600 Thread Count Ch. 07

Liyang sat Marcus at a cramped circular table near the window, overlooking the neon chaos of Nathan Road. The bamboo baskets arrived--har gow, siu mai, and golden-crusted cheung fun.

"You're wondering about last night," she said, her voice dropping below the clatter of the dim sum carts. "About why I had you do that."

Marcus felt the heat rise in his neck. "It wasn't what I expected."

"In China we have slang for sexual roles. 1 is top. 0 is bottom. A half refers to someone who is versatile. I wanted to see if you could accept all the roles."

Marcus was quiet. He felt this was the inevitable next act of his new life.

As they stood to leave the restaurant, Marcus felt a dark, electric thrill. He was ready to let go of his past. He wanted to see just how far Liyang was willing to take him into his future.

The noise of Nathan Road cut off as Liyang led him into a side street. She didn't slow down for the crowds, weaving through the delivery bikes and pedestrians until they reached a narrow commercial building.

The lift was slow. Liyang walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the door. The heavy door unlocked with a loud click.

Yan was taller than Marcus, with a lean, muscular build and fluid movements. He wore black silk trousers and a Japanese kimono jacket. His hair was long, tied back in a neat knot.

He stood framed in the warm light of the entryway. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips as his gaze settled on Liyang.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Liyang," he said.

He stepped back, gesturing for them to enter with a fluid sweep of his hand, his eyes briefly flicking toward Marcus to acknowledge his presence without breaking the focused, quiet intensity of the greeting.

"This is Marcus," Liyang said.

Marcus reached out to shake hands but Yan didn't take it. Instead, Yan closed the distance with a feline step. He leaned in and pressed a brief, lingering kiss to Marcus's cheek. He placed two hands on Marcus's shoulders.

"Hello, Marcus," Yan murmured, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. The transition from the formal greeting with Liyang to this sudden, intimate physical contact was jarring. "I'm hoping we can get to know each other more intimately."

Marcus held Yan's gaze and then let his eyes roam over the silk of Yan's kimono before locking back in. "I would like that."

An appreciative grin spread across Yan's face. The tension in the room was electric.

Yan turned slowly as he moved away from the entrance and beckoned Marcus and Liyang to follow with nothing more than a tilt of his head.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud.

Marcus stood at the edge of the room, his gaze tracing the dark rosewood paneling that boxed them in and the wide stage of polished dark wood that rose from the floor.

Yan gestured to a small room off to the side.

"You can undress in that room. Drink the tea that is on the table. It's cannabis-based. I find it helps reduce inhibitions. We can begin whenever you're ready."

Liyang left the room and continued down a dark corridor deep into the apartment. "I will leave you two alone for a moment so you can get acquainted."

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The room was empty when Marcus returned. He sat naked on the edge of the platform. Yan walked in from the back room. He removed his kimono jacket and stepped out of his pants.

His body was lean and tough like an old piece of rope. There was no wasted mass. Below the narrow taper of his waist, Yan was entirely hairless. The shaft was long and thick, resting against the pale curve of his inner thigh. It was uncircumcised, the skin dark and mapped with a network of fine, prominent veins. The glans was a blunt, shadowed knot, half-hidden under a thick fold of skin.

To Marcus, sitting exposed on the platform, the sheer lack of vanity in Yan's nakedness was more intimidating than the physical sight of it. It was a body that existed only to perform a task.

Yan sat on the platform beside Marcus. He could feel the heat radiating off Yan's leg where their skin touched.

"Don't be nervous, Marcus," Yan said. His voice was soft, intimate. He shifted closer, his shoulder brushing Marcus's. "I was the same way the first time." He placed a hand on his upper thigh. "I was a teenager," his hand slid higher. "He was an older man. My piano teacher." He gripped Marcus's cock and lightly stroked him. "He was kind and giving."

Marcus looked down at the hand caressing his penis.

"It's just... new," Marcus said, finally meeting Yan's eyes.

