Chapter 805 - Deflowered the Tight One
Not because she was first in line, but because he had been watching her. He had seen the way her eyes lingered on his body. He had noticed the flush that crept up her neck when he removed his robe — not just fear, not just shame, but something else underneath it, something that she herself probably didn’t fully understand.
The crush. The fan-girl infatuation that had been simmering since the tournament, since the Dharma body, since the moment she had first looked up at the sky and seen his face projected a thousand times its size and thought, ’he’s beautiful.’
He tilted her chin up with his free hand. Her bright eyes met his gold-crimson ones, and for one frozen heartbeat, she saw herself reflected in those golden depths — small, naked, terrified, and desperately, ashamedly eager in a way that made her want to crawl into the floor and disappear.
Then his mouth was on hers, and thinking became very difficult.
His tongue invaded without asking permission, sliding past her lips and finding hers with a confidence that left no room for resistance. The taste of him flooded her senses — something rich and dark and ancient, like old wine and lightning and sex all mixed into one. Her eyes rolled back. Her knees buckled. If his arm hadn’t been around her waist, she would have folded to the floor.
’He’s kissing me. He’s actually— his tongue is in my mouth and it tastes like— what IS that— I can’t think— I can’t—’
She went limp against him, and he held her up with one arm as easily as if she were made of paper.
Then he pulled away from her and kissed Shen Ling.
The younger sister — no, they were the same age, but Shen Ling had always felt like the younger one — received the kiss with wide, terrified eyes that didn’t close until several seconds in, when her body overrode her panic and her eyelids fluttered shut. Her round face flushed a deep, mottled red, and a small, muffled sound escaped into his mouth.
When he pulled back, both sisters stood swaying on their feet, their lips swollen and wet, their eyes glazed.
He guided them to the bed. Not gently, not cruelly — with the efficiency of a man who knew exactly where he wanted things to go. He pushed, and they fell backward onto the silk together, their bodies bouncing on the soft surface. Shen Yue’s perky breasts jiggled with the impact, the pink nipples catching the light. Shen Ling’s fuller chest settled with a heavier bounce, the softer flesh rippling.
He climbed over them both.
His body blanketed theirs — warm, heavy, radiating that divine heat like a living furnace. His cock, no longer soft, was thickening rapidly against Shen Yue’s thigh, the shaft lengthening and hardening with each pulse of blood, the crimson head lifting away from his body. She could feel it growing against her skin — the weight of it, the heat of it, the impossible, steadily increasing size of it — and her breath caught in her throat.
His hands found their breasts. Both of them. One hand on Shen Yue’s perky mound, one on Shen Ling’s fuller one. His large palms engulfed them — Shen Yue’s fit almost entirely in his grip, the flesh overflowing between his fingers, while Shen Ling’s required more spread of his fingers to encompass. He squeezed, and both sisters gasped — one sharp, one soft — as the flesh deformed under divine pressure.
He bent to Shen Yue’s nipple. His mouth closed over the pink peak, and he sucked — not gently, not tentatively, but with a deep, pulling suction that drew the entire areola into his mouth. The sensation hit Shen Yue like a punch to the solar plexus. Divine qi flooded through the nipple, through the sensitive nerve endings, through the milk ducts that had never been stimulated this way, and the heat of it traveled straight down to her womb.
"Anhgh~!" The moan escaped her before she could trap it. Her back arched off the silk, her stomach tightening, her hands gripping the sheets.
His other hand worked Shen Ling’s nipple. Fingers rolling the lighter pink nub, pinching, tugging — and when Shen Ling gasped and jerked, he increased the pressure. Not enough to truly hurt. Enough to make her body respond whether she wanted it to or not.
"Hnngh~!" Shen Ling’s gasp was softer, more confused — the sound of a woman whose body was doing something her mind hadn’t agreed to.
He alternated between them. Shen Yue’s nipple, sucked and bitten, then Shen Ling’s, licked and pinched. Back and forth. His mouth and hands moving with the precision of a musician playing two instruments at once, drawing different sounds from each sister — higher, breathier gasps from Shen Yue, lower, more reluctant moans from Shen Ling.
His cock, now fully hard, lay hot and heavy across both their bodies — the shaft resting in the valley between their pressed-together stomachs, the crimson head leaking a thin strand of precum onto Shen Yue’s navel. Twelve inches. Thick enough that Shen Ling’s fingers couldn’t have closed around it. The veins along the shaft pulsed with divine qi.
"Ah... Anhgh~..." Shen Yue writhed beneath him. Her crush — that desperate, embarrassing, heart-pounding infatuation she had been nursing since the Dharma body appeared in the sky — was merging with the physical reality of his body on hers, his mouth on her, his qi flooding through her. The rational part of her mind — the part that said ’I am doing this for Brother, this is sacrifice, this is duty’ — was dissolving like sugar in hot water.
"Nngh... Hnngh~..." Shen Ling’s moans were quieter, more tangled with resistance. Her curiosity — the stolen peeks at his body during the tournament, the "is-he-really-that-impressive" wonderings — had become this: his weight on her, his hand on her breast, his qi rewriting her nerve endings. She could feel her body warming, softening, opening against her will.
He spread their legs apart. Both of them. His hands on their inner thighs, pushing, opening. Their pussies were exposed — both hairy mounds, dark and natural, untrimmed and untouched. The pink lips, swollen and glistening with arousal they hadn’t consented to, peeked through the dark curls.
He positioned himself at Shen Yue’s entrance. The broad, crimson head of his cock pressed against her virgin slit — the heat of it meeting the heat of her, the size of it already dwarfing the tiny opening it was meant to enter.
"What is your name?" he asked, and his voice was almost gentle, the way someone might ask a flower its name before plucking it.
She couldn’t look at him. Her hands covered her face. "Shen... Shen Yue," she whispered, and the shame in her voice was thick enough to taste.
Beside them, Shen Ling pushed herself up on her elbows. Her round face was wet with tears, but there was something fierce in it — something protective, sacrificial. "Please," she said, and her voice cracked on the word. "Start with me. Sir. Lord Emperor. Start with me. Let Sister Yue—"
He chuckled. The sound was low and warm, and it cut her off like a blade.
Then he pushed.
Two inches. The head spread Shen Yue’s lips apart and entered her. The stretch — the impossible, burning, reality-breaking stretch — hit first. Her vaginal walls, never penetrated, gripped him like a fist trying to hold back a flood. The resistance was enormous, and he pushed through it with the steady, irresistible force of an incoming tide.
Three inches. Four. Her hymen tore.
"AAANGH~!!"