Chapter 20: Turning the Pages
Ngan stepped through the doorway into the darkness. Quan followed, and the heavy wooden door closed. The click of the latch echoed, sealing them in a world of their own. The firelight from the fireplace in the room danced, casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. The wind outside still whistled, but here, there was only the crackling of the fire and the pounding of Ngan’s heart in her chest.
She stood in the middle of the room, her breathing a little hurried. The anticipation and a little nervousness made her feel like an actor about to step onto the stage without knowing the script. Quan, on the other hand, was completely calm. He did not rush forward like Tung or Minh. He took off his coat, the fabric rustling softly, and hung it on an armchair. Then he slowly approached her, with the concentration of a scientist preparing for an important experiment.
Quan stood in front of Ngan, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. But he didn’t kiss her. He raised his hand, his fingers long and slightly cold, gently removing a lock of hair from her cheek. A delicate, almost clinical gesture, as if touching a precious object.
Then he began to undress her. Not like a lover in a frenzy. But like an archaeologist excavating a buried statue. Each layer of fabric was removed carefully, methodically. He gently pulled the sweater over her head, the fabric rustling in the quiet space. When her bare shoulder and delicate collarbone were revealed, he did not rush to undress her. He stopped. He used a finger to lightly stroke along the line of her collarbone, feeling the softness of the skin under his fingertips. A small, unconscious “ah” escaped Ngan’s throat. It was an exploration.
He knelt down, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans. The soft click of metal, the soft hiss of the zipper, the sounds amplified in the silence. He slowly pulled the jeans down, his hands sliding over the cool flesh of her thighs. When he saw a faint scar on her knee, he stopped. His voice was a whisper, warm, filled with the curiosity of a reader finding a note in the margin.
“This scar…”
Ngan, her voice trembling slightly, her breathing quickened. “When I was little… I fell off my bike.”
She was naked before him. She stood there, in the flickering firelight, feeling strangely exposed and cherished. He did not look at her with lust. He looked at her as an artist admiring his work, as a scientist observing a subject. The prelude to observation had begun.
Ngan lay on her back on the bed, her naked body exposed under the flickering firelight. Quan stood beside her, unhurried. He just watched, the gaze of an anatomist about to begin his work. The air in the room was thick with concentration. The crackling of the fire and the whistling wind outside were the only background music for the experiment about to take place.
Quan did not start with the usual sensitive spots. He would not follow a pre-set script. He knelt at the end of the bed, gently lifting one of her feet. His hand was cool. He used his long, slender fingers to lightly stroke the sole of her foot, an often forgotten area. Then he bent down and kissed it. A wet, soft kiss. Ngan jumped, reflexively pulling her foot back. A small “ah” sound came out. A current of electricity ran down her spine, an unexpected nerve signal.
He held her foot tightly and continued. His tongue licked along her ankle, feeling the tendons, then traveled up her calf. He lingered on the soft skin behind her knee, where the hairs on her thighs stood up. Wet licking sounds echoed in the silence.
He was like an explorer mapping a new land. He moved up, kissing her soft belly, his tongue gently swirling into her navel. He turned her onto her stomach, kissing along her spine, brushing his tongue over the small star tattoo on her waist, as a silent assertion of sovereignty. He kissed the nape of her neck, where the fine hairs stood up. He gently nibbled on her earlobe, breathing hot breath into her, making her shiver continuously. A small “um…” escaped from her throat, a sound of helplessness.
Ngân writhed. Her body had never been explored so thoroughly and unexpectedly. His every touch sent shockwaves to unexpected places, awakening senses she didn’t know she had. Her moans weren’t loud, but rather muffled, surprised whimpers. Her breathing quickened.
When he saw her shiver under his touch on the nape of her neck, Quan whispered, his voice hoarse, not with desire, but with the concentration of a scientist who had just made a discovery.
“This place… you are sensitive.”
Ngan could only gasp, her voice broken and weak, a plea for this sweet torture to continue.
“Don’t… stop…”
Quan’s pilgrimage had reached its final destination. He had turned Ngan over onto her back. Her body was an unexplored land, now completely exposed under the flickering firelight, awaiting its final exploration. The air was thick with anticipation, a suffocating tension.
Jun knelt between her already spread legs. He wasn’t in a hurry. He just looked. The eyes of a scientist observing a research subject before starting an experiment. He looked at the pretty, rosy little cave, already wet and sparkling under the firelight, like a blooming flower. He used two long, cold fingers to gently part her lips, completely exposing the pearl inside, which was erect and slightly vibrating. He used one finger to gently rub it, and observed. Yin’s body immediately arched up, a small “ah” sound came out. The data had been confirmed.
Then he leaned down. His tongue was not hasty. It was precise like a scalpel, meticulous and skilled. He licked a long, slow line from bottom to top, feeling the saltiness and slipperyness of her juices. Then he focused on the pearl. His tongue was relentless, but always changing. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it, then suck hard, making wet “chut chut” sounds. He changed the rhythm constantly, sometimes fast like a rain shower, sometimes slow like a dripping drop. He did not give her body a chance to adapt, keeping her on the brink of madness.
Ngan couldn’t take it anymore. Her reason had vanished. Only instinct remained. Her hips began to move unconsciously, searching for his tongue, like a small boat struggling in the waves. Her hands gripped the bed sheet tightly, the fabric rustling. Her back arched like a bow, her whole body tensed, trembling. A suppressed scream, unable to escape, burst from her throat, a silent scream of release. “Ah… ah… ah…!” Her whole body convulsed violently, her vaginal muscles contracting repeatedly. A deep and prolonged orgasm, completely different from the previous ones. It wasn’t an explosion. It was a tsunami that engulfed her entire mind, sweeping away all thoughts, leaving only the feeling of being naked.
