Chapter Text
Compared to most children of whores, Meng Yao grew up relatively sheltered.
That wasn’t to say he was naïve or clueless. He knew where he lived, what his mother did to earn their board and keep, what the noises were. He knew all about the mechanics of sex, the terms used, the practicalities. By the time he was twelve, he could have written a how-to manual, or produced a poorly drawn but accurately detailed set of pornography.
But he was kept safe from the darker possibilities. It was his mother Meng Shi who primarily protected him, of course, but the brothel madam was not cruel to Meng Yao. She indulged his curious questions as a child, slipped him treats, allowed Meng Shi extra time off if Meng Yao got sick. He called the madam ‘Li-popo’, but although he got on well with her, he was keenly aware that her care was conditional. His mother had made sure to train him early not to anger Li-popo if he could at all help it, and so he had learned to be a quiet and obedient child, good at entertaining himself in the hidden attic room he and his mother shared.
The most significant thing Li-popo did for Meng Yao, though, was what she didn’t do. There was no doubt that money could have been made if Meng Yao’s childhood had been sold off to some of the cold-eyed men who came into the brothel; the ones Meng Yao’s mother told him to stay far away from. But though he worked hard to help his mother earn their keep – sweeping, cleaning, scrubbing, fetching and carrying – he was never violated. And as he grew older and took on a fragile sort of beauty, despite the hints made by some of the other prostitutes that he could have a fruitful career if he so chose… Meng Yao was not forced into anything. At least, not directly.
He was seventeen when his mother got too sick to work; realistically, she had been too sick to work for at least a year, but she had forced herself anyway until she physically couldn’t manage it. Li-popo seemed willing for a time to accept Meng Yao’s service as a bookkeeper to offset the cost of feeding them, but as weeks dragged by and Meng Shi wasn’t getting any better, Li-popo’s patience began to wear thin. Meng Yao worried that he would no longer have a roof over his head once his mother died… or worse, Li-popo wouldn’t even wait for that, and his poor ailing mother would end her days on the streets. He couldn’t stand the thought, or the anxiety of waiting for it to happen. And although his mother had invested a lot of effort into developing his golden core in the hopes that he would one day be welcomed into his father’s sect… he wasn’t strong or experienced enough to make money as a cultivator.
Suddenly, a career as a whore seemed the only pragmatic next step. And if Meng Yao was anything, it was pragmatic.
He began by identifying what would sell best. There was only one male prostitute working at Li-popo’s establishment, Xin-ge, and he was a strapping, muscular man with a rakish air and a penchant for picking customers up and fucking them against the wall. Meng Yao had spied on him several times in his research, and it was clear that Xin-ge was naturally dominant. He advertised as willing to bottom – perhaps he even liked it – but he couldn’t seem to help a certain level of exuberance during sex, a habit of flipping men onto their backs or pinning them against things, even when he had their cocks inside him.
Some customers probably liked this. Some… probably did not.
So, there was an empty niche in the local market: the submissive bottom. Meng Yao sized himself up in the murky mirror on the wall in his attic room, and decided he could play that part well. He was small and pretty, and he was a good liar, so even if he wasn’t enjoying himself he could pretend to be. Or, if the customer didn’t want him to enjoy himself, he could play to that too. He was flexible, both physically and mentally.
He knew that most customers loved thinking they’d made someone come, and Meng Yao’s anatomy would make it a little obvious whether he’d faked it, so he began training in earnest. He stole some oil and a few sex toys and dedicated the pre-dawn hour each morning to quietly stretching and filling himself, working his way up to a life-sized phallus. At first he still needed to touch himself to finish, but as he got used to the ache, the pleasure of having something inside him became undeniable. With effort and great focus of will, he managed to get to a point where he could ride a polished wooden cock until he orgasmed, whilst barely touching himself once.
The day after he achieved this success, he approached Li-popo, and asked her how much she thought his virginity was worth.
