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

Chapter 762: Chapter 762- A Daughter’s Hope is Immortal’s Cock

Her eyes, rolling, were vacant. Her mouth, the gag still in, drooled. The saliva, the continuous flow, ran down her chin, onto her boobs. Her ahegao, the fucked-silly, mind-blank, tongue-out, eyes-rolled expression, was complete.

Six hours. The continuous, relentless, divine fucking lasted six hours. The positions changed. Against the wall. On the bed. On the floor. In the air. On the chair. Every surface, every position, every angle. Her pussy, her anal, her mouth. All three. One after another. His cock, twelve inches, the divine organ, was everywhere. In everything.

Her maidenhood was destroyed. Her cunt, the virgin pussy, was remade. Stretched. Trained. The walls, the muscles, the spiritual tissues, were rewritten. The divine qi, flowing through every inch of contact, through every thrust, through every orgasm, was changing her. Her cultivation, her Core Formation, was advancing. Rising.

The morning came. The light, the dawn, the golden sun through the purple crystal, filled the room.

She lay on the bed. Her body, the full frame, was limp. Her brown skin, glistening with sweat, with cum, with fluids, was marked. Her pussy, the hairy mound, the swollen, red, raw, well-fucked cunt, was leaking. The seed, the thick white divine cum, ran from her entrance. The fluid, the combined juices, the blood and cum and arousal, pooled on the silk.

He took away the ball. The gag, the leather, was removed. Her mouth, her coral lips, swollen, raw, was free. She gasped. The air, the first free breath in hours, filled her lungs.

"Finally," she whispered. Her voice, the raw, broken, cracked voice of a woman who had been screaming for six hours, was barely audible. "Immortal. Please save my fa—"

Before she could finish, before the plea, before the request, his cock was there. His cock head, the crimson, the slick, cum-covered surface, pressed against her lips. He pushed. The head, the broad surface, entered her mouth. She gagged. The reflex, the natural, involuntary gag of a throat being filled, was there.

"Clean it," he said. His voice was calm. The command, the order, was absolute.

He held her head. His hand, large and pale, gripped her dark curly hair. He turned her. Upside down. Her head, off the edge of the bed, hung. Her mouth, her throat, was angled. The line, the straight, direct path from her mouth to her throat, was open.

He pushed. His cock, twelve inches, the head, the shaft, drove into her mouth. Into her throat. The bulge, the outline of his cock, was visible on her neck. Her throat, the slender, brown column, was distended.

He fucked her mouth. Slowly. His hips, driving, moved. In and out. His thumb, on her throat, rubbed. The bulge, the ridge of his cock, was felt. The movement, the up and down, the in and out, was visible.

She cried. The tears, the continuous, falling tears, ran. Into her hair. Onto the floor. Her internal thoughts, the chaos, the desperation, the last, fading, dying hope, were there.

’My childhood friend. The eldest prince. Please. Please save me. Please. Anyone. Save me.’

But no one came. No one heard. No one was there.

He groaned. The sound, the low, deep, masculine groan of a man reaching climax, filled the room. His cock, buried in her throat, throbbed. The cum, the divine seed, pressurized, molten, erupted. Directly into her throat. Into her stomach. The fluid, hot and thick, filled her.

Her eyes rolled. Her body convulsed. The lack of air, the divine qi, the overwhelming, all-consuming overload, was too much. Her consciousness faded. The edges, the vision, the awareness, dimmed.

She seemed to lose consciousness.

He pulled out. His cock, the shaft, slick with cum, with saliva, with her throat’s fluids, emerged. The semen, the thick white, dripped from her mouth. From her lips. From her chin. The fluid, the white, was on her face. On her hair. On the floor.

He turned. Toward the headmistress.

The headmistress, her thick body, her formal robes, was on her knees. Her posture, the frog-like squat, her knees spread, her ass on her heels, was there. Her pussy, beneath her robes, was dripping. The fluids, the arousal, the excitement from watching, had soaked through. The wet patch, the dark spot on the fabric, was visible.

She crawled. Her hands and knees, her enormous tits swaying, moved. She reached him. Her mouth, her coral lips, found his cock. She licked. The cum, the saliva, the combined fluids, were cleaned. Her tongue, warm, wet, expert, worked the surface.

She sucked his cock and said, "Idiot, can’t even clean the cock properly."

The words, the insult, were directed at the unconscious woman on the bed. The headmistress, the corrupted, devoted woman, was comparing. Judging. Finding the new woman lacking.

