Floating World Bitten Peach

Xiaodan—Little Dawn—had known it was coming—more or less. Less, as it inevitably turned out. He just didn’t fully know what “it” was. His parents, no his whole village, had been honored when, as a particularly small and well-formed and fair-of-face child, he had been taken from his parents at a young age and sent to the renowned nanleshijia school for male courtesans in Nantung. From the beginning of his two years there, he had been told he was very special. But still he was surprised when, barely into his training as a jinan—a male courtesan—and two years short of reaching his majority, he was selected to train for the King of Wu’s Golden Peach troupe, a very special troupe of actors who only performed for a very select group at the Imperial Court in the kingdom’s capital city of Gusu. He was told this was a great honor, and he of course believed the house’s caretaker, the zhaoguzhe, when he was assured of this.

After being taken from the nanleshijia in a palanquin sent by the court at Gusu, Xiaodan was transported to the capital city and trained for two years more in playing the female parts in the troupe’s highly refined and specialized dramas shown only in the Imperial Court and only at the pleasure and invitation of the King of Wu.

He had now learned all there was to know of the dress and of the walk and of the positioning of hands—and of the facial expressions that went with each of the traditional symbols of the time-honored stage scenarios. He learned to smile demurely and look away in embarrassment, he learned to slit his eyes and wet his lips with his tongue, and he learned to open his mouth wide and lift his eyes to the heaven—and even how to swoon in this, the wu, or fifth, movement of the basic play form he was being taught. He practiced the sounds the female characters made—the sigh, and the little giggle, and the long moan. And he learned to dress. The special robe of heavy brocade, cinched with the tight, breath-taking sash. The two-sectioned white sock slippers and the wooden platform sandals that gave the Chinese imperial female her peculiar gait. He at first had thought it strange there were no foundation garments, but he was told that the brocade was so heavy that to wear too much during a performance would cause him to sweat and his white pancake makeup to run.

He was taught all of the expressions and movements and sounds he was to make in the female role in Golden Peach productions. But he only learned these in theory and in solitary practice with his tutors. He had never practiced with any of the other actors of the troupe—indeed, he never had met any of them. He himself was not privileged to watch a Golden Peach performance. They were so special that they were meant for the eyes of only a few.

He had begged Hsiang, the troupe master, to declare him ready to perform—he had perfected everything.

“And have you perfected the knowledge that you represent your parents, your very ancestors, and your village in this role and that how you deport yourself, how well you stay within your role, no matter what, will determine either the reward or punishment of everyone you know down two generations?”

“Yes, yes, Laoshi,” Xiaodan answered, using the revered words for master teacher for the one man who controlled not only his destiny but that of his entire village and extended family.

“Then I will look for a time when you can perform your first play. You must perform that well, with no deviation from role, and you must fully satisfy your audience, or you will have failed. And you understand what failure means, don’t you?”

“Yes, Laoshi.” He knew this was a serious point, as Master Hsiang kept returning to it. Of course he would do well; he had trained for this female role in the imperial dramas for two years. “And what play will I be performing, Laoshi? I must practice that one especially hard.”

“Always the first Golden Peach troupe play for the female role is ‘First Bite.’ I presume you know that one well.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Xiaodan said. He knew the play, but it was one of the sadder ones. It was a play where two actors are playing opposite the female role on the platform outside a pavilion in the jade garden at night, while the breeze whispers through the maple trees surrounding the koi pond and singsong girls play on the lute and sing sad songs behind the diaphanous curtains of the pavilion. One man tells the female a sad story of a fallen family, shown in the images on a scroll he shows her while weaving his story. She is sitting very close to him and feels overheated by the warm night air and by the sadness of the images depicted as the chronology of the scroll unwinds. She moans her sadness and her faintness from the close air, and the two men console her.

It was a mournful tale, and the older, long-past retired female role actor who had taught the role to Xiaodan had told it with emotion and trembling hands.

