The white snow-covered peaks above the clouds, Kunlun mountain, was the destination for spiritual pilgrimages and where those could catch a glimpse of High God Mo Yuan if fortune favored them. But most often, cultivation-seeking visitors got sidetracked after spotting the youngest disciple, Jīnlóng.
It wasn’t uncommon to see a massive gathering around the adorable child. The infant of outstanding genetics had the sweetest face, big brown eyes, and matching dimples he had inherited from his mother. He inherited a magnetic personality from his father that drew people to him.
Pretty as a picture, he sat perfectly still, smiling and cooing at the immortal visitors who fawned over him adoringly. However, his stillness was but temporary. His infantile immobility was short-lived…
Jīnlóng’s development started sitting up alone, then fussy tantrum-filled tummy time, which he had hated and cried. Before long, he discovered his surroundings, the entire school slowly inching around on his round belly like a fat rolly polly caterpillar.
That gradual scootching about progressed into army ant-speed, swiftly moving on all fours. The speedy crawl evolved into assisted wobbly first applause generating steps, followed by uncoordinated, frequently falling, tumbling footsteps without the help of others.
Now, the once stationary infant fathered by Mo Yuan during Bai Qian’s mortal trial was a full-fledged busy toddler who never stopped moving with a fine knack for finding and causing trouble.
Waving both arms in the air like an exuberant monkey, yipping like a playful puppy when its owner returned home, little Jīnlóng, dressed in saffron yellow, looked much like a sun-ripened champagne mango with tiny legs.
A blur of golden yellow flashed by as he ran to the teaching platform. Upon spotting Mo Yuan, he squealed happily. A long string of drool dripping hung like an ice stick off the rafters in winter from his gaped mouth, showing his first and only tooth.
Jīnlóng scurried to his padmasana, lotus position, seated father in the middle of his Daoist lecture. He tripped over his, had yet to control his feet from excitement, tumbled, and hurled himself into his father Mo Yuan’s lap with an audible plop.
Those witnessing the intimate father-son moment, the focused scholarly disciples giggled, elbowed each other, smiled at the cuteness, and aww-ing and ohh-ing in unison from the heart-melting scene.
“Bàba, Bàba, Bàba, Bàba, Bàba, uppy, uppy, Jīnlóng now.” He whined.
Bàba Papa had been the baby’s first spoken word, and it was the word he repeatedly said from the time his alert eyes popped open in the mornings until slumber overcame him at night.
He babbled from his limited vocabulary, using his body language and words. He wanted to have his father hold him, oblivious that he was interrupting an important lesson. “Bàba, uppy, uppy, me, Jīnlóng?”
His tiny hands fisted and opened as his short arms reached and stretched towards his father. Despite his reserved, set in his ways rigid exterior, the solemn Shifu of Kunlun’s face and eyes lit up with pride.
A slight smile curled Mo Yuan’s lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes as he lightly chuckled at his chubby, rosy-cheeked son before scooping him up until they were face to face. The slobbering toddler, giddy from getting his way, squealed loudly, grabbed, and roughly yanked on his father’s, the God Of War’s short, neatly trimmed beard with his pink, little dimpled hands.
“Jīnlong! No, no, you mustn’t disturb Bàba. He’s busy!” Bai Qian screamed, chasing after her rowdy son.
Her delicate, peach blossom coral-colored, embellished with intricately embroidered tiny yellow flowers, flowy gown puffed, fluttering cascading behind her like butterfly wings as she followed after the baby.
Her burnt deep amber-colored eyes became round like saucers to see the scene of disturbance, a commotion caused by her son, and the coloring from her dress moved up and spread to her chest, neck, cheeks, and face.
Her ivory complexion turned a tangerine, and she uttered apologetically, “Oh, I’m sorry for the interruption. Jīnlong is so sneaky. That naughty little rascal slipped right past me. What will I do when he can use his Dragon magic and flies overhead!”
Die Feng had been quietly kneeling in his usual spot by his Shifu but immediately rose and hurried to Bai Qian’s rescue, with a sheepish grin of an enamored schoolboy on his face, “Shimu, I’d be more than happy to help watch the baby. I know he’s a handful.”
There wasn’t any flirting on her part. Her innocent response was nothing seductive when she battered her long lashes and lightly punched Die Feng’s right arm as she would one of her younger male cousins, beaming that dazzling Fox smile that showed all her teeth, “Die Feng, please call me Qian Qian. Shimu makes me feel like an old woman, and I’d hate to impose on you.”
“Aya, it’s no imposition, and it would be my pleasure, Shi…I mean Qian Qian.” The neatly topknotted, senior disciple dressed in white reddened coyly, stroking the place she had punched him.
