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

Chapter 764: Chapter 764 - Arriving at Merchant Family’s House

~ The Streets of Purple Astral

The sects were empty.

Every cultivator of note, every disciple of standing, every elder with ambition had left the capital. The inheritance mountain, the Reincarnation Pool, the Jade Sect’s legacy — all of it had drawn them north like moths to a flame. The streets, usually bustling with robed figures arguing about dao and debating formation theory, were now populated only by the common folk. The merchants. The artisans. The servants. The people who could not fly, who could not fight beasts, who could not chase legends.

The carriage moved through the cobblestone streets at a leisurely pace. It was a merchant’s carriage — the Han family crest, a golden crane clutching a spirit-stone, was emblazoned on the lacquered black doors. The driver, an old man with a grey beard and steady hands, sat upright and kept his eyes forward. He had been told not to look inside. Not to listen. Not to acknowledge any sound that came from the cabin.

Sounds came from the cabin.

"Mmmfh... slurp..."

The wet, rhythmic, unmistakable sound of a mouth working a cock filled the enclosed space. The carriage interior was spacious — merchant families traveled in comfort — with cushioned seats, silk curtains, and enough room for three people to sit without touching.

They were not sitting.

Tianlong leaned against the left wall of the carriage, his arm resting on the window sill. The curtain was partially drawn, letting in slants of afternoon sun that caught the golden hue of his skin. His dark hair, loose and unbound, fell around his shoulders. His gold-crimson eyes were half-lidded, watching the street pass by through the gap in the curtain. His expression was one of idle contentment — the look of a man receiving casual pleasure he considered his due.

His robe was open at the waist. His cock, twelve inches, thick, the head crimson and glistening with saliva, stood from his lap like a pillar of pale marble veined with blue.

Lady Han knelt on the carriage floor between his legs. Her brown dress, the simple merchant’s garment she always wore, was hiked up at the knees so she could position herself. Her curly dark hair fell across her face as she bowed over his lap. Her mouth, her warm, wet, eager mouth, was wrapped around the head of his cock. Her lips, full and coral-pink, stretched around the girth. Her tongue, pink and nimble, swirled across the slit, lapping the precum that beaded at the tip. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, creating a vacuum that made obscene, wet, slurping sounds fill the cabin.

"Mmmfh... mmm..." she hummed around his cock. The vibration traveled down the shaft. Her brown hands, small and soft, the hands of a merchant’s daughter not a fighter, gripped the base of his shaft. Her fingers could not close around the girth. She stroked what her mouth could not reach, her wrists twisting in opposite directions.

Her dark eyes, looking up at his face, searched for approval. For recognition. For any sign that she was pleasing him. The expression in those eyes — desperate, devoted, hungry — was the expression of a woman who had been broken and remade and had found her purpose between a god’s legs.

Beside her, also kneeling on the carriage floor, was Madam Yueying. The headmistress, her thick body, her enormous tits straining her formal robes, her mature face composed and elegant, had positioned herself lower. Her mouth was not on his cock. Her mouth was on his balls. Her coral lips, swollen and experienced, kissed the heavy, cum-filled sac. Her tongue, warm and expert, lapped the skin. She sucked one testicle into her mouth, her cheeks bulging, and hummed.

"Mmm..."

The vibration, the warmth, the dual stimulation of Lady Han’s mouth on his cock head and the headmistress’s mouth on his balls, was pleasant. Comfortable. The kind of pleasure a man enjoyed while watching scenery pass by.

Lady Han pulled back, her lips leaving his cock head with a wet pop. A string of saliva and precum connected her lower lip to his slit. She looked up at him, her dark eyes searching.

"Does it feel good, Master?" she whispered. Her voice, the voice that had once been warm and independent, the voice of a merchant’s daughter who teased her childhood friend, was now soft. Submissive. Seeking.

He didn’t look at her. His gold-crimson eyes were still on the street.

"It’s adequate," he said. His voice was flat. The tone of a man who considered adequate to be the baseline, not the goal.

Lady Han’s face fell. The word, the assessment, the dismissal, stung. She wanted more. She wanted to be good. She wanted to be the best. She leaned forward again, her mouth opening wider, and took his cock head back in. She sucked harder. Her tongue worked faster. Her cheeks hollowed deeper. The slurping sounds intensified.

"Mmmfh! Slurp... mmmfh..."

The headmistress, her dark eyes on Lady Han’s technique, her mature face holding mild disapproval, sucked harder on his balls. Her tongue traced the seam, the sensitive ridge where the two testicles met. Her hand, free, reached up and stroked the base of his shaft, her fingers working the skin below where Lady Han’s mouth could reach.

"You need to use more tongue on the frenulum," the headmistress said. Her raw voice, the instruction delivered between licks, was pedagogical. The tone of a teacher correcting a student. "The underside. Where the head meets the shaft. That’s where he’s most sensitive."

Lady Han, her mouth full of cock, adjusted. Her tongue, pink and wet, found the spot. The frenulum, the sensitive ridge, was lapped. She felt his cock twitch. The reaction, the first sign of genuine pleasure, made her eyes light up.

"Mmmfh..." she hummed, encouraged.

"Better," the headmistress said, her lips on his balls. "Now maintain pressure. Don’t let up. He doesn’t like teasing. He likes consistency."

The instruction, the coaching, the headmistress teaching the younger woman how to properly suck the cock of the man they both served, was delivered with the calm authority of an educator. Old habits died hard.

Tianlong’s hand, the one on the window sill, moved. His fingers found Lady Han’s curly hair. He gripped. Not painfully. Possessively. His hand on her head, guiding her pace, setting the rhythm. She complied. Her mouth moved faster, her head bobbing, the wet sounds intensifying.

"Mmmfh... slurp... mmmfh..."

The carriage turned a corner. The cobblestones changed — smoother now, the road leading to the merchant district. The houses, the buildings, the shops, gave way to larger estates. Walls. Gates. Gardens.

"We are approaching," the driver called from outside. His voice was muffled through the wooden partition. His tone was carefully neutral.

Tianlong’s hand, in Lady Han’s hair, pulled her off. Her mouth released his cock with a wet pop. The saliva, the precum, the combined fluids, dripped. She gasped. Her dark eyes, confused, looked up at him.

"Enough," he said. His voice was calm. "I need to be presentable."

He tucked his cock, still half-hard, into his robe. The silk, the dark fabric, concealed it. Mostly. The bulge, the visible outline of his divine organ, was there. But the robe, the imperial cut, was designed to accommodate such things.

Lady Han, her mouth wet, her lips swollen, wiped her chin with the back of her hand. She looked at the headmistress. The headmistress looked back. Their eyes, the shared glance of two women who served the same master, held understanding.

The carriage slowed. Stopped. The door opened.