She was in her early twenties, bent on all fours on silk sheets already twisted by hours of use, and the first thing Yan Chi saw was the swing of her hanging breasts.
They were full and pale, the nipples dark and stiff from having been pinched earlier, and every time the old man's hips cracked into her ass they swayed forward in heavy arcs and then slapped softly back against her ribs. The flesh of them rolled. The nipples dragged through empty air. A thin shine of sweat made the undersides gleam in the lamplight, and when she arched her back to take him deeper, the motion lifted them for a heartbeat and dropped them again so that they bounced once, twice, before settling into the next swing.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound of Elder Li's hips meeting her ass filled the room, wet and heavy and steady as a water clock. Every time he drove into her, the flesh of her cheeks rippled outward from the impact and settled back, oil-slick and shining. She had a waist that dipped when she arched, thighs that trembled, and a round ass pushed high for him as though the height itself were part of the bargain. Her robe lay discarded on the floor in a soft heap of embroidered silk. Her skin shone with sweat along the long line of her spine.
She moaned for him as though the sound were part of a contract she had already signed, willingly shaking her ass back onto him, her pussy gripping, her voice sweet and ruined.
"Harder, my lord," she gasped, as if on cue. "Your humble wife can take more..."
Elder Li grunted and gave her more.
His belly slapped against her ass. She cried out and arched her back, and from where Yan Chi stood in the shadows by the window, he could see everything the old man was burying between her thighs. The glistening pink of her pussy stretched around a thick shaft each time he drew back. Her lips clung to him and dragged outward before he plunged in again. A string of her wetness hung from her clit and swung with the motion, stretching thinner and thinner until it snapped and fell to the sheets. Her thighs were shaking. Whatever else the performance was, that part was real.
Squelch.
Slap.
Squelch.
Elder Li's hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave white fingerprints in the oil. His face, lined and cold in the council hall, was slack with pleasure now, mouth open, eyes half shut, looking nothing like the polished Grand Elder who had smiled while he handed Qiuyu and Dongyu to his son. He pulled almost all the way out, until only the flushed head remained inside her, and Yan Chi watched her entrance flutter around it, pink and stretched and greedy. Then the old man slammed home again and her breasts swung forward so hard they clapped together with a soft wet sound.
Plap!
She moaned into the pillow. Her fingers dug into the silk. Another bead of slick ran down her inner thigh and caught in the crease where her leg met her body, trembling there before it slid further down toward the sheets.
Elder Li slowed for a few strokes, almost thoughtful, and pulled her cheeks apart with his thumbs so he could watch himself disappear into her. The pink ring of her entrance stretched around him. Her asshole clenched above it, neat and unused. He spat between her cheeks and rubbed the spit in with his thumb without pushing inside, just teasing the rim while he fucked her pussy, and she whimpered and pushed back onto him as if she could not tell which touch she wanted more.
Squelch.
Slap.
He went hard again. Her breasts swung. Her voice climbed. The warming array under the bed hummed faintly under the wet rhythm of their fucking, and the smell of sex and oil and incense filled the room until Yan Chi could taste it at the back of his throat.
It was an ugly combination, all that beauty on that bed with that age. In this world, strength wrote the guest list. Yan Chi's heart twisted watching such a lovely woman wasted on that old bastard, her breasts bouncing for someone who had bought her with realm and title rather than anything a woman might actually want.
For a wild second he thought about getting closer. About laying invisible hands on those swinging breasts. About pinching the dark nipples between his fingers while the old man grunted and drove deeper, about using the pill for something filthier than sightseeing. He took one step into the room before common sense caught him by the throat.
The woman's eyes were open. She was looking at the window. If the pill flickered for even a breath while he stood in the lamplight, she would see a naked outline in the air, and Elder Li would feel a foreign presence in a sealed chamber, and Yan Chi would die before he ever found the twins. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Elder Yan Li's cultivation sat so far above his that the difference was not a gap but a cliff. Getting found here would end the night in blood, and possibly in something worse than blood.