At last it was the day of the performance. Xiaodan was primped and trimmed throughout the day—bathed thrice in highly scented baths, and all of his bodily hair except that on his head plucked away. He was told that nothing could impede the smooth rustling of the brocade on his body as he went through his highly stylized movements. Two hours before the performance he was given a potion in strong wine. This was to make him slightly faint to aid in the realism of playing out this highly important, crucially significant first performance. This too he had practiced for this play before, so it came as no surprise to him.

When he was bid to flutter out onto the stage and to move toward the two men seated behind a low tea table on large, raised pillows, the setting was just as Xiaodan had imagined it would be—everything was just where it was supposed to be. The table and cushions were set out on a polished-wood platform beside a koi pond and under a full moon. A slight breeze was rustling through the maple trees. Soft light filtered out to encompass the area of the tea table from a curtained pavilion. The front section of the pavilion, toward the stage, was open to the platform. Five men, in magnificent silken hanfu—robes—with many different-colored layers of undergarments, were artfully settled on cushions in a ring around the covered pavilion section, all facing the stage area. They each had a low table beside them on which various drinks and delicacies for the palate were positioned, and they had cushions they could lean back on as they watched the play. Kneeling beside each was a young, handsome youth, none much older than Xiaodan, who were dressed only in diaphanous billowy trousers held up with a golden waist chain. Silken panels of cloth, each of a different color, were tucked into the waist chain front and back to clothe their privates.

Somewhere in the curtained-off portion of the pavilion behind where the dignitaries were lounging were the singsong girls, playing their lutes and singing their sad songs in soft, whispery tones.

The two actors Xiaodan minced toward, in studied, slow movements, on his precariously high wooden platform sandals, were quite different from one another. And, to Xiaodan’s surprise they did not wear the white pancake makeup that had been carefully applied to his face in the forming of his countenance into the epitome of female beauty before the black stiff-haired wig was set on his head.

The one actor, who was holding the partially unrolled scroll out in front of him was fairly young and was robust looking. He was wearing a shiny black hanfu of trim cut, and his arms were bare, showing heavily muscled biceps and forearms and the intricate lacing of black tattoos in the design of a spider web. He had the face of a seasoned warrior, and Xiaodan would have guessed he was an acrobat and decided to think of him as such.

The other actor was elderly, with stark white hair and a long, wispy beard. He was heavier than the first man, but not exactly fat. But of the two, he was the one who commanded attention. His hanfu was deep purple in color, which identified him to anyone in the land as imperial, not more than two removes from the sitting king. Xiaodan gasped at being in the presence of someone like him. Could it possibly be that a member of the imperial family acted with the Golden Peach troupe? Perhaps that was why Xiaodan had not been told of the other actors, he thought. Was he in the presence of something far greater than he had ever imagined? Even if he had not been wearing purple, Xiaodan would have known this man was the most commanding figure anywhere in the vicinity. He was obviously a warrior of old, proven by a slashed cut on his face that went from ear to chin and that was only partially hidden by the wisps of his white beard. Indeed, Xiaodan got the impression that the imperial elder didn’t want the cut to be hidden. The slash had caught the corner of an eye too, and that eye drooped a bit, certainly more than the other one.

But those eyes caught Xiaodan’s attention. The old man was watching him intently as he minced across the platform, and a shiver ran down Xiaodan’s spine. He didn’t know what the stare meant, but he felt like he was being eaten alive. And Xiaodan continued to be confused that the imperial elder was there at all. This was the stage; this was a Golden Peach performance. Upon even the slight reflection he was permitted, Xiaodan could not believe that this imperial elder was one of the actors. Why wasn’t the elder watching from the pavilion?

The younger, dark actor, the acrobat, motioned for Xiaodan to sit on the cushion between him and the older actor, and, as if on cue, the music rose in volume from behind curtain at the back of the pavilion.

Looking back over at the elder actor, Xiaodan noticed that there was yet another youth there, like the ones kneeling near the dignitaries in the pavilion. He had been hidden behind the billowing purple hanfu—robes—of the elder.

As woozy as Xiaodan was from the potion he had been given, one that made him feel loose through his body, Xiaodan fought hard to maintain his role. The acrobat was starting his melodious recitation of the story of the scroll that now was unrolling from one side and being rolled back up from the other side immediately in front of Xiaodan’s eyes, and he immediately went into shock. The acrobat had an arm around Xiaodan’s waist on the side from which the chronology of the scroll was appearing. This was all according to the play. Xiaodan was playing the female role. He was supposed to be emotional and to begin to tremble and give little gasps.