For a student, addressing his Master’s wife by her name was one thing, but to call her most informally was enough to make the steadfast young man stammer, stuttering his words. “Ba, bac, bacc, back home, I have siblings, nephews, and nieces, so I understand how toddlers are always on the go and never stop moving. I’m not saying you’re not lovely, but you look fatigued lately. Growing children are a handful, and I’m sure you could use a rest.”
Bai Qian stepped closer to the timid student. Her feminine voice scaled higher pleasantly, and she replied, “Oh, Die Feng, you’re too kind and considerate. I have been exhausted of late. Thank you for noticing my current state.”
She smiled, rocking back and forth, swaying on her toes. Bai Qian stood on her tiptoes to whisper a secret with Die Feng but froze when she heard from behind her husband calling to her but using all her titles, sounding exactly like her father, who used her full birth name when she was in trouble before a scolding.
“High Goddess-Princess Bai Qian of Qingqiu-Shimu of Kunlun Mountain-Wife of High God Mo Yuan, a word in private.” Said he.
After lightly clearing his throat, he handed the fussy baby to disciple Zi Lan. Without eye contact with his anxious wife, he clasped his hands firmly behind his back and wordlessly proceeded towards their private quarters with her following right on the hem of his heavy outer garment.
He entered their bedroom and stiffy sat on the edge of their bed, glaring her down as she stood there, nervously twisting her hands in front of her body with her gaze dropped, staring at the ground by his booted feet.
“Excessive.” He said.
“Excessive?” She repeated with surprised eyes that flew up, meeting his intense gaze. “What have I done?” She asked in a squeaky pitch that trembled like a stuck zither string that quivered waveringly, reflecting her confusion.
Mo Yuan’s full eyebrows knitted on his furrowed forehead and his lips pursed into a flat line from annoyance. “Flirting with Die Feng. Whispering, who knows what, into his ears and in front of your husband.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. His harsh words came out sharp, accusations. Being the Master of hiding his feelings was his forte, and his emotions rarely made their appearances, but he was openly furious today.
“That’s it?” Bai Qian rolled her eyes and exhaled with relief, throwing her hands up at the triviality of his vex. “My goodness, here I thought it was something serious.” Like a bratty schoolgirl, she lifted her hand to her face to cover her smirking mouth and giggled, “My dear husband, you’re being ridiculous over nothing. Die Feng is nothing more than a friend. He’s my buddy.”
Silently, without sounds, he mouthed, repeating her words about Die Feng as if he couldn’t believe his ears, “My Buddy,” His lips mouthed before moving with lightning speed towards her.
Mo Yuan unexpectedly leaned forward and seized one of her hands. He yanked, dragging her body towards him with a single tug until she was flat face down with her backside centered, smack dab draped across his lap.
In horror, she gasped to feel her loosely draped floral goddess gown pulled up over her waist and her silk undergarment down in the opposite direction. His big hand swung crashing down hard on her bare bottom, making her howl. A second blow following the first, he spanked her clenched cheeks as she, from the intense pain, howled loudly and long.
“I” slap “am” spank “a” whack “very” spank “jealous” thrash “kind” blow “of” lash “man!”
His disciplinary remarks accompanied a firm swinging of his hand as he struck her aching buttocks more and harder, fueled by jealousy. The throbbing pain and radiating heat from his punishment were unbearable. Too much time had passed, and Bai Qian couldn’t recall the last time her father had spanked or taken a switch to her.
“No more, please.” She whimpered and cried, twisting, contorting her body, trying to free herself from his confine on her, but his grasp was unyielding,
Unable to free herself, she pleaded, “I’ll be good. I won’t ever speak to Die Feng again. Please, no more. My bottom is on fire.” She wailed as hot tears descended to the ground in a steady train of giant water drops that dripped, darkening the woven rug, a wedding gift from the Eastern Desert King.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” She reasoned, but the shadow of his moving arm came into view from her peripheral vision, so she braced herself for more. Her body tautened like a plank of wood, stiff as a board, tensely anticipating another blow when his palm came down again, but his hand wasn’t the deliverer of agony. It brought sweet relief.
Gingerly caressing her backside, his touch offered loving comfort after the severe spanking. It was delicate, soothing when he massaged her burning, inflamed buttocks with the entire cooling surface of his palm. It didn’t take long for the agony to fade before another sensation took over and the perfume of her arousal wafted in the air.
She whimpered and then gasped. A breathy exhalation escaped her lips when Mo Yuan’s fingers deliberately descended between her cheeks, parting, stroking, coaxing her thighs to open for him, and they did eagerly.
His big hand reached Bai Qian’s lower treasure and grazed teasingly with his long fingers, deliberate, pressured strokes pushed, massaging her pink vertical slit until her head reeled.
