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

Chapter 760: Chapter 760- A God or a Beast

She clenched her eyes. Beneath the panty, the fabric, her eyes squeezed shut. The tears, the wet, hot tears, soaked the silk. The resolve, the desperate, painful, morally devastating resolve of a woman who had convinced herself to endure, was there.

’I have to save my father. I have to. This is the only way. The only way. I have to...’

Suddenly, she cried. Her body, the full frame, arched. Her back, the brown skin, lifted. Her boobs, the brown mounds, heaved. The fruits, the cherries, the arrangements, shifted.

Tianlong’s mouth, his lips, his teeth, had found her nipple. His mouth, warm, wet, had closed over the dark nub. The cherry, the red fruit, was between his lips and her nipple. He bit. The cherry, the fruit, burst. The juice, the red, sweet, sticky fluid, ran. Over her nipple. Over his lips. The dark nub, the stiff peak, was bitten. Alongside the cherry. The teeth, the divine, sharp teeth, pressed. The nipple, the sensitive, never-touched nub, was crushed.

Her muffled cry, the scream through the gag, was wet. Guttaural. The pain, the sharp, searing, electric pain of a nipple being bitten, shot through her body.

"Oh, brown boobs," he said. His voice, muffled by the nipple, the cherry, was conversational. The observation, the casual, racial, categorizing observation of her body, was delivered. "Complete villager."

He slapped her tits. His hand, large and pale, the palm flat, came down. The brown mound, the soft, full flesh, was hit. The sound, the sharp, meaty slap of flesh on flesh, was loud. The red palm, the bright, vivid outline of his hand on her brown skin, was visible.

PAAAH!

She cried. The muffled scream, the pain, the humiliation of a woman whose breasts were being slapped, was there.

The headmistress, seated beside the tray, her composed face, her dark eyes, held the satisfaction. The approval. The pride of a woman who had successfully delivered a gift.

"Please enjoy," she said. Her raw voice was warm. The invitation, the serving, the presentation of a woman offering her master a meal, was delivered.

She used chopsticks. Her hand, pale, the slender fingers, held the wooden sticks. She reached. The chopsticks, the tips, found a fruit. A grape, placed on the woman’s pussy. The mound, the shaved, bare, swollen lips, the grape resting on the pink flesh. The chopsticks, the tips, grabbed the grape. The contact, the wood on her skin, on her pussy, made her flinch.

She cried. The muffled, wet, gagged cry of a woman whose most private part was being used as a plate, was there.

The headmistress, her chopsticks, grabbed the grape. But her other hand, her free hand, reached. Her fingers, the slender digits, found the woman’s clit. The pink nub, the stiff, exposed, sensitive peak, was grabbed. She pulled. Up. The clit, the delicate, sensitive, nerve-dense flesh, was stretched.

"AHHH~!" The muffled scream, the raw, primal, agonized scream of a woman whose clit was being pulled, was loud. Even through the gag.

She cried. She begged. The muffled, wet, garbled sounds of a woman pleading, begging, for her clit to be released, for the pain to stop, for someone to help, were there. But the gag, the ball, the leather, silenced everything.

"Oh," Tianlong said. His voice, looking at the clit, at the headmistress’s pulling fingers, was appreciative. "Her crying clit seems fresh. So you really brought a virgin in."

The observation, the confirmation of her virginity, delivered while her clit was being pulled, was the most humiliating thing she had ever experienced.

"Indeed, indeed, I did," the headmistress said. Her raw voice was proud. The satisfaction, the genuine, maternal pride of a woman who had completed her mission, was there.

Tianlong looked at her clit. At the pink, swollen, pulled nub. At the headmistress’s fingers, stretching the flesh. At the pussy, the shaved mound, the bare lips, the glistening, leaking entrance.

He leaned. His mouth, his lips, his tongue, found her pussy. He ate. The food, the fruits, the grapes and berries placed on her mound, were eaten. From her skin. From her pussy. His mouth, warm, wet, took the fruits. His tongue, pink, expert, lapped the juices. The fruit juice, the mixed with her arousal, the combined flavor, was tasted.

His thumb and finger, spreading her pussy, opened her. The lips, the swollen, bare, pink lips, parted. The interior, the tight, virgin, pink passage, was visible.

"It looks tight," he said. His voice was clinical. The assessment, the medical, detached assessment of a virgin pussy, was there. "But why is it brown? Over a dirty body."

The words, the racial, categorizing, dismissive observation of her skin color, her body, her most intimate part, was delivered with the casual tone of a man evaluating produce.

"But of course," he added. His voice, the caveat, the acceptance, was there. "It has a different taste."

He pinched her clit. His fingers, the thumb and forefinger, found the pink nub. He squeezed. The pressure, the divine, overwhelming pressure on her most sensitive flesh, made her leak. The pussy juice, the thin, clear, involuntary fluid, ran from her entrance.

Her eyes, beneath the panty, rolled. Her body, the full frame, convulsed. The divine qi, flowing through his fingers, through her clit, through her meridians, was intense. The stimulation, the overwhelming, all-consuming stimulation of a divine being touching her most sensitive flesh, was beyond anything.

He ate from her. The food, the fruits, the meats, the sauces, were consumed. From her skin. From her boobs. From her stomach. From her pussy. His mouth, his teeth, his tongue, bit, licked, sucked. Each bite, each contact, each touch, made her flinch. Made her cry. Made her moan.

He sucked her pussy. His mouth, his lips, his tongue, on her clit, on her lips, on her entrance. The suction, the warmth, the wetness, the divine qi flowing through his mouth, through her cunt, was overwhelming.

He sucked her boobs. His mouth, on her brown mounds, on her dark nipples. The cherries, the fruits, were eaten. From her nipples. The teeth, the bite, the pressure on her stiff peaks, was there.

She cried. Continuously. The muffled, wet, gagged cries of a woman being used as a plate, as a vessel, as an object, filled the room.

And then, through the gap of the panties, through the silk fabric that covered her face, she saw him.

His face. The golden skin. The dark hair, wet, falling. The gold-crimson eyes, the divine, the beautiful, the impossible eyes. The face, the beautiful, the most beautiful face she had ever seen, was there.

Her whole body flinched. The recognition, the primal, instinctive, biological response to beauty, to power, to divinity, hit. The face, the body, the presence, was overwhelming.

Moonlight, through the window, fell on his body. His naked form, golden, muscular, the arms, the chest, the abs, the everything, was illuminated. The light, the silver moonlight, on his golden skin, was the most beautiful, the most terrifying, the most overwhelming thing she had ever seen.

She trembled. Her brown skin, her full body, her tied limbs, shook.

’Is he... is he an animal? Is he... is he a god? What... what is he?’