That Xiaodan didn’t really have to act this out but had had it drilled into him so deeply that he was naturally living the role he was trained to didn’t prevent him being shocked by what he was being forced to see.

It wasn’t just the story of one family’s tragedies. It wasn’t a Chinese scroll at all. It was a scroll of a Japanese art Xiaodan had only heard about in passing, behind twittering fingers, spoken in the dark of night and only between young friends who were taking risks and practicing coming of age far earlier than custom dictated. These were Shunga images, the pillow images of the Japanese underworld. And not just any Shunga images. These were images of men in exotic sex positions with each other. And the yang chus—the members—on the controlling men were of gigantic proportions.

Xiaodan felt like he might swoon, which was very interesting, because this was exactly where he was supposed to half swoon in the play script. He was also supposed to let out a little moan, which he did on cue—without needing the cue. He had studied and absorbed every nuance of the performance.

And then also on cue, the younger, dark actor set the scroll down on the table and lifted Xiaodan onto his lap. He enfolded Xiaodan inside his arms and picked up the scroll and began to roll through the increasingly suggestive images again. The images of the sexual positions were becoming more and more explicit. Less and less clothing was in view. The sexual act was progressing further, the takers in the images becoming bolder, more insistent, their yang chu monstrous.

Xiaodan groaned and looked away from the scroll, just as he was trained to do at this point. And the acrobat encasing him lifted a hand, took hold of Xiaodan’s chin and forced his eyes back on the scroll. The scroll had reached a point where a smaller man, completely naked, was being held to the front of a larger, heavily muscled, fully tattooed man’s middle, as the larger man paraded around in a circle. Xiaodan could see what was transpiring, as the half-buried phallus of the larger man could be seen up the hole of the younger one. The smaller man was in a swoon, his clothing and once-perfectly coiffured hair in dishabille.

Xiaodan gasped, just as he was supposed to at this point. His gasp was involuntary, though, because he suddenly could feel the strength of the other actor’s manhood beneath him through the one layer of brocade he wore. His yang chu was enormous. This wasn’t in the script, but the partial faint that followed it was. And, as in the script, Xiaodan came around shortly with the strong scent of a reviving potion under his nose, being held by the acrobat. The actor’s other hand, however, had entered the folds of Xiaodan’s hanfu and found and encircled his member.

Xiaodan gasped again and moaned and groaned, just as he had been taught to do at this point in the play. He was no longer being forced to look at the scroll, because the actor’s two hands were now engaged in other activities. The one was teasing Xiaodan’s cock to erection and the other had slipped in above the sash and was pinching at one of Xiaodan’s nipples. Xiaodan was also being moved around in languid circles on the actor’s lap, and the actor’s member was much more evident and much more in play between the crease that separated Xiaodan’s slim moons.

Xiaodan looked around wildly for escape or help. Strangely enough this action fell right into play with the script of the “First Bite,” and Xiaodan was beginning to more fully understand what he had learned—and why.

The elder was still sitting there close to him, his eyes boring into Xiaodan, drinking in each violation Xiaodan was experiencing. But now there was a bobbing head in his lap. The young attendant who had once been behind him now had lowered his face and both of his hands into the imperial elder’s lap, the hanfu spread just enough to give the attendant entrance. Xiaodan could see the pink skin of a long phallus that was largely flaccid but that was showing some signs of hardening. The elder was breathing heavily, and he had a heavily ringed hand on the back of the young attendant’s head, but his eyes were still drinking in Xiaodan, savoring every awakening of Xiaodan’s senses and realization.

