FIC: Savoured Slave (Gan Shoucheng/Tan Qi, NC-17)
Title: General Gan's Secret Diary: Savoured Slave Author: Snowgrouse Fandom: The Longest Day in Chang'an (2019) Pairing: Gan Shoucheng/Tan Qi Rating: NC-17 Genre: PWP, BDSM, Dark Romance Warnings: Brainwashing and drug-fuelled sex, so the consent is extremely dubious. Length: ~8000 words Summary: Gan brainwashes Tan Qi into being his worshipful slave--in body and soul.
A/N: This is something of a sister fic to Aphrodisiac. Only this time, Gan takes some of the aphrodisiacs as well, and these prove absolutely detrimental to his plans of torturing her; he becomes just as love-drunk upon them as she. That's part of the reason I hesitated to clean this up and post it, because it's YET ANOTHER damn story that started out creepy and dark... only to spiral into total romance mush once he takes those aphrodisiacs. Like Captured, if that's any indication. BUT! IT'S SMUT! Very very smutty smut! So, at least I delivered that! And I bet that sometimes his fantasies really are just that mushy (not that he'd ever admit it to himself, let alone her).
Gan imprisons her in his house and looks at her.
For weeks, he keeps her as his toy, naked but for a collar, in his house. In this manner, he subjugates her with his gaze, that gaze she had so loathed and detested: ravishing her with his eyes well before he takes her. The other servants are shocked, but he's forbidden them from speaking to her; they are only allowed minimum contact with her, and even then, it's only through look and gesture.
When he is at home, she has to be available to his gaze at all times, robbed of all privacy; he even watches her bathe, watches her use the chamberpot, humiliating her utterly.
He charts her body with the keen interest of the cartographer, memorising where every mole, every scar, every birthmark upon her body lies; he studies the rhythm of her walk, the rhythm of her breathing, the order in which she performs her daily tasks. He watches her sleep, watches her eat, sometimes masturbating lazily as he watches her performing her duties. Yet, he refrains from having sex with her, preferring to sate all his other senses with her first, drinking his fill of her in every possible way but for sexual congress.
He smells her in every way, ordering her to walk up to him whenever he feels like sniffing her: his sensitive nostrils flutter as they take in all the different scents of her body, from sweat and piss to the sweeter scents of her skin and her pussy, and all the different variants of each. Foul-smelling cold sweat when he gives her pain, and healthy, clean sweat whenever she exerts herself; the strong and bitter piss of the mornings diluted when he, on a whim, makes her drink weak tea all day, just to see how that'll change the scent of her skin, how it will turn her piss colourless and scentless.
But it's her menstrual cycle he finds most fascinating, because of the powerful changes it engenders in a woman's body and her chemistry; the sheer extent of these changes surprises him, he never having been aware of their complexity and profundity before. With his nose and his mouth, he samples her body daily, and in a little book, he records how her smells and tastes change from day to day. In it, he observes the differences in the taste and texture of her sexual fluids--what the Taoists call the feminine essence--over the course of a month. It's sour and sparse at the beginning of her cycle, just after her bleeding ends; then, it mellows little by little into the clear, albumen-like sap of her fertile days. Then comes the intoxicatingly rich, sweet, fragrant nectar of her premenstrual week--he can barely keep from fucking her when he smells and tastes this latter one, so mad with lust does it drive him--before all of these are drowned underneath the bitter iron of menstrual blood.
He forbids her from wearing perfumes, or using any kinds of scented ointments or cosmetics--for now--because he wants to familiarise himself with the natural scents of her body. He insists that she keep herself shaven at all times, the presence of body hair always souring the scents of a woman's body too much for his liking.
And then, there are his sadistic caprices. Sometimes, in a cruel mood, he pricks her breast or buttock with an acupuncture needle when she serves him his tea; sometimes, he has her lie down on the floor just so he can lie down on top of her in full armour, crushing her with his weight. He then cups her cheeks and nuzzles her face, sighing happily as he sips her laboured breaths from her lips; yet, he never fully kisses her or acts upon the arousal this act inevitably produces in him. His prick is so hard underneath his armour it aches, throbbing painfully with trapped blood unreleased by orgasm; in this manner, he tortures himself sweetly, forcing himself to remain chaste, filling his balls with more and more sperm for the day he shall finally take her. He spins his arousal on and on until his whole body burns with its power, every fibre of his flesh afire; he lets it build until his whole self is but roiling, angry desire within its cage of black steel lamellar.
When he's in a sweeter mood, he may insist on simply sampling her scents and her tastes. She may be walking past his desk and he'll insist on a sniff of her pussy, closing his eyes as he inhales her.
She looks down at him, appalled: a little flicker of the old Tan Qi still trying to break through his conditioning.
"I own you," he says firmly and looks up at her, stroking her hips. "I own even your scent," he snarls, his fingers claws in her buttocks; he gives the slit of her pussy a hungry lick, making her shiver in disgust.
(Ao3)











