Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World

Chapter 300- Queen’s Pleading

Her nose pressed against his lower abdomen on the deepest push, and her eyes rolled briefly.

He reached to his side — to the wine vessel that the servant had dropped, which had not gone under the bed but had rolled against the bedframe where his hand found it without looking.

He held it up.

The servant, still face-down across Yuxi’s back with her mouth pressed against Yuxi’s pussy and her entire body trembling in small, continuous shudders, had not seen him reach for it.

She heard the stopper pulled.

She smelled the wine — dark and sweet, aged, the kind of vintage kept for senior clan members — drifting into the cabin air over the existing smell of sweat and sex and female arousal.

She did not understand what it was for yet.

Cang’s hand found her hip.

He turned her — the same casual, complete authority with which he turned every body in his range — rolling her off Yuxi’s back and onto her own, her face now upward, her thighs falling open with the uncoordinated helplessness of a girl who has never been touched like this and whose body has completely bypassed the stage where it consults her about its reactions.

She was beautiful in the way of young things that don’t know they are — round face, clear skin, her inner garment now barely covering anything, her small breasts rising and falling fast with her breathing, her thighs smooth and pressed instinctively together in the oldest, most useless protective reflex available to her.

Cang pressed her thighs open.

"’No — please — I — I’ve never — please—’" Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence and didn’t recover. Her hands pushed against his, finding the same resistance as pushing against stone. "’It hurts — I don’t want — please be gentle — I’ve never—’"

He positioned the wine bottle.

Not his cock. The bottle — the long, smooth neck of it, cool glass against the heat of her skin, pressing at the entrance of her virgin pussy with a patience that was somehow worse than urgency would have been.

"’Wh — what is — what are you—’" She lifted her head, looked down, and saw it. "’NO — NO MASTER — PLEASE — NOT THAT — IT’S TOO—’"

He pushed.

Slowly.

The neck of the bottle was not his cock — it was narrower at the tip, smoother, and he pressed it with steady, incremental pressure that gave her body exactly one option.

"’HIEEKNGHH~!! — IT HURTS — IT HURTS — PLEASE — MASTER — PLEASE — AH — AH — IT’S—’"

Her back arched off Yuxi’s back beneath her.

"’AAAAHNGHH~!! — STOP — PLEASE — MASTER — I’M BEGGING — IT’S — IT’S TEARING—’"

It wasn’t. He knew the difference between resistance and damage. He pressed through the resistance with the precise calibration of a man who understood anatomy the way he understood everything else — completely, and without sentiment.

The seal broke.

Blood came first — thin, pale pink at the rim of the glass, then darker, a thin thread of red that ran over the curve of the bottle’s neck, over the knuckles of his hand, down the pale inside of her thigh.

And behind it — wine.

Dark, aged, expensive wine that had been sealed inside the bottle under pressure, now finding the only exit available to it — trickling down through the blood, pooling at the base of the bottle’s neck, following the path of least resistance with complete indifference to the situation.

Down her thigh.

Through the crease between her thigh and her hip.

Along the curve of her ass.

Dripping.

Yuxi was below her — face-up now, Cang’s cock still in her mouth, her throat working — and the first drop hit her cheek.

She felt it.

Warm. Mixed. Wine and blood and the servant’s body.

"’Gluck—’" Her throat moved. Her eyes, already tear-bright, tracked upward without her permission.

The drops kept coming — a thin, irregular stream now as the bottle’s contents found their exit and the blood thinned into something the color of dark rose — running steadily through the servant’s spread thighs, down the arc of her ass, pattering onto Yuxi’s upturned face in warm, irregular drops.

"’MNGH — GLUCK — GGKK~!!’" Yuxi’s hands pressed harder against his thighs. Not pushing. Gripping.

The servant was still crying.

Not silently. She had passed the stage of silent tears sometime around the first inch of glass and was now somewhere in the region of full, helpless, body-shaking sobs that had stopped being about dignity forty seconds ago and were now simply the acoustic output of a body receiving more sensation than it had ever been designed to process at once.

"’It hurts — it hurts — please — Master — please—’" The words came between sobs, slurring into each other, her head thrown back, her hands clutching the sheets on either side of her. "’I can feel it — inside — the bottle — it’s — HAANGHH~!! — it’s pressing — something is—’"

He tilted the bottle.

The remaining wine ran forward inside it, pressed by the angle, and came out in a thicker pour — running down through her pussy, over the glass, mixing with the blood and her own arousal that had arrived uninvited and was now part of the equation regardless of what she thought about it.

The stream hit Yuxi’s chin directly.

Her throat bobbed around his cock. Her eyes closed.

"’GLUCK — GLUCK — GGKK~!!’"

He began to move his hips.

Slowly at first — the same unhurried, complete strokes he used for everything, his cock moving in and out of Yuxi’s throat with the steady rhythm of a man who is doing two things at once and giving both his full attention.

Each forward thrust pressed his cock deeper into Yuxi’s throat.

Each stroke forward also moved his hand — and the bottle — pressing it fractionally deeper, then drawing back, then deeper.

The wine ran with the motion. Each push drove a fresh trickle out and down through the servant’s thighs and over Yuxi’s face below.

"’Gluck — GLUCK — GGKK~!! — gluck—’" Yuxi’s throat sounds had taken on a rhythm that matched his hips. Her eyes were streaming properly now — not the polite tears of before but the involuntary flooding of tear ducts being stimulated by sheer physical overwhelm. Her mascara, if she’d been wearing any, would have been destroyed. Her lips were slick with saliva and the mixed fluid running down from above. She was swallowing reflexively with every deep push, her throat contracting around the head of his cock, the sound she made each time wet and deep and helpless.

"’Gluck — HAAGH — gluck—’"

"’HAANGHH~!! — the bottle — Master — it’s — I can feel the wine — inside — it’s warm — HIEEKK~!! — it’s going — AAAAHNGHH~!!’"

The servant’s hips had begun to move.

Not dramatically. Not with intention. The small, involuntary rocking of a body that has been receiving sensation long enough that it has stopped protesting and started responding. Her thighs pressed against the bottle on either side of their own accord. Her heels dug into the mattress.

"’No — why is it — I don’t want to — why does it—’" The sentence fell apart. She tried again. "’It hurts — it still hurts — but it’s — MNGHH~!! — why is it—’"

Her hips rolled forward.

Blood and wine in equal measure now, soaking the sheets beneath her, painting Yuxi’s face below in a warm, steady drip.

"’HAANGHH~!! — MASTER — I’M — SOMETHING IS — AH — AH — AAAAHNGHH~!!’"

The Queen, who had been lying beneath all of this with her daughter’s ass still hovering over her face and her empty, overworked pussy clenching steadily around nothing, finally found enough coherent function to speak.

"’Cang,’" she said. Low. Hoarse. Stripped to nothing. "’Please.’"