Xiaodan looked wildly out to the audience of five for some sign of succor and reason, but each of the five now was already in some stage of being sucked by his personal attendant or in full-blown servicing, having easily pulled away the colorful loin cloths and gained quick entry to their attendant’s privates. The attendants were in various forms of compliance. The two attending the dignitaries in the middle had begun riding the cocks of their assigned master already, both barely started in taking in the poles they were riding, and were leaning in toward each other and kissing and running hands along hard, aroused flesh. Two others were still giving suck. The fifth was being ravished, almost as if against his will. He was crying out loudly, which could have something to do with his very small size and the very large cock that was pushing into him as he was half kneeling in the cushions and having his face pushed down by a large hand while his tormenter crouched behind him.

All but this fifth dignitary were still watching Xiaodan, though, interested in following the first bite into that peach. And except for the one who had lost control, the impression was given that they were gauging themselves to the rise and release of the imperial elder.

About the time that Xiaodan thought that the actor manhandling him was going to sweep the thin layers of brocade between their bodies away and bite the peach himself, the attendant servicing the imperial elder lifted his head in triumph to reveal a long, strong cock rising out of the folds of his master’s hanfu.

The attendant drew away as the actor holding Xiaodan stood, bringing Xiaodan with him. He took two steps toward the imperial elder and lowered the moons of Xiaodan’s buttocks into his lap. The attendant held the root of the old man’s cock straight up and made sure his bulb aligned with Xiaodan’s hole. Then the acrobat actor and the younger attendant each was holding one of Xiaodan’s thighs out wide and had laced their other arms around Xiaodan’s back and were pressing him down onto the imperial elder’s phallus with hands on his shoulders.

Xiaodan was beyond the script now and wailing his pain and taking for all to hear. The music had stopped. All of the fucking stopped in the pavilion except for that of the dignitary who had lost complete control of himself, and he was quickly swept out of the scene by two burly soldiers, probably never to be invited to a special Golden Peach performance again, possibly never even to be seen anywhere again.

For several minutes the attendant and the acrobat slowly pumped Xiaodan up and down on the imperial elder’s member as it dug deeper inside the virginal territory. The imperial elder hummed and grunted in appreciation, and Xiaodan, remembering at last that this was a performance being assessed against the very existence of his family and village, subsided into sobs interlaced as he was able with sighs and moans of enjoyment and admiration for the imperial elder to benefit from.

The imperial personage was enjoying his bite of the peach, a deflowering that the heretofore perfect Xiaodan could only experience for this one time, while the imperial personage could take his pleasure in it again and again—but with separate peaches.

Xiaodan had lost his wig when the acrobat had raised him off of the cushions, and now he was being stripped of his robe as well. The imperial elder having gained purchase deep inside him, the attendant let loose of Xiaodan and knelt in front of him and gave him suck until Xiaodan jerked and released his seed. The other actor took possession of Xiaodan’s lips. Both of these attendants were doing what they could to help Xiaodan make the best impression he could on the old man. Proving that he hadn’t lost his strength, the elder was holding the diminutive Xiaodan by the waist with two gnarled but strong hands and was now pulling the young actor up and down on his gloriously rejuvenated, if only for a short time, member.

With a cry of victory, the imperial elder came inside the virginal offering in two weak, but not-to-be-taken-for-granted spurts. The four remaining dignitaries also gave a restrained cheer of approval and returned to their fucking. Now they were free to ejaculate as well. And now the attendants were groaning under the fully self-centered rutting of the aroused dignitaries.

The Imperial elder waved his hand and the young actor shed his black hanfu, revealing his body to be that of the magnificent acrobat Xiaodan had thought he might be. He was covered nearly shoulder to ankle in intricate black-ink tattoo lacing, and he had a magnificently thick and long—and fully engorged—cock.

As the elder’s attendant moved in close so that the elder could wrap an arm around his waist and undo his loin cloth and begin to suck the young man’s cock while pulling hopefully on his own now-diminished member, the acrobat picked a swooning Xiaodan up, turned him to face the dignitaries, crouched his knees slightly, and slammed the newly bitten peach down hard onto his cock. Xiaodan flung his appendages out wide and cried to the full moon at the rough slide of the cock, much longer and thicker than the one that had taken the first bite, and he just flopped around like a rag doll, skewered solidly to the acrobat’s pelvis as the actor marched around the platform and jostled his newfound friend up and down on his virile member.

