Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Chapter 759: Chapter 759 - A Lady’s Sacrifice of Her Body as a Slut

Madam Fengyuan and Bai, the two cast-aside women, were in the outer zone. Their Core Formation cultivation, their borrowed robes, their borrowed weapons, were there. They fought the smaller beasts, the weaker creatures, the peripheral threats.

Bai, her sword, swung. The qi, the Core Formation energy, cut. A beast, a small, furred creature, fell. Her dark eyes, wet, focused, were on the battle. The fear, the determination, the desperate courage of a young woman who was fighting because she had been told to, was there.

Fengyuan, her sword, was precise. Her movements, the trained, calculated, efficient movements of a woman who had some combat training, were there. Her sharp eyes, scanning the battlefield, the beasts, the other cultivators, were assessing.

"Keep moving!" she yelled at Bai. Her voice was sharp. The command, the directive, was there. "Don’t let them surround you!"

They pushed. Through the beast hordes, through the monster den area, through the outer zone. The energy, the combat, the fighting, was intense. The cultivators, the soldiers, the women, were all pushing toward the inner zone.

"For the Immortal Emperor!" a soldier yelled. The battle cry, the rallying call, the invocation of the being who had sent them, was taken up.

"For the Emperor!" others echoed.

The cry, the rallying, the unified, war-cry of an army fighting in the name of a god, filled the mountains.

The eldest prince, the scholarly man, was at the rear. His Divine Integration cultivation, his sword, his formation spells, were there. But his participation, his combat, was minimal. The beasts, the creatures that came near him, were dispatched. But his focus, his attention, was not on the battle.

His sharp eyes, on the dying beasts, on the spiritual corpses, on the monster remains, were looking. The spirit cores, the beast cores, the spiritual energy released by dying beasts, were being pulled. Drawn. Gathered. By something.

His eyes, following the pull, the draw, the invisible thread of spiritual energy, found the source.

A flower. In his hand. A small, glowing, jade-green flower. The bloom, the spirit-flower, the artifact he carried, was glowing. The spiritual energy, the beast cores, the dying creatures’ qi, was being drawn into it.

He looked at the flower. His sharp eyes, the recognition, the knowing, were there.

"Do you think I don’t know?" he said. His voice was soft. The private, internal, self-satisfied voice of a man who had been planning something. "I know your father is in danger."

He smiled. The expression, the warm, genuine, excited smile of a man who was about to give a surprise, was there.

"I can’t imagine your face when you see I have brought your help, my lady," he said. His voice was soft. The anticipation, the romantic, hopeful anticipation of a man who was secretly preparing a gift for the woman he loved, was there.

He smiled. The smile, the warm, soft, loving smile of a man thinking about his crush, was on his face.

’She will be surprised. She will be happy. She will see that I have not forgotten her. That I have been working. That the spirit cores, the beast energy, the flower, the cure, the medicine. All of it, for her. For her father. For the woman I...’

The eldest prince, the scholarly man, the Divine Integration cultivator, held the flower. His sharp eyes, on the glowing bloom, held the love. The hope. The plan.

Unaware that his childhood friend, the woman he was preparing this surprise for, was currently naked, tied to a tray, in the Emperor’s chambers.

~ The Chambers — The Platter

The voice came through the door.

"Food is prepared, Master."

Tianlong, seated on the bed, freshly bathed, was clean. Completely naked. His long black hair, wet, fell around his shoulders. His golden skin, gleaming, was flawless. His gold-crimson eyes, looking at the door, were calm. Patient. The expression of a man who had ordered something and was waiting for it to arrive.

The maids pushed the tray. The large, wooden, silver-trimmed tray, was wheeled into the room. The wheels, on the purple marble, were quiet. The maids, their heads bowed, their hands on the handles, were careful. Their faces, pale, their eyes down, their bodies trembling in the Emperor’s presence, were rigid.

On the tray was a woman.

The merchant’s daughter. Lady Han. The childhood friend of the eldest prince. The woman whose father was dying. The woman who had been manipulated by the headmistress. The woman who had agreed to warm the Emperor’s bed to save her father.

She was naked. Completely. Her full, curvy body, her brown skin, her bigger-than-average boobs, her wide hips, her curly dark hair, was bare. Her arms, her legs, were tied. The silk ropes, the spiritual bindings, held her wrists and ankles to the edges of the tray. Her body, spread, was the plate.

Her face was covered. An embroidered panty, the silk undergarment, was draped over her features. Her mouth, beneath the fabric, was stuffed. A ball, the leather gag, was in her mouth. The saliva, the drool, the wet, continuous flow of a woman who could not swallow, dripped. The fluid, thin and clear, ran from the corners of her lips, down her chin, onto the tray.

On her body was the food. The dishes, the delicacies, the fruits and meats and sauces, were arranged on her skin. On her boobs, the brown mounds, the dark nipples, stiff from the exposure, were placed sliced fruits. Cherries, the red, plump fruits, were on her nipples. The dark nubs, the stiff peaks, held the cherries like cups. On her stomach, the flat, brown plane, were placed small dishes. Sauces, dips, the colorful, aromatic condiments, were in tiny bowls on her skin. On her pussy, the shaved mound, the bare, swollen lips, were placed more fruits. Grapes, berries, the small, round fruits, were arranged on her mound. Her clit, the pink nub, was exposed. A single cherry, the red fruit, was placed directly on it.

She had become the plate for the food.

The headmistress, Madam Yueying, walked behind the tray. Her thick body, her formal robes, her enormous tits, her composed face, was there. She gave a bow. The formal, respectful bow of a woman presenting a gift to her master.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the woman on the tray, on the food, on the arrangement, held the appreciation. The assessment. The approval.

"You are competent enough," he said. His voice was calm. The compliment, the genuine, satisfied compliment of a man who had ordered a virgin and had been delivered one, was there. "You really brought a very good slut for me."

His hand, large and pale, went to her belly button. His finger, the slender digit, pushed. The navel, the small depression, was pressed. Her body, beneath his touch, twitched. The muscles, the involuntary, reflexive response to being touched, contracted. Her brown skin, beneath his golden finger, was warm.

"She looks good," he said. His voice was appreciative. The observation, the assessment of her body, was genuine.

Her body trembled. Beneath the panty, beneath the gag, her mind, the chaos, the fear, the realization, was screaming.

’He thinks I am a bitch. No. No, no, no. I am not a bitch. I am not a slut. I am a merchant’s daughter. I am a lady. I am... I am here to save my father. I have to... I have to go through this. I have to.’