The mirror glows, the moans rise. Zhao’s thrusts deepen, not rushed, not frenzied, but thodical, as if sculpting Dao with each stroke.
Zhao didn’t even glance at the jade palanquin.
Ye Chen’s cries, the soft squelch of sha, the stench of his surrender, none of it mattered... Not once, did Young Master found Ye Chen a threat.
Ye Chen was rely a worm, a breath is all it needed to end his puny life; a life that has no purpose, no path, he survived till now solely on the grace of heaven.
The only thing that actually matters, is The immortal master...
Once veiled in celestial silks, preaching balance and purity above the Nine Heavens.
As of now?
Her hair was wild, cheeks crimson, drool glistening at the corner of her mouth, and her jade lotus parted wide, offering her most sacred garden to the man who now owned her fate, awaiting the spring bring that brings the pollination.
"Y-Young Master Zhao..." she moaned, voice barely human, "Why... why does it feel so..."
Her body trembled as he bottod out again, his divine Yang rod pressing directly against her womb.
Zhao’s hand slid up her belly, feeling her twitch around him, feeling her internal walls try to morize him.
"Because this is the truth," he whispered, voice low as thunderclouds behind a mountain.
"You taught restraint. I teach clarity. You clung to your Dao, but your body always longed to kneel. You were born not to lead... but to serve,"
"Ahhh... ahh... nghhh!" she couldn’t argue. Not with him buried inside her like a pillar of fate.
Zhao leaned closer, his lips at her ear, his hips never stopping.
"This is your cultivation now. My pleasure is your heavenly tribulation and my seed is your spiritual core,"
She whimpered, tears of release dripping down her temples.
"Say it," he murmured.
"I... I am your Yin slave... a pleasure tool," she sobbed.
"Your sacred cauldron... your pleasure vessel... your... your eternal dual partner..."
He smirked, lips grazing hers but never kissing.
"That’s right... You’re no longer Immortal Master, you’re my slave..."
And then, with a powerful thrust, Zhao began the final rhythm, not of re vulgar coupling, but of a divine ritual.
Crack~
The bed creaked like old heavens cracking, her cries grew louder, soaked in holy ruin.
"Uuuu, So deepppp... Ahhhh... I am breaking... Breaking apart,"
Her hands gripped his back like lifelines, and her walls clenched around him as if unwilling to let him go.
"Ahhh!!! Young masterrrrrr..... Young Master Zhao! Zhao! I—!"
A flood surged from within her, spiritual fluid mixed with mortal essence, soaking everything. Her inner core quaked. Her cultivation base, shaken again.
She saw not light, nor sound, but only him through the blurry vision.
Her inner walls spasd uncontrollably, rippling around him like waves drawn to the moon.
Zhao’s hands gripped her waist tightly as his hips snapped forward with the weight of finality.
There was no hesitation, no rcy.
"Take it," he growled with voice like that of molten iron.
"Take all of it," He further added...
She gasped, eyes wide, lips parted in a silent scream.
"Yessssss!!!"
And then, he ca like a endless waterfall.
His Yang surged into her with the force of a divine tide, shooting straight into her womb, slamming against her spiritual core. Her belly twitched, her body arching violently as her soul spasd under the weight of his essence.
"A-Ahhhhaa...AAHHHhh!!!!" she moaned, her voice dissolving into raw noise, no longer words, only worship.
The heat filled her, it was thick, scalding, and sacred.
Her womb felt like it was seared with lightning, branded from the inside, marked forever as Zhao Fan’s territory.
Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!
Again and again, his seed flooded her inner chamber, more than any mortal man could release, more than any woman was ant to hold.
Her eyes rolled back, tongue lolled from her lips. Her thighs locked around him tighter in reflex, refusing to let him withdraw.
"Good girl," he whispered against her throat, voice thick with power and satisfaction.
She could only nod weakly, eyes dazed, her body limp and leaking with sacred nectar and divine Yang.
Inside the jade palanquin, Ye Chen wanted the scene with wide eyes, like watching a celestial phenona, and the dirty little sinful truths of world.
"Wow... So majestic..." He uttered those words.
Truly, Young Master Zhao, was man among n, God among gods, mountain above mountains.
There was Zhao with a magnificent Dao Yang rod and here he was a limp, lifeless, how can a worm be compared to a dragon.
He has nothing but respect for Zhao knowing he could never be like Young Master Zhao.
At the sa ti,
Zhao Fan remained inside her, not moving now, rely pulsing, his divine Yang still seeping into the depths of her womb like an inexhaustible spring beneath a sacred mountain.
His essence heavier than gold, warr than fla, filled with symbols of fate and power, and though his hips had stilled, the pressure within her only grew.
Her insides churned with unbearable fullness as if his seed itself had beco a new form of spiritual qi expanding within her Yin dantian, her belly trembled, not swollen but bloated with heat, with spirit, with submission, and her legs, locked around him like vines clinging to the eternal tree, refused to part, her arms still draped across his back weakly.
As though even her bones had lted in reverence to his touch, her breaths ca shallow and erratic, chest rising and falling like storm-tossed clouds over Mount Kunlun, and her jade pearls, red and glistening with saliva and sweat, trembled with aftershocks, their peaks still sensitive from his earlier touch, her mind drifted, thoughts scattered like falling cherry blossoms on a windless night.
Yet one thing remained, not her na, not her title, not her Dao, only one word remained carved into the depths of her being.
A wise scholar can already figure out her mind.
...
As for Zhao,
He remained upright, the body still sheathed in her sacred garden, watching her with the serenity of a god who had already shaped the world in his image, his breathing controlled, his body unstained by the exertion of their act.
Only his lower abdon glowed faintly with the lingering aura of climax, a divine afterglow that would not fade soon, his hands slowly caressed her sides, not with affection, but as one appraises a treasured possession, a sacred artifact, a conquered relic, a tool that had finally acknowledged its purpose.
He leaned down again, lips brushing her earlobe, his voice like molten gold pouring into her soul.
"Wanna go for the second round?"
She just blushed, unable to answer like the sumr wind unable to fathom the winter grass.
"Umm... This ti please be gentle..." She turned to the left, unable to look him in the eyes.
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