Perhaps it should have insulted or saddened him, how quickly and easily she agreed to his proposition, but he was simply relieved that his plan was going smoothly. He asked her not to tell his mother, and politely requested a clean-smelling customer, if possible.
Li-popo didn’t let him down. She advertised his upcoming deflowerment discreetly enough that half the workers in the brothel didn’t even know, and several days later, Meng Yao found himself ushered into a bedroom where a well-groomed merchant reclined on a bed.
“Ah, little flower,” the man purred, sitting up and appraising him with a hungry gaze. Meng Yao moved across the room with what he hoped was a graceful air, the sheer gauzy material of his borrowed robes fluttering around his bare legs.
“I am honoured to meet you, ke-guan,” he said softly when he reached the bed, making sure to use the appropriate form of address; he gave a small bow, then worried it seemed too stiff and formal, so he carefully untied and removed his outer robe in a way that made his inner robes part over one pale thigh. The man’s eyes dropped there immediately, and Meng Yao felt calmer at this small moment of control. “May I pour us some liquor?”
“Please do. Tell me, my flower… are you truly a virgin in all ways? I know your pretty little hole is untouched, but what of your mouth? Your hands?”
Meng Yao blinked, momentarily taken aback by the total lack of lead-up, but he rallied quickly. He allowed a small, secretive smile to shape his lips as he placed his folded robe on a chair and padded to the table that held the liquor, tossing a quick look at the man from under his lashes.
“My mouth is truly untried, ke-guan. My hands… have touched no one but myself.”
“Ah, I see,” smirked the man, accepting the cup Meng Yao passed him. “Pour yourself one too; good boy. Well, by those standards… is your hole untouched, after all? Or have you played with that yourself too?”
Meng Yao felt an involuntary blush sweep his skin as he thought of all the hours he’d spent fingering himself, pushing things inside, biting on his arm to stay quiet-
“By those standards, no, ke-guan, not untouched. But… playing isn’t the same as the real thing. Is it?”
Meng Yao raised his cup as he spoke, meeting his customer’s eyes over the rim, and was rewarded with a laugh.
“Very true, little flower. Ah, so pretty and delicate. Is that how you’d like me to fuck you? Like you’re pretty and delicate?”
The man slid off the bed as he spoke and began undoing his inner robe. Meng Yao put his free hand behind his back in a loose approximation of a formal cultivator’s pose, sipping his liquor, and clenched his fist where it was hidden from sight.
“You can have me however you wish, ke-guan.”
The robe pooled on the floor. The man was thickly built, a little taller than Meng Yao’s petite frame, and his cock stood out from a thatch of black hair, half-hard. Meng Yao glanced at it, looked away on reflex, then reminded himself of the situation he was in. The usual rules of politeness did not apply, and this man wanted Meng Yao to look. So he did, purposefully drinking more liquor as he did so that he could slowly lick his lips. The man took hold of himself, stroking comfortably, and Meng Yao met his gaze once more.
“Will you gag?” the man asked abruptly. “If I fuck your throat?”
Meng Yao lowered his eyes. “I- I don’t know… my apologies, I have never… but-”
“Good,” the man said, and pointed to the floor at his feet. “Kneel here, clothes off.”
Meng Yao took a deep breath, then placed the liquor on the table and untied his remaining robe. It floated to the floor, the cool air secondary to the nerves that danced across his skin. He went to his knees before his customer, and when his mouth was hanging open and ready he had a moment of bubbling anxiety, an intense feeling of foolishness, a flash of doubt that he could possibly pull this off. But in the next second, the man grabbed his face and pushed his cock in, and Meng Yao choked as he tried to control his gag reflex, and the man kept thrusting in anyway, and there was no more room for nerves. There was only the feeling of having a task, and the struggle for air, and the dull but solid conviction that all this was simply his own plan coming to fruition.
