Chapter 787- The Sheer Anger
The kiss, deep, invasive, claiming, was there. His lips, his mouth, his tongue, invaded. Her eyes, the widening, the shock, the absolute, world-ending shock, were there. Her hands, on his chest, pushed. The resistance, the instinctive, automatic resistance of a woman being kissed without consent, was there.
But his arm, the divine-qi-reinforced arm, held. She could not move. Could not push. Could not break free.
His tongue, his divine-qi-infused tongue, invaded. Her mouth, her coral lips, her tongue — all were claimed. The kiss, the deep, wet, invasive, French kiss, was there.
And then, the transfer. The wine, the tea, the aphrodisiac-laced liquid that he had just drunk — he pushed it. From his mouth, through his tongue, into hers. The fluid, the golden, warm, tainted fluid, flowed. Into her mouth. Down her throat.
Her eyes, the rolling, the bulging, the shock, were there. The protest, the muffled, gagging protest, was there. She tried to look. Toward the banquet, toward her father. Toward anyone who could help.
But the illusion, the divine formation, the domain control, was there. The wall, the invisible, imperceptible wall of divine qi, was cast.
To the banquet hall, to the emperor, to the ministers, to everyone — they saw two people. Standing on the balcony. Talking. Smiling. Happy. The illusion, the perfect, seamless, reality-replacing illusion, showed what he wanted them to see.
The reality, behind the illusion, was different.
She was being kissed. Devoured. The aphrodisiac, the very aphrodisiac she had prepared for him, was being fed to her. Through his mouth. Through his tongue. Through the kiss she could not break.
The sounds, the wet, slurping, muffled, obscene sounds of the kiss, were there.
"Mmmfh! Mmm... mmmfh..."
She gasped. The break, the brief, desperate break when he allowed her a breath, was there. She pulled back. Her face, the flushed, wet, swollen-lipped face, was there.
"You... you, what have you done?" she gasped. Her voice, the broken, shocked voice, was there.
He looked at her. His gold-crimson eyes, the amusement, the absolute, predatory amusement, were there.
"You shouldn’t be giving aphrodisiacs to a sex demon, my lady," he said. His voice was soft. The words, the gentle, amused, devastating words, were there.
The princess, her dark eyes, the shock, the absolute, world-ending shock, were there. The realization, the horrible, impossible, reality-shattering realization that he knew, that he had known, that he had turned her own weapon against her, hit.
"What is happening?" she whispered. Her voice was trembling. "What... what is..."
But her body was already answering. The aphrodisiac, the fast-acting, potent, divine-enhanced aphrodisiac, was working. Her pussy, the mound beneath her robes, was heating. The warmth, the growing, spreading, overwhelming warmth, was there. Her boobs, the mounds beneath her bodice, were tightening. Her nipples, the stiffening, erecting, sensitive nubs, were there.
"What is happening to me?" she gasped. Her hands, on her body, her stomach, her chest, were there. The confusion, the frightened, aroused, overwhelmed confusion, was there.
He moved. She stepped back. Her back, the jade railing, was there. Nowhere to go.
"Don’t," she said. Her voice was desperate. The word, the single, futile word, was there.
He pushed. Her body, onto the floor, onto the cool jade tiles of the balcony, was there. She lay. On her back, her robes disheveled, her dark hair spread, was there. Her body, the slender, princess frame, was there.
Her hands, her own hands, were on her crotch. On her boobs. The rubbing, the involuntary, instinctive, aphrodisiac-driven rubbing, was there. Her body, the heated, aroused, desperate body, was betraying her.
"No," she whispered. "Please. No."
He undressed her. His hands, large and pale, on her robes, were there. The violet and white silk, the fabric, was pulled. The bodice, the sash, the layers — one by one, removed. The fabric, the sound of silk being pulled, was there. Her body, revealed, was there. Her boobs, the moderate, princess-appropriate mounds, the pink nipples stiff, were bare. Her stomach, the flat, toned stomach, was there. Her pussy, the hairy mound, the tight, virgin slit, the pink lips glistening with aphrodisiac-induced wetness, was there.
He removed his robe. The dark crimson silk, the fabric, fell. His body, golden, muscular, gleaming in the moonlight, was there. His cock, twelve inches, hard, the head crimson, the shaft veined, massive, was there.
Her body, the naked, heated, aroused body, was there. Her eyes, the dark eyes, on his cock, the widening, the fear, the impossible, overwhelming fear, were there.
"No," she said. Her voice was broken. "Please. Brother Mu... save me..."
The name, the whispered, desperate, unconscious name, was there. But no one came. The illusion, the perfect, seamless illusion, kept the banquet blind. Her voice, the sounds, the cries — all hidden behind the divine wall.
He groped her boobs. His hand, on the moderate mound, squeezed. The flesh, the soft, warm flesh, was there. His fingers, on her nipple, pinched. The pink nub, the stiff peak, was there.
"Overrated tits," he said. His voice was calm. The assessment, the dismissive, male assessment, was there.
He sucked. His mouth, on her nipple, took the pink nub. He sucked. The sensation, the warm, wet, divine-qi-infused sensation, hit. Her body, the arching, convulsing body, was there. Her eyes, rolling, were on the banquet hall. Through the illusion, she could see them. The ministers, the guests, her father — all looking in her direction. All smiling. All seeing the happy, talking, diplomatic illusion.
They could not see. Could not see that she was being violated. That her nipple was being sucked. That her body was being claimed.
He moved. His mouth, from her nipple, down her body. Her stomach, the flat, toned skin. His tongue, trailing, was there. Down, down, to her thighs. He parted. Her legs, the slender limbs, were spread. Her thighs, the pale flesh, were there. Her pussy, the hairy mound, the swollen, wet, glistening lips, was exposed.
He sucked. His mouth, on her pussy, was there. His tongue, pink and warm, found her clit. The nub, the stiff, sensitive peak, was there. He licked. He sucked. He bit.
The bite, the sharp, electric bite on her clit, hit. She cried. The scream, the muffled, illusion-masked, desperate scream, was there.
"AAANGH~!!"
Her body arched. Her back, off the jade floor, was there. Her eyes, rolling, were wide. The orgasm, the first, the overwhelming, aphrodisiac-enhanced, divine-qi-triggered orgasm, hit. Her pussy, the hairy cunt, gushed. The fluid, thin and clear, sprayed. Her body, the convulsing, twitching frame, was there.
She lay. Limp. Like a doll. Her eyes, vacant, were on the stars. The moonlight, the silver light, on her naked body, was there. Her boobs, the moderate mounds, heaved with each gasp. Her pussy, the swollen, wet, dripping cunt, was there.
He chuckled. The sound, the low, amused, predatory sound, was there. His thumb, on her pussy, parted. The lips, the thick, swollen lips, were spread. The pink interior, the glistening, tight, virgin entrance, was there.
"You should at least clean your hair here," he said. His voice was soft. The observation, the assessment of her hairy mound, was there. His thumb, rubbing, was there. The motion, the slow, circular, divine-qi-infused motion on her clit, was there.
’!’
"N-no... Damn you!"