
"Ah! Big Brother! This... this..." he stammered, his voice cracking and trembling like a leaf caught in an autumn wind, words dissolving before they could fully form.
Mushu’s brow furrowed with concern. He closed the distance between them in two swift strides, then reached out and pressed his calloused palm firmly against Sisu’s forehead. The gesture was both clinical in its purpose and unexpectedly gentle in its touch.
"Why’s your face red? Are you sick? You’re burning up! Let me check your pulse."
Sisu jerked backward from Mushu’s touch as if scalded, panic flashing in his wide eyes. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, and his body tensed as he put space between them.
"No! No! No, Big Brother!" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I’m not sick... I’m just — just a little exhausted from the journey. Where’s the bathroom? I need to wash up first!"
Mushu gestured with a slight tilt of his head toward the carved wooden door at the far end of the room.
"That’s the bathroom—"
But before he could finish the sentence, Sisu darted past Mushu, moving quickly like a startled deer. He practically threw himself through the doorway and slammed the bathroom door shut with a resounding bang that echoed through the chamber.
When the bathroom door slammed closed with jarring finality, Mushu stood rooted to the spot, momentarily stunned and silent. A question mark twisted through his mind as he slowly shook his head in confusion, ’What is even the problem?’ Then, regaining composure, he turned to the bed and began stripping away the old covers, replacing them with crisp, fresh linens that smelled faintly of lavender and sunlight.
Inside the bathroom, Sisu pressed his back firmly against the closed door, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. He brought both trembling hands to his burning cheeks and slid down until he was almost crouched. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, heart hammering against his ribs as if braced for an impossible battle.
"How do I control myself?" he whispered hoarsely, fixing his reflection with desperate eyes. "Years of keeping my distance, forcing myself to be apart... And now we’re together again, breathing the same air. How do I stay calm? How can I act normal around him?"
He staggered toward the shower, each step unsteady, fumbling to unfasten buttons and pull off clothing with shaking, clumsy fingers. As he finally stripped down, the sound of running water crashed and roared, filling the tiled space, but even its thunderous noise couldn’t drown the turmoil swirling in his mind.
The hot spray hit his skin like needles, steam curling around him. Tears — hot, bitter, long suppressed — fell down his cheeks, mixing with the water. He couldn’t hold them back anymore.
’Ever since I was young, I knew I was different—fundamentally, irrevocably different. I am gay. And when Father married my stepmother and brought Mushu into our home, everything changed. I... I loved him. Silently. Desperately. Secretly. I followed him everywhere like a devoted shadow, like a duckling imprinted on its mother, unable to resist the pull. I memorized his habits, his favorite foods, the way he smiled when he thought no one was watching. Until one day, he left. And part of me died with his departure. But I know, it’s for the best.’
His sobs echoed and reverberated against the cold tiled walls, raw and broken, the sound of a heart that had been caged for too long. Sisu knew — had always known — that his father had long ago realized the true nature of his feelings for his stepbrother. Yet, his old man had remained deliberately, maddeningly silent, neither condemning nor condoning.
"Father..." he choked out between sobs, his voice breaking. "Are you testing me? Is this some kind of trial? Why did you send me back to him, of all people? Why now, when I’ve barely learned to breathe without him?"
Outside, Mushu’s vigilant ears caught the muffled sobs through the door. His heart clenched, concern disturbing his usual composure. But as soon as he heard Sisu mention their father, he exhaled slowly and forced himself to relax.
"He’s grieving for Father," Mushu thought, his analytical mind latching onto the explanation with relief. "The loss is still fresh, still raw. I’ll take him shopping tomorrow — get him out of these walls — maybe dine at that fine restaurant by the harbor he used to love as a child. That should help lift his spirits, help him relax."
He shook his head, trying to physically dislodge the persistent unease that clung to his thoughts like cobwebs. With practiced efficiency, he stripped off his outer garments, then methodically removed his concealed arsenal — twin pistols from shoulder holsters, throwing knives from his boots, a garrote from his belt — laying each weapon down in precise, neat rows on the table. His discipline was absolute, ingrained through decades of training; even drowning in confusion, order and ritual remained his anchors.