The man used his mouth for probably less time than it felt like, but when he finally pulled out Meng Yao’s jaw ached and his chin was wet with drool. They both panted, Meng Yao coughing and gasping. He gave a small, breathless whimper as he was hauled up and pushed face-down on the bed, fearful anticipation pulsing low in his belly. He spread his legs, sucked in a ragged breath as a thumb was pushed roughly inside him. He’d already stretched and oiled himself beforehand, of course, but not liberally; this man had paid for a virgin, so Meng Yao didn’t want to risk being anything but tight. Better he experience some pain to ensure a good impression on the client.
“Been ‘playing’ before this, eh?” the man chuckled, breathing heavily. Meng Yao allowed himself to groan loudly when the man forced two fingers in up to the last knuckle, fisting the bedsheets either side of his head. He had a feeling his customer was looking for a reaction, and it was easier than making himself be silent. “This will hurt less than it would have, then. Perhaps we can even make this nice for you. Let’s see…”
Meng Yao was hoping for what came next, so his delighted moan when the man rubbed at his prostate was entirely real. He pushed back into the sensation, chasing it, getting high on it quickly and efficiently. Arousal mingled with relief as the man fingered him faster, mumbling approval.
“… want it, don’t you? Yeah…”
Another finger, the pain eclipsing the blossoming pleasure, and Meng Yao shuddered as he forced himself not to pull away.
“Hurts!” he whined instead, pathetic, and he felt triumph as the man gave a moan. “Ah, ah, ah-!”
“Fuck, yes,” his client whispered, but then he aimed his fingers to grind into Meng Yao’s prostate again, and Meng Yao realized: it wasn’t about hurting him, so much as overwhelming him. The man wanted to see him break and beg.
From there, it was easy; Meng Yao just let himself respond honestly, because he was overwhelmed. He writhed and shook on the man’s fingers, cried and struggled weakly at the first painful stretch of a real cock inside him, yelped and arched his back as that thick, blunt pressure scraped over his sensitive insides. It took longer than usual to tune into the pleasure, but once he did-
“Fuck, fuck, k-ke-guan- please-!”
“Yeah, you like that? Fuck, you love it,” the man moaned, fingers bruising on Meng Yao’s hips as he plowed deep. Meng Yao felt himself starting to crest, urgency in his rhythm, straining to keep the angle right.
“Yes!” he gasped, tears squeezing out, relief flaring as he caught up to the pleasure and it suffused him. From there, it was just a matter of trying to keep as calm as he could while the man kept going. Just a few minutes later, it was done, and Meng Yao breathed heavily into his folded arms as his first ever customer – first ever anyone – pulled messily out of him.
“Made to be fucked,” the man hummed, giving him a light slap on the backside, and both the words and the action made Meng Yao flinch.
“Thank you, ke-guan,” he whispered, unsure how else to respond. The man chuckled and left him lying there as he went and poured himself more liquor. Meng Yao gingerly rolled over and sat up, wincing a little at the aches and soreness he could feel. He mentally thanked his mother for the thousandth time for pushing him to develop a functioning core, since he healed quicker than anyone he knew.
After the man left, Meng Yao washed himself quickly, then went to check on his mother. She asked him how his work was going, and he assured her that he was working hard, and that Li-popo was willing to let them stay there for as long as was needed. She smiled at him, and he felt happy.
As time went on, he became popular at the brothel, but he was careful not to steal customers if he could help it. The last thing he wanted was to invite the wrath of the other prostitutes; he remembered all too well how cruel some of them had been to his mother when he was younger and she was still in her prime. He ran errands and did favours for them, commiserating with them about unpleasant customers, buying liquor and food to share; anything to keep them from resenting him.
It was a constant effort, but it worked, and he learned something significant. He learned that if one was clever, people could be played, just the same as his battered old guqin that his mother had gifted him as a child.
Meng Yao was indeed clever, and he learned this lesson well. Perhaps too well, as the years to come would tell.