[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 11 [H]

The warmth between her legs was a secret that she herself didn’t know—and it had begun to bloom out.

Perhaps it was the shiver that came when cold fingertips crept over her knees.

Or maybe it was the bare skin teased by the curling smoke.

More likely, it was the fine lambswool licking at her bre*sts, squeezing out pleasure until it surged between her legs.

Shiliu’s resolve was nearly worn away. Since childhood, she had never let her guard down in front of others, yet now she was drowning in a hazy sea of desire, drifting with the current, unable to struggle.

So soft.

The dense fur rubbed against her bre*sts, licking at the creamy flesh. So light she could barely feel it, yet so heavy it pricked her fair skin until it flushed pink.

So itchy.

An irritation that couldn’t be rubbed away, couldn’t be crushed out. It covered her body like ants, biting delicately yet never granting relief, only breeding a restless heat.

Like a fire smoldering inside her, burning until her lower lips parted and quivered like a stranded shell.

Then something hard slammed into her, ruthless and unyielding, like splitting open a fresh orange, juice overflowing into her underwear, silently soaking the soft white cotton.

But the man behind her wasn’t satisfied. He kept driving into her, fierce and relentless.

His sharp hip bones became carving tools, leaving marks on the soft inner flesh of Shiliu’s thighs. The tenderness she’d nurtured there was battered beyond recognition, kneaded into soft clay.

A dark stain spread beneath him, sticky threads stretching thin, elongating slightly before snapping between their colliding bodies.

“What a lustful little thing.”

He leaned down, pressing against Shiliu’s slender back, whispering lewd words into her ear—blunt, frivolous, and cruel.

Then he deliberately nipped her fragile earlobe, grinding the soft cartilage with his sharp canine.

The warmth of his male body pressed heavily against her back, pinning her bamboo-thin frame firmly against the wool blanket.

His movements never ceased, his c*ck pounding against her entrance through the damp cloth.

With every thrust, her bare bre*sts brushed against the short nap, immersed in a maddening itch that grew more unbearable by the second.

Below, the torment was relentless. It was too hard—though boneless, it grated more than his hips, pressing against the softest part of her, where even the steadily flowing wetness couldn’t cushion the impact.

Shiliu’s breaths came in broken gasps. She could only whimper softly, like an injured animal, wanting to curl up against the mix of pain and pleasure.

She couldn’t take it anymore, struggling desperately to wake, but her mind floated in a fog, her consciousness suppressed beyond reason, leaving only sensation and desire in control.

It was like drowning—powerless to resist.

But since childhood, she had been trained never to relinquish control or disguise. Struggling, Shiliu managed to shift her bound wrists behind her and clawed back fiercely.

Her desperate resistance nearly scratched the man behind her. He swiftly caught her wrist—her nails were barely an inch from his eyes.

His voice came from behind, not angry but almost laughing, yet laced with a bone-deep coldness.

“It seems I’ve found a wild little thing, one that needs a good deal of discipline.”

Her lower body was already a complete mess. The half-lifted robe was loosely and carelessly draped over her form. The man’s slender fingers pinched the corner of the robe that had fallen across her waist and hips, flicking it away in one swift motion.

Her round, pale, and glistening butt*cks were thus exposed. Shiliu was still prone on the floor, but her hips were raised high in the air.

It was an indecent posture, a brazenly wanton entanglement. Shiliu couldn’t see, but she could feel the gaze behind her, heavy and cool upon her skin, as detached as his laughter.

A hand came down on the back of her head, pressing with a merciless force that prevented her from turning around, pinning her firmly against the plush rug.

There was movement behind her, and the next moment, the sound of something cutting through the air.

Crack!

A thin leather whip landed on the pale, unblemished skin of her butt*cks, immediately raising a vivid red welt.

The spine of the prone Shiliu arched backward violently. Her fragile backbone pressed against the soft skin, leaving marks as if something were about to tear its way out from within.

“So beautiful,” he remarked admiringly.

It was indeed beautiful. Paler and brighter than moonlight, more luminous than warm jade. On the fine, smooth skin that was almost slippery to the touch, the thin red mark spread starkly.

It was like a tree of plum blossoms fallen onto a field of snow—intense, stark, and tragically gorgeous.

Shiliu’s body sank back down, trembling violently. Her shoulder blades protruded sharply, like the stumps of wings brutally snapped from a young bird, leaving behind broken remnants.

She could only gasp for air, her breathing fractured and ragged. She buried her head in her arms, hiding any trace of emotion.

But this was far from over. His fingertips gently hovered a hair’s breadth away from the red mark, not touching, but tracing the inflamed line in the air, admiring his own perfect handiwork.