Yan smiled. "New is good. Lie down. You look tense. Let me work on you a bit."

Marcus obeyed, stretching out on his stomach. The leather was firm and cool. Yan moved onto the platform, the wood creaking beneath them. He straddled Marcus's thighs. Marcus felt the heat of Yan's groin against the back of his legs.

The room was warm. The scent of warm oil--ginger and earth--filled the air. The tea was beginning to take effect.

Yan's hands started at Marcus's shoulders, his thumbs digging into the muscle with a slow, rhythmic pressure.

"There we go," Yan murmured near his ear. "Just let your shoulders relax."

Yan's palms slid down the curve of Marcus's spine. Marcus felt Yan's knees anchoring his hips, the solid weight of him holding Marcus against the leather.

"Relax for me, Marcus," Yan whispered, his breath warm against the back of Marcus's neck.

Yan's oiled palms moved in heavy, grounded circles over the lumbar region. He used the heels of his hands to drive downward, tracing the thick cables of muscle flanking the spine. He worked with a slow, deliberate friction that pulled the skin taut before releasing it. Marcus's chest pressed deeper into the leather as Yan leaned in, using his body weight to anchor the stroke.

Yan's thumbs found the dimples above the hip bone. He pressed in, holding the contact until the muscle pulsed under the force. He didn't move, waiting for the resistance in Marcus's frame to give way. When it did, Yan's hands spread wide, his fingers wrapping around the flare of Marcus's waist to pull upward, a firm, kneading motion that worked the soft tissue against the bone.

Marcus settled deeper into the leather and tea as Yan massaged years of tension away.

Yan poured a thin stream of warm oil onto the small of Marcus's back. He moved his hands in long, sweeping strokes that extended from the spine out over the glutes. His middle finger followed the deep line of the crack, until he reached the tight, puckered skin of the anus.

Yan didn't pull back. He let his fingertip rest there, circling the opening with a steady, rhythmic pressure that forced the muscle to register the intrusion. Marcus's hips bucked slightly against the leather, but Yan's other hand clamped onto his hip, digging in to keep him pinned.

"Stay," Yan murmured, his voice a low vibration against Marcus's damp skin. "Relax. Let it happen. It will feel different in a moment."

He dipped his fingers lower and began to press inward. The tip of his finger tested the resistance. He worked in a slow, expanding circle, stretching the opening with a clinical, relentless focus. The sound of the oil--a soft, wet squelch with every movement--filled the silence between them.

As Yan's fingers continued their slow expansion of Marcus's opening, his erection pressing hard against leather. He let out a slow, shuddering exhale, his body sinking deeper into the platform. He didn't try to shift away or change the angle; he simply accepted the pressure.

"Good," Yan whispered, noticing the shift in Marcus's breathing.

Yan's hand moved with increased fluidity, the oil now a warm lubricant that allowed his fingers to slide deeper with less resistance. Marcus's hips remained heavy and still, his eyes closed as he focused entirely on the sensation of being opened.

Yan's hand flattened, his palm gliding over the slick surface of the right glute before his fingers slowed, finding the center. The oil made the movement silent. He used the tips of his fingers to trace the vertical line of the cleft, the pressure light but unwavering as he moved downward.

The contact remained steady, a slow, dragging heat that followed the narrow path toward the base. As his fingers neared the sensitive skin at the perimeter, the movement became more deliberate. He didn't break the stroke. Instead, he allowed the pads of two fingers to linger at the edge, circling the area with a heavy, oiled friction that maintained a constant, grounding weight.

"Turn over," Yan said softly.

Marcus shifted, his movements slowed and weighted by the tea. He was hard. His penis throbbing against his stomach.

Yan's penis was rigid and glistening slightly in the dim light. He knelt between Marcus's spread knees. He poured oil directly onto Marcus's inner thighs and groin. Yan's hands followed. He gripped the meat of Marcus's thighs, his thumbs digging into the adductor muscles with a brutal, sliding pressure that forced Marcus's legs wider.

