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It was a Thursday night in the middle of semester and second-year pharmacology student Maomao made quite the studious picture. If one simply looked through the third floor dormitory window, they would find Maomao in her single student room, sitting primly at her walnut secretary desk, highlighter poised over her Toxicology 201 textbook.
What was happening above that table, well, the sight would surely make Maomao's old man proud. (He'd gifted her that desk for her high school graduation present after all.) Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her face would occasionally light up with delight—or perhaps inspiration—and she would hunch back over a new paragraph in her textbook, straight dark green hair loose around her shoulders. Her back wasn't even against the chair—she was literally on the edge of her seat with excitement over her studies. Truly remarkable.
As for what was happening below the table, well . . . it was her older sisters who would've been proud of her achievements there.
For, you see, the reason Maomao was perched precariously at the edge of her vintage wooden chair was because, under the desk, beneath the hem of her oversized grey t-shirt, there was an inimitable beauty kneeling before her with his silky violet head between her thighs, eating her out like he'd been deathly poisoned and she was the only antidote.
Jinshi.
It was a name the rest of Palace University only uttered in dreamy sighs and lovestruck gasps. It practically had glitter glue hearts around it.
For everyone, that is, except his stray cat of a girlfriend, Maomao.
To this day, her dorm neighbours, Xiaolan and Yinghua, were bewildered as to what made them compatible. Maomao was equally bewildered, even as one half of said relationship, but she'd given up asking questions halfway through her first year (and subsequent at first forced then reluctantly friendly association with Jinshi) and that approach had served her well thus far.
"Maomao . . ." came a low murmur from between her thighs, followed by a gentle sticky kiss to her clit.
She showed no outward reaction, just calmly highlighted a passage about the difference between arsenic and arsenite. However, Jinshi had been eating her out for the better part of the last hour. Guess she'd better check on him. She quickly snuck a peek below the desk.
Jinshi was wearing his casual athletic clothes—black tank top, black running pants—that's right, he had come straight from his wushu club. His violet hair was smooth as silk, shimmering even in the low light below her desk. Most impressive to Maomao though, were three things:
The amount of glistening wetness collecting on his chin.
The equal parts awe and frustration in his dark eyes.
And the redness of his cockhead peeking out from the waistband of his pants.
She felt a soft pulse in her lower abdomen, as if her obliques quietly squeezed her sides.
To an outsider, it may have seemed rude, cold, disrespectful even, to have this beautiful man giving her pleasure while Maomao, seemingly, ignored him completely.
But Maomao wanted to finish this chapter. Jinshi, heated from his recent training, had barged in wanting a bite of her (quite literally). Ergo, was this not the most ideal solution?
Jinshi's tongue dragged a stripe up the centre of her already wet folds and she clamped down on her highlighter to stop her toes from curling. Jinshi would notice and that would ruin it.
As strange as it may have seemed, both Maomao and Jinshi enjoyed this. There was an element of mental . . . see, 'torture' was the wrong word but you could grasp the meaning.
At times, Maomao would find sexual stimulation in general borderline overwhelming. She didn't consider herself prone to any physical sensitivity, it was just, as far as she understood it, a mental quirk of hers. However, she'd learned over her last year with Jinshi that, by concentrating on something else while Jinshi pleasured her, Maomao's focus effectively tempered the part of her brain that wanted to overthink and fixate on the minutiae of the sensations, and hence allowed her to just . . . feel.
For Jinshi, Maomao presumed it was the fact that purposefully testing the leash of his own control, exercising patience not as a virtue but as fuel for sexual frustration, combined with being at the mercy of Maomao's whim, turned him on immensely.
Of course, there were more layers to it. There always were with these things.
She felt Jinshi's lips close around her clit, his tongue flickering, fast and insistent. A feeling akin to static rose through her but she beared it and reached down to card her hand gently through his silky tresses (he was fussy about his hair). Jinshi's head tilted back with the movement, eyes wide and adoring.
And then Maomao fixed him with a bored yet disapproving look, as if he was a particularly irritating piece of dust.
"Patience," she intoned, deadpan.
It had the intended effect—Jinshi's glazed lips parted around a moan as he held Maomao's stern gaze until he couldn't take it anymore and his long lashes fluttered, his nose returning to nudge against her vulva.
A pulse of something smooth and rich ebbed through her and she withdrew her hand from his hair, leaning back over her textbook, smirking. In her humble opinion, Jinshi was better like this. Dishevelled. Messy. Genuine in his desperation, without any of the practised artifice that had zero effect on Maomao. Leaning back again slightly, she watched Jinshi snake a hand inside his pants to free his cock and stroke—slowly, shakily. Without revealing her interest, she stared, unabashed yet calm, as he ran a desperate yet reverent hand up her core to collect a palm of her wetness and close his fist around himself again, pumping as he settled back between her thighs, eyes as glazed as his reddened lips.