Xiaodan recalled in horror that this was precisely the last image he had seen on the forbidden scroll. He was only reminded of this, however, because in his last pass by the low table, the acrobat took up the scroll and tossed it to the dignitaries, all of whom were now finished with their first taking and ready for more entertainment from the platform.

The four dignitaries huddled over the scroll and sang out sexual taking positions they were interested in seeing, and the muscled acrobat, the real center and star of the Golden Peach troupe, showed that he could perform each position with the now completely limp and compliant Xiaodan.

Later, much later, when Hsiang and the troupe’s attendants were sponging off Xiaodan’s bruised body and the young man had come around to the smell of vinegar under his nose, he asked if he had satisfied and where his acting career went from here.

“Yes, you were very satisfactory,” Hsiang whispered in a lulling tone. “Your family and village will be richly rewarded. It is increasingly difficult to satisfy the king’s brother. He was well satisfied with what you drew out of him.”

“But as for a stage career,” he continued in a sad voice, “I’m afraid that was your premier and last performance with the Golden Peach troupe. You cannot take two bites out of that peach.”

“But what will happen to me?” wailed Xiaodan.

“You will return to Nantung, to the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia from which you came to us.”

“But the zhaoguzhe told me I was not being trained to be a jinan—a male prostitute,” Xiaodan exclaimed in despair.

“And you shall not be,” Hsiang said with a satisfied laugh. “You have been deflowered by the brother of the King of Wu. You will be no mere jinan. You will be a courtesan now and will be engaged by only the richest and most refined men of the Yangzhou prefecture. They will all be honored—and generous—to be dipping their yang chus in the peach the brother of the King of Wu has bitten.”

Xiaodan wasn’t sure he fully appreciated that there was a difference of any significance between a jinan and a male courtesan.

* * * *

When he returned to Nantung, Xiaodan was assigned a room all his own and prepared for his new life. He was already more highly trained in the arts of the actor—of pleasing men in foreplay—than the other jinan in the house.

“You have not been fully prepared for the one who has bought your exclusive contract,” the zhaoguzhe—caretaker of the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia—told him. And as Xiaodan watched his master with wide eyes, too shy to tell him of the monster phallus of the acrobat at court, the zhaoguzhe brought forth a collection of phalluses, of graduated sizes.

“You will appreciate that we have prepared you in this way,” the zhaoguzhe said when he had slipped one of the smaller-sized phalluses into Xiaodan’s channel and tied it fast around his waist.

In two weeks, as Xiaodan was lounging in the main pavilion with the other jinan and listening to Ping sing and play his lute, the zhaoguzhe entered and beckoned to Xiaodan.

“It is time,” was all he said.

They walked slowly down the passageway to Xiaodan’s private chamber, with the zhaoguzhe hissing admonishments and whispering directions while they were en route. He was flustered and sweating, and Xiaodan decided that the man they were going to see must be very important indeed, and he too began to tremble.

“You have been honored. Your patron is none other than the Duke of Shi.”

And then they were at the door. Xiaodan entered and the caretaker backed away, leaving him alone with three men in the room. Two of them were hulking bodyguards standing at near attention in the far corner of his room. The third, a monstrously large and heavily muscled man in a second-tier imperial blue hanfu, was sitting on pillows behind a low tea table in the center of the room.

“Xiaodan. Thank you for coming to see me,” the duke said in a calm, even voice. “I am told that your virginity was taken by the prince brother of the King of Wu and that you have known the yang chu of no other man since that day.”

“Yes, that is true,” Xiaodan said with downcast eyes. It was technically true. The acrobat had taken him but it was on the same day as the prince took his virginity, not any day after that.

“That is quite an honor for you—and signifies the patrons of the House of Wu expect to sponsor you for the remainder of your youth. You must feel privileged.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Come. Come, sit with me. No, not across from me. Here, beside me.”

When Xiaodan had tentatively knelt down beside where the duke sat in the pillows, the duke leaned over the table and poured tea in a cup and offered it to Xiaodan.

Xiaodan carefully took the cup, almost overwhelmed by the honor that was being bestowed on him by this gesture.