What was it about the intense pain in her bottom that made the pleasure in her sex more euphoric? Her entire body came to life, buzzing and sparkling as if an electrical current was rushing through her veins. Spreading her thighs wider, she moaned a throaty cry when his fingers slipped, dipping into her honeypot before curling and tapping that spot inside her.
She planted her hands firming on the ground, arching her back, and boosting her hips for more extensive, probing insertions. Her body jolted, jerked, and twitched when Mo Yuan repeatedly tapped, thumping her g-spot, causing an explosive outpour of slicker than water, sweet wetness from her folds drenched, covering his steadily penetrating fingers.
The physical sensation was intoxicating. Feeling feverish and drunk, Bai Qian closed her eyes and pictured her husband’s hand, that manly hand and those thick protruding veins from hundreds of thousands of years wielding his mighty unbeaten sword as the warrior God intensified her lust.
Her mind filled with flashes of those zigzag lines, which brought more heat to her arousal. Mo Yuan’s visible veins coursed up his solid forearm to his bulky biceps, broad shoulders, chest, defined abdomen, and that masculine place of endless pleasure, his girthy, veiny manhood. These were the images she conjured when pleasuring herself alone.
The provocative mental pictures and the masterful manual handling of her sex were enough, and he pushed her there. A fire burned her up inside. “Ahhh, I’m coming,” she wailed, feeling his rubbing thumb circling on her clitoris as his third and fourth fingers infiltrated her, sinking into the heart of her femininity.
Climax crashed, rolling over her body like a tidal wave and leaving her body limp. And as satisfying as they had been for Bai Qian, his talented fingers were nothing but foreplay. His hands were but a tease resulting in her craving more.
Fox magic flooded their bedchamber; she summoned a spell to remove their clothing. Bai Qian lifted from Mo Yuan’s lap with a graceful backflip and agilely landed on all four on the floor before him with a lustful glint in her eyes.
Like an animal stalking its prey, she hungrily licked and bit down on her bottom lip, teasingly slinking up on his muscular body, her breasts rubbing against his legs, making the hairs on his skin’s surface stand on ends.
A moan of impending satisfaction grumbled in her throat when she reached his ready sex. She nudged his bulging phallus with her nose, taking in a long whiff of his skin, inhaling his musky scent.
She took one semen-filled ball into her mouth and then the other. One hand gently cupped both and, with her extended tongue, licked across his balls, darted tongue coasting upwards, tracing, following the small crease separating his testicles from one another.
Her body goosebumped when his hand ran through her hair. Reaching, he grabbed a handful from that sensitive spot at the back of her neck and firmly pulled, leading her open mouth over and down onto his throbbing shaft.
“Ahhh, that’s it…” He groaned gruffly and hoarse when her warm mouth engulfed half his length. The length her mouth couldn’t handle, her hand grabbed fingers circling the thickness at the base to where her lips could reach, jerking him off in her mouth and sucking.
She flicked at the tiny slit, moaning, tasting the slick, slightly sweet, and salty precum, steadily polishing from fatty base to veiny mid-shaft as her mouth devoured him with ravenous hunger, aware of his need to release.
He had taken her to paradise, and she would return the favor. Her free hand cupped and gently massaged his heavy balls, and she felt his flesh begin to pull, retract. She sped up, lost in the moment, vaguely conscious of his hands urgently grabbing her body.
He grasped her waist, raised lifting, lining her yoni, the junction of her thighs to his place of need, positioned his upright cock, and expertly lowered her onto his aching erection, which sunk into her wet heat slickly and oh so smoothly.
His mouth seized hers, kissing her with passion; words alone could never explain. His ravenous mouth shifted to her long neck, widened, and he bit her flesh hard enough to leave a bruise, marking her to him.
He bit and nibbled on her cream-like skin. He severely slapped her sensitive buttocks with his fully extended palm, and fingers splayed to cover more skin, rekindling earlier pain. He pulled her into his upward thrusts, clutching her peach-like bottom; simultaneously, she swiftly rolled and gyrated, tilting her hips as he groped, basking, drowning in the lust-quickening intermingling sensation of both pleasure and pain.
What was this magnificent spot between pain and pleasure? Reason and logic failed her, but her quivering, titillated body never wanted it to end. She felt him widen inside her. His manhood pulsated and thickened to the point it felt as if he would split her apart in the best way possible.
Both panting, moaning, and gasping for air, she arched her lower back, pushing her jutting breasts and hardened as pebbles nipples in his face. Sitting upright, growling, he took hold of her more sensitive right breast then her left and nibbled, biting, sucking, while hitting her soft, round, bouncing bottom.