It almost got her. The sight of him unravelled like that. It was times like these that Maomao didn't understand why others idolised his ethereal, nymph-like daily appearance. The perfected smile that quite literally made him look like he was sparkling.
Granted, others would never have the opportunity to see Jinshi like this, but like flowers cut in vases or birds kept in cages, were these beautiful things not more so when they were wild?
Jinshi seemed to sense her focus slipping away from the textbook because his gaze sharpened slightly and he let go of himself, slipping his hand up and resting his fingertips—just his fingertips—lightly against her inner thigh.
A chance to resist. Maomao, feigning ignorance, returned to her book, flipping the page to study a table of potential health effects of arsenic, ranked by severity and risk. She closed her mouth around the end of her highlighter.
Skin keratosis, concentration in water—
She'd barely started the sentence before Jinshi slipped a slender finger inside her, glancing across her clit on the way, and Maomao let out a slight huff, lips parting and the highlighter coming away wet. Damn, that was a bigger reaction than she'd wanted to give. Against the firmness of his finger, she could feel the ridges of her walls, swollen and slick, pulsing against him in time with her heartbeat.
He probably felt so accomplished, so smug. She couldn't have that.
Cerebrovascular disease, concentration in water—
Jinshi hooked his finger into the front wall of her cunt and dragged. This time, Maomao had to drop the highlighter to grip at the edges of the desk, feeling herself involuntarily clamp around him. The slender girth of his single finger only teased her with the memory of more.
She took a shaky breath and kept reading.
Abnormal electromyograms—
Jinshi slid that finger back inside her, dragged it back out, curling.
She swallowed her grunt before it could escape, restarted the sentence.
Abnormal electromyograms—
Again. The same smooth elegant motion but this time, it felt deeper, more resonant, as her body refamiliarised itself with the pleasure and the dearth of sensation yawned wide.
more.
Maomao should've told him to stop here.
Abnormal electromyograms, concentration in water—
Again.
With each stroke, she was clenching around him in rhythm. Maomao could differentiate his saliva from her wetness by their viscosities and right now, she could tell—she was absolutely dripping.
She didn't know the last time she'd been this wet. Probably the last time they'd done this. A smile threatened to break across her face.
She needed to study. (But did she really?)
Jinshi thrust his finger into her again.
Then again.
He was getting faster, reading her with a fluency he could never apply to her mind yet somehow had always possessed for her body.
She gritted her teeth. Started the sentence again.
Abnormal electromyograms, concentration in water—
more—
The hunger roared up in her then split open with a crack as between one stroke and the next, Jinshi added a second finger.
"Guuh," Maomao grunted out, pressing her hands flat against the shiny pages of her textbook to ground herself, even as her cunt fluttered around the thicker, yet no less deft intrusion.
She'd lost her place on the page.
What was that word? Ab-absolute? Abundant?
"Maomao~" Jinshi teased low and soft, his lips just a breath away from her clit.
She straightened her spine and put her head down to concentrate. Or at least, do her very best attempt to. After a year of Maomao's tutelage, funded by her comprehensive knowledge of her own body and her expansive collection of erotica donated by her elder sisters, Jinshi was quite good at this and Maomao didn't know yet if it was a blessing or a curse.
Shouldn't have let him read my books.
Jinshi using two fingers was a weakness of Maomao's, one she hated admitting to. Those two pretty fingers could be likened to a gateway drug of sorts for her cunt, which always made this moment a particularly dangerous (and hence delicious) situation for her. The perfect mix of dexterity and fullness, precision and power. Each confident stroke produced a perversely delightful squelching noise and each slide of his fingertips against her front wall, curving behind her pubic bone, taunted with glimpses of something more (more, more).
"Your toes are curling," Jinshi murmured against her thigh. Shit, he was much too sharp when it came to her.
She stiffened, bit her lip. If she tried to reply, then audible evidence of her enjoyment would spill forth all over her textbook.
Goddammit.
What a cruel and beautiful goddess Fate was, dropping Jinshi, a personification of the finest, most lethal poison, quite literally in her lap. As with any poisonous substance, Maomao's curiosity would be what killed her. She wanted to see just how much of him she could take, test the edges of her body, find the limit and drag her tongue against the knife's edge. After all, these little games were her idea, her own undoing, not unlike the scars on her arm. Guess the mad scientist in her was never sated.
Her hips started rocking unconsciously.
maybe just a taste.
Jinshi moaned against her inner thigh, as if he were the one being rewarded.
"That's it," he crooned, continuing to finger her.