Yan's palms grazed the base of his erection with every pass and heels of his hands pushing Marcus's scrotum upward as he worked the sensitive skin of the perineum.

"Look at me," Yan commanded.

Marcus opened his eyes, his breath hitching as Yan's thumbs hooked into the crease of his hips, pulling the skin taut. Yan leaned forward and curled his finger around his erection.

With his other hand, Yan reached underneath, his middle and index fingers found his oiled entrance again. The angle was deeper this time. Yan pushed up against the sensitive underside of his prostate.

His hips jerked upward, but the weight of Yan's body kept him pinned to the table. Yan's fingers slid in and out with a wet, rhythmic suction. Each thrust was deliberate.

He stopped. Yan leaned over and moved his palms in slow, slick circles over the pectorals.

"Your heart is racing," Yan said, resting a palm flat over Marcus's ribs. "I can feel it. It's okay to want this, Marcus. I want it too."

He let his thumbs brush Marcus's nipples, watching them harden. Marcus arched his back slightly, his semi-erect length twitching against the air, his hips lifting instinctively toward Yan's weight.

"You're beautiful like this," Yan whispered.

Yan leaned down, closing the distance. The kiss was deep. His tongue was insistent, pushing past Marcus's lips.

Marcus took in the moment. He reached up, his fingers tangling in Yan's hair, pulling him down. His hand drifted between them, sliding into the narrow space where their bodies met. He wanted to feel Yan. He wrapped his fingers around Yan's cock and closed them around the base, his thumb tracing the slick, sensitive ridge of the head. His hand drifted lower, cupping the weight of Yan's scrotum. He rubbed them slowly, feeling the heavy, solid shape of them within his palm. The contact was visceral and grounded. Yan's breath hitched against Marcus's mouth, a low, guttural groan vibrating in his chest.

"Yes," Yan whispered against his lips, his voice breaking for the first time. "Just like that."

Yan's hand clamped over the base of Marcus's cock, his thumb and forefinger forming a rigid, unyielding ring. He squeezed, the sudden pressure stemming the blood flow and forcing the mounting climax back down the shaft.

Yan watched the flush spread across Marcus's chest and neck. He waited until the frantic hitch in Marcus's breathing slowed, until the desperate, rhythmic bucking of his thighs subsided into a dull, heavy trembling. Only then did Yan loosen his grip at the base, his hand sliding back down to the scrotum, cupping the weight of him with a slow, clinical possessiveness.

"Not yet," Yan murmured, his eyes fixed on the point where his hand met Marcus's skin.

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Liyang was in the other room with her phone. There were close to 1300 people watching. This was more than she hoped.

On the wall beside her, four monochrome grids displayed the platform from the corners of the ceiling. In the lower right frame, Marcus's chest heaved, his skin slick with the ginger oil. She tapped the screen, a soft haptic pulse under her thumb, and the view zoomed until Marcus's face filled the tile.

Satisfied the software was tracking the movement, she set the interface to sleep. She removed her clothing, letting the fabric fall in a silent heap, and stepped out to join them.

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Liyang calmly stood at the head of the platform, looking down at Marcus. She didn't speak. She reached down and drew his arms upward, stretching his frame. She secured his wrists to the frame of the massage table.

She stepped onto the head of the platform and straddled Marcus's head with a slow, controlled descent. She remained upright, her spine a rigid line of control, while her hands reached back to anchor themselves against Marcus's pinned knees. She waited until Marcus's tongue began to work again--a desperate, flicking search for friction against her swollen folds--before she allowed her hips to tilt just enough to meet him. The sound of the contact was wet and rhythmic, a soft, sliding friction that filled the silence of the room. She leaned back, her weight shifting to press more firmly against his mouth, her hands moving to grip the edge of the massage table for leverage.

She looked down at him calmly. "Keep going," she said, her voice a low, melodic friction. "Don't look at Yan. You belong to me now."