“Shall we become more comfortable?” the duke murmured, giving Xiaodan a smile. He reached over then and untied Xiaodan’s sash and parted the young man’s hanfu. Xiaodan was naked underneath. Feigning modesty, Xiaodan moved instinctively to pull his hanfu closed again, but the duke brushed his hands away and moved his own hands inside the folds of Xiaodan’s hanfu.

Xiaodan sighed and gave a little moan that he knew would please the duke. He was trembling, but this was no act. The duke was huge of stature and his massive yang chu was peeking out of the folds of his hanfu, hard and curved.

“Tell me, sweet Xiaodan. Did you take the prince brother’s withered yang chu in your mouth?”

“No, sire, I did not,” Xiaodan answered.

“So, in that, at least, I will be the first,” the duke said, and putting his hands on the back of Xiaodan’s head, he guided the young courtesan’s mouth down to the waiting cock. Xiaodan’s jaw was unhinged in taking the staff in and he gagged on the massiveness of it, but he had been trained to do this with fruit, and he managed artfully, bringing the heavily breathing duke near to climax. The duke pushed his face away, though, and sat there, staring hard at the young courtesan as he regained his composure.

“On your knees and forearms as a dog of the alley,” the duke whispered in a deep voice at length.

“Sire?” Xiaodan said, with surprise. All of the lessons Xiaodan had been taught had been or refined positions connected with slow, almost ceremonial possession and the spilling of seed. He had heard of this position of the dog, but it was for the cruder, lower classes, not for the courtesans of the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia.

Xiaodan, in his consternation, was slow to respond. The duke forcibly grasped and lifted the body of the courtesan and roughly pushed him down on his hands and knees. “Like a dog of the alley,” he said. “The leavings of the House of Wu, the oppressors of my family for centuries.”

Xiaodan shuddered and attempted to rise, but already the duke was astride his hips, trapping Xiaodan’s buttocks between his strong thighs. With no further preparation of opening—although this had already been accomplished to some extent before Xiaodan had been sent to him—he thrust his thick, cruelly curved shaft inside the courtesan’s channel, and Xiaodan cried out in pain and surprise at the lack of preparation and foreplay. He would have thanked the zhaoguzhe for the weeks of preparation of his channel for a monster’s cock, but the zhaoguzhe had misjudged the Duke of Shi.

The duke grabbed a handful of Xiaodan’s head hair, releasing the bun the hair had been in at the back of the young man’s head and causing the hair to cascade to the youth’s shoulders. Grasping hanks of the hair, the duke arched the young courtesan’s back toward him and started pumping hard and deep.

Xiaodan’s cries of pain and violation slowly changed to passion and ecstasy as his channel was mined deeper and spread wider than ever before. The man was a brute but he was a god of stamina and of taking a man as he’d never been taken before. Xiaodan came again and again, but the duke fucked on. The passion phase moved to exhaustion and begging for mercy, mercy that never came. And when the duke did come, it was deep inside Xiaodan with boiling fury and a flood of breeding cum that burbled out of Xiaodan’s channel and down his thighs.

When he was finished, Xiaodan’s bruised body slumped to the floor. The two guards stepped forward and helped the duke don and adjust his hanfu again.

“He is sweet, but he has been with the House of Wu. We will take him with us. You may take him straight to the barracks and all of the soldiers may enjoy him as they will.”

“And then bring him back to you?” One of the guards asked.

“No, you may keep him in the barracks as long as he lasts.”

They did not leave at once, however. The duke sat back at his tea table and watched as the two bodyguards had Xiaodan as well—together. Xiaodan lay between them, nearly comatose, his tongue hanging out and panting lightly and his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling corners of the room he never again would see.

After that Xiaodan was taken away from the Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia to disappear into the confines of the duke’s castle in Yangzhou, never to be heard from again.

As far at the nanleshijia was concerned, however, to be taken into service by the Duke of Shi was a high honor and the praise of the short-serving Golden Peach theatre trouper and Cut Sleeve Nanleshijia courtesan, Xiaodan, was rendered in song in houses of male pleasure throughout the region and honor was extended to the village and family of Xiaodan down through the next two generations.