The scientific part of Maomao's brain, the one still trying to finish the sentence about abnormal myopia or abundant myograms, distantly registered her cheeks growing hot, her thighs quaking, the small pants escaping her lips as her body required more oxygen. She squinted at the book.
Abnormal—
Abnormal—
The page was blurring before her as the sensations in her body continued to gnaw at her concentration. Assessing her symptoms, Maomao was, medically speaking, losing it. It was magnificent.
surely, just a sip wouldn't kill her?
Then, without pausing the pace of his fingers, Jinshi lowered his mouth to her clit and sucked and that one she felt lance straight up her spine.
fuck
Perceptible to no one but her and the man between her legs, Maomao loosened her mental grip. It was nothing more than a subtle release of muscular tension through her small frame but it was like she'd eaten the wrong (or perhaps right) kind of mushroom. All the sensory pleasures swept over her in a torrent—the tightening in her lower abdomen, the wetness dripping all the way down the seat of the wooden chair, nerve endings firing all over her body, her cunt stretching and softening to allow for more, she could take more, she needed more, Jinshi—
Her teeth lost grip on her lower lip and she gasped his name.
It was a signal of defeat—or of victory. The perspective was unclear at times.
Regardless, it was all the confirmation Jinshi needed.
Before she could suck in her next breath, Jinshi was surging forth, bumping his head on the bottom of her desk in his haste. Her chair screeched back against the hardwood as he shoved it back, enough to loom over her, chest heaving and long strands of purple hair swaying around his face, his clean fingers trailing up her cheek.
Then he paused, his lips a breath away from hers, quaking with restraint. A question.
He really was far too proper sometimes.
Maomao shot him an evil grin, then flicked out her tongue out to lick herself off his lips.
"Fuck!" Jinshi cursed.
In a whirl, Maomao found herself intimately reacquainted with her Toxicology 201 textbook, her entire upper body splayed over it as Jinshi bent her over her desk, one palm firm between her shoulder blades, the other grabbing her hip, pulling her up to meet his cock.
"You cheeky thing, I swear—" Jinshi panted, voice hoarse.
Sorry, Dad. This wasn't the intended use case you had in mind for this desk.
Maomao hid her smile in the glossy pages and arched her back like her sisters taught her all those years ago, causing the slick head of his cock to almost slip inside her, tantalising.
Jinshi let out a growl and with one firm thrust, Maomao was pressed hard against the desk and she was (finally!) full of Jinshi's cock.
Maomao barely had half a second to revel in the sweet fullness, the biological sense of completion, the luxuriant heaviness, before Jinshi was pulling back.
She whined pitifully and she felt Jinshi smile into the back of her neck.
"Patience," he teased, mocking her from earlier.
She hissed at him, wiggling her hips. "Jinshiiii," she complained. His cock just rested at her entrance and the slight stretch yet internal emptiness was infuriating.
He chuckled, sparkling and effervescent, and then immediately slammed back inside her.
It punched the sounds straight out of her, pitiful little gasps each time his hips met her ass, each time she heard the slick slap of his balls against her folds. Each thrust shunted her upper body back and forth along the desk, rubbing her nipples against the glossy pages of her textbook through her thin t-shirt, sparking tingles up her neck and along her jaw.
Maomao knew that not everyone with a vulva loved penetrative sex but she did—she really did, especially because it was Jinshi.
Struck by a cheeky idea, she tugged the textbook out from under her chest and held it out in front of her.
"A—abnormal . . . elec—electromyo—" she started, breathlessly.
"Really?" Jinshi panted, rolling his hips harder.
She fought the wave of pleasure and kept reading, even as her eyes threatened to roll. "Concen—ah—concentration in wat—"
Jinshi grumbled, pushed the book out of her hands, and bit hard into her shoulder.
Maomao half squeaked, half moaned at the pleasing burst of pain and arched into it. If she wasn't busy gasping, she would've been grinning. Jinshi was so fun to rile up, get his teeth in her.
Pain was another one of Maomao's gateway drugs, but lucky for her, it was one of Jinshi's too. Reaching for his arm at her hip, she dragged it up to her mouth and sunk her teeth into his forearm—not enough to break skin of course, but enough to hurt just right.
His mouth fell off her shoulder around a whine and his other arm wrapped around her waist as he ground into her, quick sharp thrusts that pushed deliciously against her G-spot.
His hand around her waist stopped her hips from bruising against the desk with his thrusts, yet still she braced against the secretary shelves with both arms as her legs started to shake, still squeezing the flesh of his forearm between her teeth.
"Ma—Maomao . . ." he gasped, holding her tighter.