Even without physical contact, the skin seemed to sense the proximity. The finest downy hairs on her skin secretly stood on end, subtly stirring with the currents in the air.

How slender that whip was, so delicate and fine, tapering to a pinpoint at the tip. Though made from the softest, most supple lambskin, it seemed to concentrate the very wind itself; the slightest movement produced a whining sound that sliced through the void.

He did not whip her again. Instead, he slowly lowered the tip of the whip into the cleft of her butt*cks.

The two peach-like mounds engulfed a small part of the lash. With the slightest struggle, the thin leather thong pressed deeper into the soft, plump flesh, creating a slight, yielding indentation.

He toyed with her deliberately, savoring the tremors of the female body beneath him—like a pitiful lamb lying under him, awaiting slaughter and devouring.

The fine tip of the whip began to travel downward, tracing a feather-light path over the tiny rear opening.

“Ah!” Shiliu jolted as if struck by lightning, scrambling forward blindly to escape. But he immediately pinned her ankle under his foot, clamping down viciously, rendering her completely immobile.

“Be good,” he actually chuckled softly, as if he had derived some amusement from the sight and thus gained a little more patience.

The whip continued its descent, gliding over the sensitive perineum until it reached the soft, plump mound of her s*x.

It remained tightly closed, revealing only a faint pink seam glistening with clear moisture, which now dampened the tip of the whip.

He raised an eyebrow, pulling the tip away slightly. Sure enough, a thin strand stretched between it and her body, clinging to both ends, thinning in the middle until it finally snapped back onto her delicate folds with a soft pat.

“No…” she moaned tremulously, her voice laced not just with resistance and fear, but something else, vague and indistinct.

Suddenly, the whip harshly parted the plump, glistening lips, squeezing out the tender pink flesh within. The leather was enveloped, warmed by the sudden intrusion.

The tip, fine and pointed, seemed to develop a will of its own, tracing the inner lips nestled within, moving upward.

“Mmm… no…. don’t…” Shiliu cried out like a child stripped of her will, her pleas broken. A trickle of saliva, too much to swallow, escaped and glistened at the corner of her mouth.

He reveled in the sensations transmitted through the whip, able to feel every slight ridge and fold imprinting itself upon the leather, sensing how the tip traced over such exquisite softness.

Suddenly, it encountered a small protuberance, soft yet resilient, obstructing its path.

A smile curled his lips. Insistent on challenging the pitiful little nub, he used the whip’s tip to press and poke at it, sinking into the soft membrane, meticulously searching for that tiny aperture.

Shiliu thrashed as if possessed. No, she didn’t want this!

It was too much. Pleasure, pain, and a maddening itch merged and shot straight to the crown of her head, making her scalp tingle and go numb.

She felt the urge to vomit, to expel the other self from within her body. She did not want this version of herself—wanton and licentious. She was ashamed to acknowledge her pain, and equally ashamed to admit her intoxication.

Yet the twisting of her body only seemed to please the man behind her more. His fingertips gathered force, applying a clever, measured pressure that sent the very tip of the whip striking against her trembling, sensitive core.

A wave of debauchery overwhelmed her. Shiliu lost even the ability to breathe. She screamed, her spine shattered into dust, unable to straighten or struggle, can only tighten her flower hole.

Fluid gushed from beneath her, drenching the pristine lambswool beneath, making it sticky and foul. Above, her quivering pink entrance now glowed a fierce red.

Smack. Something landed on her face. With great effort, Shiliu finally managed to open her eyes.

Her vision swam, everything blurred and dim, casting chaotic, mottled shadows behind her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered as she shook her head, trying to regain clarity.

“Wake up, Taoist.” Li Xuanci’s cold voice came from behind her. The residual, overloaded pleasure lingering in her brain caused her to release another gush of fluid merely at the sound of his voice.

Only then, in her dazed state, did she notice that her inner garments were completely soaked, clinging to her legs, rapidly cooling from warm to cold.

Shiliu had rarely cried since childhood—not when surrounded by crossbows, not even when the life-binding curse was cast upon her. Yet now, her nose suddenly stung, and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, tears welled up in her eyes.

Shiliu didn’t fully understand what she had dreamed. Her master and senior brothers had never taught her about such things, yet she instinctively felt a deep shame, plunging her into an inner turmoil.

Behind her, Li Xuanci watched the little Taoist with a detached coldness—sleep-flushed face, drool at the corner of her mouth, and just moments ago, she had been rubbing herself against the lambskin.

So lazy and filthy.

He thought with disdain, secretly tightening his grip on the Linglong whip hidden in his sleeve. If it weren’t for the life-binding curse, he would have long since whipped this slovenly, irritating Taoist countless times.

With growing annoyance, he kicked away the loose corner of her robe that had spilled over his boot, his expression turning even frostier.