Yan sat back on his heels, his gaze fixed on the point where Liyang's body met Marcus's face.

With one hand, Yan began a slow, rhythmic stroke of his own cock, his palm sliding over the head with a wet, heavy friction. His movements were mechanical and patient. His other hand reached forward, the fingers splaying across Marcus's abdomen.

Yan's hand moved upward, the palm grazing Marcus's ribs before settling over his chest. He used his thumb and forefinger to catch Marcus's nipple, rolling the small, tight bud between his calloused skin. He applied a steady, pinching pressure, watching the way Marcus's chest heaved in a reflexive attempt to find air beneath Liyang's weight.

He reached down and gripped Marcus's ankles. He hoisted Marcus's legs upward, folding his knees back toward his chest until his lower back was pulled clear of the table. Marcus felt the sharp stretch in his hamstrings, his entire pelvic region tilted up and exposed under the harsh overhead beam.

Yan stepped between Marcus's raised knees and reached for the tray. The first touch was a shock--a glob of cool, viscous oil applied directly to Marcus's anus. Yan's thumb began to work the oil in, circling the muscle with a heavy, rhythmic pressure. He was testing the elasticity, stretching the tight aperture.

Yan drove the full, dark length of his shaft deep into Marcus. He didn't stop at the initial resistance. He forced a deeper entry, his weight pinning Marcus's hips into the platform.

Marcus felt the internal walls of his rectum forced wide, the tissue thin and hot as it gripped the thick width of the intrusion.

Marcus's legs, still draped over Yan's shoulders, shook with the strain. With every inward surge, the blunt, shadowed knot of Yan's glans hammered against Marcus's prostate, a pressurized strike that sent a dull, electric ache through his lower abdomen.

Liyang rose. She shifted her weight, her thighs sliding against Marcus's chest as she moved down the platform.

She hovered over his lap, as she watched the friction of Yan's rhythmic work below. She reached out, her fingers slick with the warm ginger oil, and gripped the base of Marcus's shaft. She pulled the skin taut, then leaned down.

She took the head into her mouth, her tongue circling the glans before she slid lower, drawing him in until her lips pressed against the salt-streaked hair of his groin. The heat of her throat contrasted to the blunt, pressurized hammering Marcus felt from behind.

The internal pressure peaked as Yan struck the prostate with a final thrust. Marcus's body buckled. Liyang didn't break the rhythm. She pulled back from his mouth, her hand replacing her throat. She gripped the base of his shaft, her palm slick with a mixture of oil and fluid, and began a tight, mechanical stroking. She ignored the way Marcus's thighs shook against Yan's shoulders, his breath coming in jagged, high-pitched hitches. Every time he tried to recoil she increased the pressure, her thumb grinding over the head of his penis to force the climax to prolong.

Yan let out a low, guttural breath and pulled out. He knelt between Marcus's raised knees and stroked twice.

He jizzed across Marcus's chest. The warm, viscous fluid hit with a heavy slap, mixing with the ginger oil. Marcus lay pinned and shaking, his guts hollowed out, coated in the combined weight of their waste.

Liyang leaned in. She dipped her index finger into the pool of semen and oil on Marcus's chest, dragging it upward. She reached his face and pressed the coated finger hard against his lips, forcing them apart.

"Clean it," she commanded.

Marcus hesitated, his breath hitching, but her finger didn't move. He opened his mouth and took her finger in. He licked the mixture of Yan's waste and the ginger oil from her skin, the taste chemical and salt-heavy. Liyang watched his throat move as he swallowed, her hand still pumping his shaft in a slow, punishing rhythm.

The pressure in the room evaporated as Yan stepped back. He reached for a towel from the metal tray, wiping his hands and thighs with a methodical, unhurried pace.

Liyang untied Marcus. She sat back on her heels. She grabbed a water bottle from the side table, took a long pull, and then held it out toward Marcus for a sip.