"So, Immortal," she said, her raw voice, the muffled, cock-filled mouth, produced the words. "How did you get her?"

His hand, on her head, held. His fingers, in her dark hair, gripped. Not painfully. Possessively.

"Her father is ill," the headmistress said, her voice, between licks, between sucks, was clear. "She wants you to heal him using herbs. It was easy that way."

The explanation, the summary of the manipulation, the concise, efficient report of a woman who had completed her mission, was delivered.

"Oh, I see," he said. His voice was thoughtful. The information, the dying father, the desperate daughter, the leverage, was processed.

He looked at the unconscious woman. At her body, the full frame, the brown skin, the curly hair, the well-fucked, cum-covered, broken body. His gold-crimson eyes held the assessment. The calculation.

"Now that’s something good," he said. His voice was soft. The tone of a man making a decision. "Should we heal her father?"

The headmistress, her dark eyes, her mouth on his cock, looked up. Her raw voice, the muffled, cock-filled response, was there.

"Yes, sir," she said, bobbing her head up and down. The motion, the sucking, the cleaning, continued. "But collect payment for it. Make this woman your sex slave."

The suggestion, the cold, calculated, ruthless suggestion of a woman who had been corrupted, who had been remade, who understood her master’s nature, was delivered. The payment. The price. The woman, the merchant’s daughter, would be the Emperor’s sex slave. In exchange for her father’s life.

He chuckled. The sound, the low, warm, amused chuckle of a man who appreciated his pet’s thinking, filled the room.

"Indeed," he said.

His cock, hard again, was there. The divine organ, stimulated by the headmistress’s mouth, by the sucking, by the licking, was ready. Again.

The woman on the bed, the unconscious merchant’s daughter, stirred. Her body, the full frame, twitched. Her dark eyes, beneath the closed lids, moved. She was waking.

Her eyes opened. The dark, warm eyes, the confused, disoriented, post-unconsciousness eyes, found the ceiling. Then the room. Then the bed. Then him.

"Immortal!" she gasped. Her voice, the raw, broken, desperate voice, was there.

He turned her. His hands, large and pale, on her body. Her back, the brown skin, was pressed against the seat. The bed, the silk sheets, was beneath her. Her pussy, the hairy mound, the swollen, leaking, well-fucked cunt, was against the surface.

"Harass," he said. The word, the strange, almost playful, almost teasing word, was there.

"Immortal, wait," she cried. Her voice was desperate. "I need to tell you something. Please save my father."

Suddenly, she stopped. Her body, the full frame, went rigid. Her dark eyes, wide, streamed.

"Wait, wait, what are you doing?" she screamed.

His thumb, on her anal. The brown ring, the tight, virgin, untouched hole. His thumb, spreading the entrance. The sphincter, the muscle, was pressed. His cock, the head, the crimson, the slick, cum-covered surface, was against her anal.

His cock, so long, so big, arched back. The shaft, the pale, thick, veined shaft, was poised. The head, the broad, flat, crimson surface, was at the entrance of her anal.

Her body trembled. Her brown skin, the full frame, shook.

"What happened to your father?" he said. His voice was calm. Conversational. The tone of a man asking a question while preparing to penetrate.

She cried. The tears, the streaming, falling, desperate tears, were there.

"Please not that," she whispered. Her voice was broken. The plea, the raw, broken plea of a woman about to be anally penetrated for the first time, was there. "Oh, Immortal, it will hurt. Wait, I will die."

He looked at her. His gold-crimson eyes, the calm, the patience, the absolute authority, were there.

"Don’t you want to save your father?" he said.

The question, the simple, direct, devastating question, hit her. The leverage, the exchange, the transaction, was clear. Her father’s life for her body. Her father’s salvation for her anal. Her father’s survival for her submission.

Her body flinched. The recognition, the surrender, the submission of a woman who had no choice, was there.

"Yes," she said. Her voice cracked. "I do."

She started to cry. The tears, the continuous, falling, streaming tears, were there.

He pushed. His cock head, the crimson, the hot, the broad surface, pressed into her anal. The sphincter, the tight, virgin, never-penetrated muscle, stretched. The pain, sharp, searing, the pain of an anal virgin being opened, was there.

She cried. The tears, the pain, the screaming, were there.

"Demonic cultivators attacked," she said. Her voice, the broken, pain-filled, desperate voice, told the story while her anal was being stretched. "On the merchant route. Father went to handle it. He got poisoned. The dark qi. The corruption. He is paralyzed. He is suffering. He is dying due to spreadibg curruption jn his Qi Core."