Jinshi's voice was usually like honey, sweet and glossy and oozing, but Maomao liked it much more when it wasn't so smooth and sweet, when it was petulant, rough, or otherwise wild as her favourite herbs.
She always did prefer the savoury snacks.
"Maomao, please, I need you to—are you close? Please, please be close, I'm almost—I can't—" His hips stuttered and she partially took over, rocking back and forth on his cock to maintain the rhythm. In response, he ran his hand from her waist up to her nipples, brushing along the tips, then pinching them hard.
One of Maomao's hands flew off the shelving to reach down to her clit—it was throbbing, and just the barest circle with her fingertips had her knees buckling. She was practically balancing on her tiptoes at this point, supported only by her hand against the shelf, Jinshi's fingers pinching her nipples, her teeth in his arm, and his cock curving into her like she was a juicy chicken skewer.
It was too much. It wasn't enough. Not for the first time in her life, Maomao thought about how maddening sex was. It was a cycle of craving fullness, then needing friction, which created emptiness, which only intensified the desire for fullness, and on and on until she thought she genuinely might die.
Shortness of breath, muscle tension and spasms, increased heart rate—the signs were all there when one thought about it.
Except Maomao didn't have any room in her brain anymore to think about it because as Jinshi licked up her upper spine and she rolled her clit between two fingers, Maomao was gone.
She didn't possess the flowery vocabulary to truly capture what an orgasm felt like. In her mind though, orgasms were what it felt like to die by poison.
She would likely never build a resistance to the lethal concentration that was Jinshi but goddammit, she would try until it one day killed her for real.
"Maomao, Maomao, Maomao, oh god, I—!"
Another flare of beautiful pain as Jinshi bit into her shoulder, trembling as he came, and a wet yet comforting warmth blossomed inside her, sating that deep biological craving.
It was always a mess to clean up when he came inside her, but the satisfied sighs and shivers he made afterwards almost made it worth it. (Thank her IUD for handling the rest of that.)
As Jinshi breathed against her, his chest warm against her back, Maomao touched the fresh purple bite mark on his forearm. She'd probably have a similar few marks on her shoulders too. Jinshi caught her hand and tangled their fingers together and for those couple moments, she allowed the affection. When he kissed the top of her head softly, something oozed in her heart.
But maybe she was just mixing up the sensation with the fluids trailing down the inside of her thighs.
She reached for a tissue from the box on her shelf only for Jinshi to bat her hands away and sit her back in the chair so he could do it himself, kneeling and gently wiping her clean.
"Your knees," she scolded, seeing them on the bare floorboards and tugging him back to his feet, yanking up his pant legs to inspect them. If he'd spent that whole hour kneeling on hardwood . . .
"It's okay," he soothed, seeing her concern. "I was kneeling on that pillow like you told me." He pointed at the old green pillow he must have kicked away at some point.
She nodded and let out a sigh. "Good."
It was such small praise yet Jinshi glowed under it all the same.
Crouching back in front of her chair, he ran his fingers down her cheek, then up into her hair with a reverence she didn't deserve. Still, she unconsciously leaned into his touch, just a little, and the face he made at that melted that gooey stickiness inside her again.
"You have to go home," she murmured, even as his nails lightly brushing her scalp made her eyelids droop. Jinshi's mansion was off campus (obviously) so it would be a good twenty minute drive. "It's late. Suiren's going to kick your ass," she mumbled.
She fluttered her eyes open to see Jinshi blushing. "If I go home, she's going to know what we were up to," he said.
Maomao gave him another look. "And you think she'll be less suspicious if you stay the night here?"
Jinshi smiled, then cupped her face to pull her down into a kiss, his lips claiming and possessive even while his hand was light and careful.
Her mistake. Shouldn't have given him the worm look so soon.
It took another fifteen minutes to get him to leave. Maomao told herself it was Jinshi dragging the time out but some small part of her couldn't deny she'd played her role in that too.
After the door fell closed behind him, Maomao flopped into her single bed, a little soggy, a little lightheaded, a little less warm than she'd been a minute ago. As she sipped water from her repurposed glass beaker (had to rehydrate after losing all that fluid), a small maniacal laugh escaped her, a little "heehee" of a cackle.
Oh how her sisters would be proud of her sex life. She could almost picture Pairin wiping a tear as she sobbed, "We taught her so well."
Her phone buzzed from under her pillow. A text from Jinshi.
Goodnight Maomao <3
She didn't send a reply, just read it and stared at it for a moment longer than she needed to.
It had taken a long time for Maomao to start enjoying her new life at college, to not just accept wherever life took her but to be daring enough to want more from it.
Speaking of wanting . . .
She turned her phone back on, opened up her watched eBay listing for ox bezoars, and stared at their golden beauty until she fell asleep.