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

Chapter 315: Chapter 315- Taking the Lying Virgin

The sound came out involuntarily. Not a moan. Not protest. Just the acoustic output of a mouth that was full and couldn’t decide what to do about it.

He pushed deeper.

The cockhead hit the back of her throat. Her gag reflex — suppressed by the paralysis — produced a weak, abortive heave that didn’t fully engage. Her eyes watered. The shaft slid past her tongue, the girth of it filling her mouth entirely, the taste shifting from the surface flavor to something deeper, warmer, the taste of the shaft itself — skin and heat and the particular flavor of male arousal.

’It’s... in my throat... I can feel it... the head... it’s pressing... I can’t breathe... I can’t—’

He groaned.

Low. Brief. The sound a man makes when something feels good and he’s not performing the feeling, just experiencing it. His hips rolled forward — a small motion, a testing depth — and his cock pushed into her throat proper. Her neck bulged visibly — the outline of his girth pressing outward against the skin of her throat, the shape of him visible from the outside.

’Gluck.’

The sound was wet. Involuntary. Her throat working around him despite the paralysis, the muscles that operated on reflex rather than conscious control still functioning.

’Gluck... gluck...’

He pulled out. Slowly. The shaft dragging across her tongue, the suction of her lips — which she could not close but which the reflexive seal of saliva around his girth produced anyway — making a thick, wet sound.

Then back in. Deeper.

’Gluck. Gluck. GLUCK.’

Her eyes were streaming. Saliva pooled at the corners of her mouth and ran down her chin, mixing with the precum that leaked from his tip. Her throat worked in rhythmic contractions around his shaft, the swallowing reflex firing continuously without anything to swallow.

’Mngh... gluck... gluck...’

’He’s... fucking my mouth... I can’t stop him... I can’t close my mouth... I can’t bite... I can only... take it... and my throat is... making sounds... like I’m... like I want this...’

He pulled out entirely.

Her mouth stayed open. Saliva and precum strung from her lips to his cockhead, stretching, breaking, falling onto her chin and running down her throat. She gasped — the first full breath she’d taken since he’d entered her mouth.

His hand went down.

Along her flat stomach. Over the curve of her hip. His fingers found the waistband of her remaining underclothes — the thin white cotton that the three men had torn at but not removed. He pulled.

’Riiip.’

The cotton came away in one clean tear, the fabric parting from her hip to her inner thigh. Her pussy was exposed.

He looked at it.

Hua felt him looking. The weight of his gaze was a tangible thing — a warmth that her paralyzed body registered as a pressure against her skin, her hypersensitive awareness making even the act of being observed into a full sensory event.

Her pussy was — ’virgin.’ Completely, obviously, untouched. The outer lips were thin and pale, pressed tightly together, a thin strip of dark hair growing in a neat line above the junction. The inner lips, barely visible between the outer folds, were a soft, deep pink that flushed darker toward the entrance. No arousal — not yet. Just the clean, closed architecture of a body that had never been opened.

"Slipped," Cang said, looking at the thin wetness that had gathered at her lower fold despite everything — the terror, the paralysis, the complete absence of consent. Her body had produced it anyway. Involuntary. The autonomous response of female anatomy to sustained adrenaline and proximate male stimulus, regardless of what the mind thought about any of it.

’No... he’s looking at it... he’s looking at my... I’m wet... why am I wet... I don’t want this... I don’t...’

His hands found her knees.

He spread her legs.

Her thighs — lean, muscular, the legs of a sword cultivator who trained daily — opened with the mechanical helplessness of limbs that had no strength to resist. Her pussy parted slightly as her legs spread, the outer lips separating just enough to reveal the pink interior, glistening faintly.

He leaned down.

His face arrived between her thighs.

She felt his breath first — warm, steady, the exhalation of a man who was not hurried and was not performing. It landed on her exposed pussy with a heat that traveled inward through the thin, sensitive tissue of her inner lips and arrived at her clit with the precision of an arrow finding a target.

’No — what is — his mouth — he’s going to—’

His tongue found her.

’Flat. Warm. Wet.’ It dragged from the base of her opening — where the thin involuntary arousal had gathered — upward along the full length of her slit, parting the thin inner lips with the broad surface of his tongue, and arriving at her clit with a pressure that detonated through her paralyzed body like a detonation charm.

"’HNGHH~!!’" The sound escaped her — the first vocalization the paralysis had allowed, wrenched from her chest by a sensation so direct and so overwhelming that the toxin’s grip on her voluntary muscles couldn’t fully contain it. "’NO — STOP — DON’T — HAANGH~!!’"

He didn’t stop.

His tongue worked her clit with the same methodical, unhurried thoroughness he applied to everything. Circles. Broad strokes. The occasional, precise flick that sent a jolt through her hips — the involuntary twitch of muscles that the poison had silenced but couldn’t fully numb.

Her body responded.

Against her will. Against every conscious thought she possessed. Her pussy swelled. Her inner lips flushed darker, engorging, the pink deepening toward red. The thin arousal became a steady, undeniable wetness that his tongue collected and spread across her entire surface, the taste of her — clean, sharp, virginal — filling his mouth.

"’Please — STOP — I don’t — this isn’t — HNNGH~!! — my body is — I can’t control — HAANGHH~!!’"

Her thighs trembled.

Her clit swelled under his tongue — the small, sensitive bundle of nerve endings engorging to twice its size, the hood retracting, the bare surface exposed to the direct stimulation of his mouth. He sucked it between his lips. Pulled.

"’HIEEKK~!! NO — THAT’S — TOO MUCH — I CAN’T — STOP — PLEASE — HAANGHH~!!’"

She was crying. Full, helpless tears that ran from the outer corners of her eyes into her hair. Not from pain. From the absolute, annihilating helplessness of a body that was responding to stimulation her mind had not authorized and could not stop.

Her pussy clenched.

Empty. Opening and closing around nothing, the walls contracting in the rhythmic pulse of approaching orgasm that her body was producing without permission and without her having any ability to prevent.

He pulled back.

Her hips — lifted slightly off the floor without her permission, chasing his mouth — dropped back.

’No — why did he stop — I was — I was about to — NO. I don’t want this. I don’t. I don’t want to cum from his mouth. I don’t.’

He positioned himself between her spread thighs.

His cock — twelve inches, flushed dark, the head beading precum in a fat, glistening drop — pressed against her opening.

Her virgin opening. Tight, untried, barely wet enough for what was about to happen.

"’This,’" he said, "’is for disturbing me.’"

He pushed.

The head entered.

Her pussy — virgin, tight, unyielding — resisted. The ring of muscle at her entrance, even involuntary relaxed by the orgasmic response his tongue had produced, was simply not built to accommodate the girth of him. He pressed through.

’Pop.’

"’HAANGH~!!’"

The scream came out high and cracked and entirely involuntary. Her back arched off the floor — the first real movement her paralyzed body had produced, the pain overriding the toxin’s grip entirely for one brief, violent second. "’NO — IT’S TOO BIG — YOU’RE TEARING — PLEASE — IT HURTS — IT HURTS SO MUCH — HAANGHHT~!!’"

He drove in.

’Phack.’

"’HAAAANGHHT~!!’"