Even after the convulsions had passed, her body was still trembling slightly. Quan did not stop immediately. He licked a few more times, as if to “clean up” the battlefield, before slowly raising his head. He looked at her face, which was covered in sweat and tears, a face that was both exhausted and extremely satisfied. The first experiment was a success. He had read her most secret place.
On the large bed, Ngan was still drifting in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her body was completely relaxed, extremely sensitive, all defenses had been removed. She lay there, eyes half-closed, resigned, like a statue waiting to be completed. Quan did not seem satisfied. He had just completed the first phase of his “research”. He was calm, methodical, like a scientist preparing for the next phase.
Quan stood up and walked to where he had left his wallet. His actions were not hurried or hesitant, like a surgeon preparing his instruments. He calmly took out a condom and tore it open. The sound of the condom being torn was a dry “scratch”.
He turned back, looked at her, his voice whispering, continuing their mind game. “Ready for the next chapter, ‘old lady’?”
He didn’t lie on top of her right away. He took a pillow, gently lifted her hips, and placed it underneath. A technical move, causing her round buttocks to rise higher, and her secret cave to be completely exposed, opening up a perfect angle for the “researcher”.
Quan knelt between Ngan’s legs. He didn’t thrust. He placed the sheathed head of his penis against her wet opening, a light touch. Then slowly, millimeter by millimeter, he pushed in. The “slurp” sound was slow and thick. Ngan held her breath, her entire body tensed. She could feel every little movement: the feeling of his penis slowly widening her opening, filling her slowly, deeply, and with purpose. His eyes remained fixed on hers, registering every frown, every rapid breath.
When he was as deep as he could go, he stopped. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, letting her body get used to his presence, letting her feel the fullness, the tightness to the limit. Quan’s voice was low and even, like a command. “Here. Right now. This feeling. Describe it.”
Ngan breathed out, her voice trembling. “Full… Crowded… Hot…”
“Not enough,” he interrupted. “Be more specific. Is it like when I use my tongue?”
“No…” she replied, trying to organize her jumbled feelings into words. “It… has a weight. A pressure from within…”
“Good,” he said, and began to move, very slowly, very deeply. The flesh-to-skin conversation had officially begun. Each thrust was a question, each moan an answer.
But his cock wasn’t enough. He needed more. While still maintaining a slow, hypnotic rhythm, his hands began their own exploration. His right hand found her breast, gently rolling her erect nipple with his thumb and forefinger. His left hand slid down, finding her swollen clitoris, rubbing in circles. He created a symphony of torture, three separate streams of stimulation assaulting her body at once.
Ngan’s body jerked. An overload. She didn’t know where to focus. Her moans turned into broken sounds. He didn’t stop his questioning, his voice cold. “What now? When I do this to your breasts… and this down there… which is stronger? Where is your brain focused?”
Ngan shook her head, moaning, her voice broken in despair. “You… crazy… I don’t know… All… all at once… It’s all chaos…”
That was the answer he wanted to hear. The surrender of reason. The experiment had been a success.
Ngan’s reason gave up. Her reply of “I don’t know” was the signal Quan had been waiting for. The experiment was in its final stages. Now was not the time to analyze. Now was the time to destroy.
He stopped all questions. He withdrew his hands from her breasts and clitoris. Instead, his hands gripped her hips, locking her to the bed. Then he began to speed up. The slow, hypnotic rhythm disappeared, replaced by fast, strong, deep thrusts, an attack aimed at the deepest point inside her. The sounds of skin slapping against skin “bang”, “smack” resounded incessantly. The old wooden bed began to groan, “creak” madly, as if about to burst.
The sudden change in rhythm pushed Ngan’s body to the limit. She screamed, a heart-wrenching scream, no longer a moan of pleasure, but a scream of a short-circuited nervous system, a final release. “Ah… Ah… Ah… Ah…!!!” Her entire body convulsed violently, her back arched like a bow about to break, her vaginal muscles squeezing his penis so tightly it was almost painful, an uncontrollable spasm.
Her intense spasms were the final signal. He roared too, a hoarse, stifled roar. He gave one final thrust, a mighty thrust, and exploded. A hot, thick stream of semen shot deep inside her, a final assertion of his possession.
He collapsed beside her, both of them panting, covered in sweat. The room fell silent again, except for breathing and the crackling of the fire. The symphony of desire had ended.
After a long silence, when their breathing had gradually stabilized, Quan turned, looking at Ngan in the darkness. His voice was low and even, not a question, but a conclusion, a final diagnosis.
“There. That’s the final answer.”
Ngan’s voice was weak, almost inaudible, her breath still trembling. “The answer… to what?”
Quan looked straight into her eyes, his deep gaze seemed to see through her soul. “As for the question ‘what do you want’. When attacked from all sides, when you no longer have the ability to analyze, your reason will surrender. ‘Old sister’ does not want to be the narrator, nor the main character. You desire to be completely subjugated. That is your freedom.”
His words were like a final stab, completing the surgery. It was painless, it just exposed the naked truth. Ngan did not answer. She could not. She just slowly closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt completely seen through. Quan had not only conquered her body. He had deciphered her soul. And that was more terrifying than any physical possession.