The room smelled heady of their bodily union. Light dewy perspiration covered their intertwined bodies making their skin glow. Mo Yuan’s defined hips raised. His blood-filled manhood entered her succulence with intense, stabbing penetration, entering and withdrawing, burrowing, pushing her to the edge.
“Husband…Don’t stop. I’m coming again.” Bai Qian moaned, demandingly grinding, rocking, wiggling her clitoris, her labia into his hairy rock-hard mound, greedily taking all his generous length inside her slicken honey-covered walls.
The intensity of her climax and heightened arousal made it possible for her petite figure to accommodate the girth, all of him comfortably, sheathing his long sword as she orgasmed, moaning and yelling out his name.
The first constricting, the squeezing internal embrace, her insides enclosing and gripped him as a tight vise when she came. Mo Yuan panted and groaned, unable to hold back, likewise hitting his release, erupting as her body milked his manhood of its juice with her muscle spasms and pinching contractions that pulled, drained, and withdrew his seed.
“Ahhhhh…Oh, me! Oh, you!” Mo Yuan shouted in a loud booming voice and between husky, brassy, raspy groans coming from deep down in his throat, expressing his profound pleasure as he released the last drops of his creamy fluid inside her.
It was a private joke between them. The spouses had decided for deities to scream, ‘Oh God’ when hitting their sexual climax wasn’t fitting. Humans usually exclaimed ‘Oh God,’ during intercourse, but being Gods, what were they to bellow in the throes of passion during bodily pleasure?
Being the wise God he was, Mo Yuan had come up with the outlandishly clever idea of exclaiming, ‘Oh me’ or ‘Oh you,’ instead of the human phrase, ‘Oh God.’ He had even chuckled at the silliness of it all. Most didn’t know he had a fantastic sense of humor. There were so many facets to her husband others would never see, and she knew how blessed, just how fortunate she was to witness sides of him that others didn’t know existed.
She leaned into his embrace, placed her dewy cheek on his shoulder, eyes closed, catching her breath as he caught his, twirling his loose hairs with her fingertip, thinking about when she had fallen in love with him?
Suppose she was candid with herself. Bai Qian had fancied him that night he came to Qingqiu by force and politely smiled when her father brought up that terrible incident involving his shoe and her lack of potty training.
That first night under the stars, when he sat on the steps outside the den, she deliberately placed her hand on his inner leg to cast him another Fox enchantment spell but instead had made a wish.
Upon the brightest star above, she made a wish. Full of her heart’s most earnest desire, she asked the universe to send a fine man like Mo Yuan into her life, and fortune smiled on her the day he suddenly appeared, asking for her instead of her father.
He hid his feelings from others. But Mo Yuan had worn his heart on his sleeve for her from the first time he teasingly called her homely, running his big palm over and down her face.
He asked if she wanted to make wine, and his offer had not been an empty promise when he took her to his private vineyard, a mysterious place even Zhe Yan wasn’t allowed to access.
There Mo Yuan had tenderly washed her feet, rolled up his pants, and awkwardly stomped on grapes with her barefooted until they both took a spill, landing into the fruity sticky mush-filled oak container. The way he had blushed and turned deeper colored than the grapes when she mentioned her lady bits being grape-flavored from the fall still made her giggle when alone.
And, it was a bit manipulative on her part when she took a risky gamble begging Star Lord Si Ming to make her calamity extremely wretched as much as possible. She had guessed…No. She had hoped that Mo Yuan was a compassionate man who wouldn’t be able to sit by idle and allow her to endure such hardship.
Thankfully, she had placed her bet correctly.
As she assumed, Mo Yuan was the devoted man she believed him to be. He broke Celestial Law to oversee her growth from a mortal toddler to a teenager and then the young woman Lifen whom he saved from drowning hence intervening and, in doing so, changing her fate. The immortal God most feared had protected, taught, loved, married her, and consumed her terrible baked goods without a single complaint.
Mo Yuan had gifted her in more ways than she could count, and now she had a present for him. Bai Qian burrowed herself into his warm body. Her soft flesh pressed against his muscular chest, resting her chin on his right clavicle, in his ear, and she whispered.
She said, “I wasn’t flirting with Die Feng. I wanted a moment alone with you to tell you that I’m pregnant again. Zhe Yan predicts it’s a girl, and if this is so, I’d like to name her Lifen.”
She couldn’t see his face, but she heard delight in the softness of his humming tone. He hugged, embraced her tighter, tenderly rubbed his stubbled cheek on hers, and his voice cracked, broke too choked up from his emotions as he murmured, “My love…Lifen is a beautiful name for our unborn daughter.”
- Dear Emily, this one is for you. I dedicate this beautiful love story to the muse who gave me friendship, a listening ear, constructive criticism and shared her spring-like personality that warmed my winter.