Chapter 584 - The Naive Fucablee Wife
"Evidently not," he said.
She laughed again — the overwhelmed, sobbing laugh — her hand reaching down to press against her own pussy where it received him, feeling the full stretch of him inside her, the cultivation base blazing from the point of contact upward through every meridian she had.
"Master," she said.
He held her tighter.
"I want to help you," she said. "When you want someone." PAH! "HNGH~!!" She pressed his arms against her tits. "My sister-in-law." She breathed. "My brother’s wife." PAH PAH! "AAANGHH~!! She has the most—the most—HIEKK~!! my brother said once she has the most—the most fuckable body in the whole village—her figure—OUNGH~!! she is gorgeous, master—"
PAH PAH PHACCK!
"KYAAAANNNGGHHHH~~~!!!!! BRING HER~!! I WILL BRING HER~!! MASTER~!!"
She squirted.
The stream hit the balcony stone and ran over the edge in a thin, warm arc, her thighs shaking, her small tits bouncing in his hands, her pussy releasing everything it had in a single, pressurized burst that soaked his lower abdomen and her own inner thighs.
Then she urinated.
She did not know it was happening until it was happening, the hot stream flowing freely, her body releasing every voluntary function simultaneously, the cultivation breakthrough and the orgasm and the exhaustion of the day all arriving at the same moment and clearing everything out.
She made a small, mortified sound.
"I—I did not—"
"It is cleansing," he said, against her hair.
He came.
The last load of the day went into her womb in three long pulses, each one pressing against her walls and spreading its warmth through her new Core Formation base with the specific, foundational nourishment of divine seed entering a cultivation body that was structured to receive exactly this.
Her eyes closed.
Her body went loose against his arms.
He held her upright.
Beside him, Wanchun had already closed her eyes, her enormous tits rising and falling with the deep, even breathing of a woman who had been thoroughly used and had arrived at the boneless, uncomplicated sleep of genuine exhaustion.
He carried them.
One in each arm, their bare bodies warm and slack against his sides, their heads falling against his shoulders. Back through the balcony door. Through the chamber. To the king-sized bed with its wrecked silk and its warmth-formation still running steadily beneath.
He placed them down.
Wanchun settled into the silk with the immediate, deep stillness of someone who has been asleep since before they were put down.
Lin Suya made a small, warm sound and pressed her face into the pillow and did not move again.
He stood.
The candles had burned to their bases. New light was coming through the window — the last of the evening, the mountain turning indigo at its edges, the spring at the Purity Hill still faintly visible in the blue light where a young man was still sitting.
He stretched.
The full extension of a body that had been operating with focused intensity all day — back, shoulders, the carved architecture of his torso moving through the motion of a man who was not tired but was acknowledging that a certain quantity of work had been done. His cock hung limp against his thigh, wet, heavy, satisfied in the way of something that had been properly used.
He walked to the door.
He opened it.
Elder Fanxue was standing in the corridor.
She was in her full inner sect robes, her cultivation base correctly arranged, her hands clasped in front of her in the formal position. Her face had the specific, controlled expression of a woman who had been waiting in a corridor for an indeterminate period of time while indeterminate sounds came through a formation-sealed door and had managed this experience with professional dignity.
Her nipples were still erect through the inner robe.
She had been standing here for three hours.
"Ancestor," she said.
"The two women in the room," he said. "Dress them. Send them back and tonight let me visit a sister-in-law who got most fucable body in whole town."
SWISH
The town of Willow Bend had never held a festival like this.
Red lanterns hung from every eave, their paper skins glowing with the warm, flickering light of oil wicks that burned against the autumn dark. The main square, usually packed with merchant carts and the dusty footprints of farmers, had been cleared and strewn with pine needles. The smell of roasted chestnuts and rice wine drifted through the narrow streets, mixing with the laughter of children who ran between the legs of adults in their festival best.
Men sat at long tables beneath the largest lantern tree.
They were village elders, mostly — the kind of men who had accumulated enough years and property to claim seats at the center of any gathering. Their robes were village-formal, dark cotton with embroidered collars, their faces flushed with the early cups of wine that had been circulating since sunset. They talked loudly, as men do when they feel their status is secure and their cups are full.
Zhou sat at the head of the table.
He was a broad man, thick in the shoulders from years of hauling grain sacks, his face red with drink and his voice carrying farther than anyone else’s. He had been talking for an hour about the same subject, and his enthusiasm had not diminished.
"My sister!" he announced, slamming his cup down. The wine jumped. "Selected! By the ancestor himself!"
The table murmured.
"Lin Suya!" Zhou continued, his arm sweeping wide. "Eighteen years old! Core Formation in a single day! The ancestor took her into his inner chambers and when she emerged — Core Formation! Peak stage!"
"Peak Core Formation?" one elder asked, his wrinkled face tilting.
"Peak!" Zhou roared. "Do you know what that means? She outranks the elders of our own little sect branch! She outranks everyone in this town!"
The murmur grew louder. Respectful, envious, careful.
Zhou’s chest swelled. He had been waiting for this moment since his sister had tested into the outer sect at fifteen. He had imagined it differently, perhaps, but the reality of her elevation had settled into his bones with a warmth that felt like ownership.
"Now!" He slammed his empty jar onto the table. The ceramic cracked. "Where is the wine? Bring more wine! I am celebrating!"
The men around him laughed. One clapped his shoulder. Another raised his own cup in salute.
"Zhou has become the greatest man in Willow Bend!" someone called.
"Greatest!" Zhou agreed, his face shining. "My sister serves the ancestor! My family name is elevated!"
He turned his head.
"Wife! Where is that wine?"
Meihua came running.
She appeared from the narrow alley between the grain store and the candle maker, her thick body moving with the hurried, unbalanced momentum of a woman who had been preparing food in the back kitchen and had been called too loudly to ignore.
She was twenty-six years old.
She had been married to Zhou for five years, brought from a neighboring village as part of a dowry arrangement that had seemed sensible to everyone involved at the time. She had arrived with a reputation that Zhou had immediately begun to amplify — the thick, fuckable wife, the body that made men stare, the most desirable woman in three villages.
He had talked about her constantly.
In taverns. In market squares. At cultivation meetings where he had no business discussing his wife’s body but did so anyway with the loud, possessive pride of a man who owned something other men wanted.
Meihua had learned to endure it.
She wore a dark blue dress, village-formal, the fabric thick and modest. It covered her from throat to ankle. But the cut could not hide what she was. Her enormous tits strained against the chest, the heavy mounds pressing the fabric outward in a way that made the neckline strain. Her wide hips swayed with each step, the thick globes of her ass moving beneath the skirt with the honest, unmissable weight of flesh that had never been cultivated away. Her waist was narrow in contrast, the hourglass of a body that had been built for breeding and had not yet been used for that purpose.
She was out of breath.
"Husband," she gasped, stopping at the table’s edge. Her full mouth was open, her dark eyes wide. "Forgive me. I was — the kitchen — the wine —"
Zhou reached out.
His hand found her thick ass through the skirt and squeezed. Then he slapped it.
The crack of his palm against her soft flesh rang out over the table.
Meihua cried out.
"Aah~!"