He left the window the way he had come, with anger and arousal braided tight in his gut and his cock half hard from a view he hated needing, and went hunting for Yan Jing.
The corridors of Elder Li's mansion wound deeper into the compound than he had expected. He passed a study that smelled of old paper and ink, a hall of ancestral tablets with incense still smoking in the burners, and a covered walkway that looked out over a private training yard where wooden posts stood scarred by years of practice strikes. Twice he had to freeze against a wall while servants hurried past with trays, their eyes passing straight through him, and each time he felt the pill's hour ticking away in the cold tingle under his vanished skin. He did not know how much time he had left. He only knew that it was less than he wanted.
***
Yan Jing's room was easy to find once he trusted the layout of the old Yan Chi's borrowed memory. A side corridor. A private courtyard with a single flowering tree. A window left half open because Yan Jing had never feared anything in his own house. Yan Chi opened it wider with careful fingers and climbed through without bothering to hide his breath. Yan Jing was an idiot about such things. Yan Chi had larger problems than breathing technique.
The view inside the room stopped him cold.
Yan Jing lay naked on a wide bed, oil-slick and sprawled like a man who owned the night, and the twin sisters were completely naked with him.
Qiuyu and Dongyu — and even now, from the doorway, he still could not tell which was which, because they were that identical under the oil and the lamplight — had clear pale skin that shone with every curve of them painted wet with massage oil. He tried to separate them by the small tells the old Yan Chi's memories insisted on, the higher hair loop, the fuller lower lip, and found that oil and flushed faces and the angle of the bed had erased every difference. They were simply the twins, doubled and naked and belonging to someone else.
Their bodies were perfect in a way that made his restored cock strain instantly against his trousers.
Slim waists flared into full hips. Their thighs were thick enough to grip. Two pairs of beautiful breasts stood out on their chests with pink erect nipples hard in the cool air of the room, and the oil made them gleam, running in thin lines down their stomachs and gathering in their navels and catching in the hollows of their collarbones until their skin looked edible. Both of them had the kind of asses that should have belonged to a dual-cultivation fantasy rather than a servant's life, round and pale and currently moving as they worked, the cheeks flexing whenever they shifted their weight.
One of them sat on Yan Jing's face.
Her pussy was pressed flat to his mouth. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to dimple the oiled flesh, and his tongue licked up into her from below in long, greedy strokes that Yan Chi could hear as wet sounds between her thighs. She massaged his belly with an uncomfortable look that did not stop her from staying where she was, her thighs framing his head, her ass lifted slightly so that he could reach deeper. When his tongue found her clit she shivered, and her breasts swayed forward, oil gleaming on the undersides, nipples pointing down at Yan Jing's chest.
The other sat on his thighs, oiling his cock with both hands.
She stroked the hard length that stood between them like a claim, her fingers sliding from the base to the tip and back again until the shaft shone. Clear fluid beaded at the slit and mixed with the oil. As Yan Chi watched, she bent forward, her back arching, her ass rising, and wrapped her tongue around that cock and began to suck with a wet competence that no untouched girl learned overnight.
The way she took him said training. Days or weeks of it. Maybe every night since they had been taken.
Lips sealed. Tongue swirling. Cheeks hollowed. Spit mixing with the oil until the shaft glistened from root to tip. She bobbed slowly at first, taking only the head, and then faster, sliding down until her nose nearly brushed his belly and her throat worked around him. When she pulled up, a long string of spit and oil stretched from her lower lip to the wet head of his cock, trembling in the lamplight before it broke.
Glk. Glk. Glk.
The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room along with the softer sounds of her sister grinding on Yan Jing's tongue. Yan Chi stood invisible in the corner with his cock aching and his hands curled into fists and could not decide which of the two things he felt more strongly, the lust or the rage.
His anger went white-hot.
Nineteen years. He had lived under the same roof as these women and never once seen them naked. Now this bastard had them oil-massaging him, one riding his tongue and one sucking his cock, both of them looking fabulous and sexy and wrong in every way that made Yan Chi's dick throb. He did not know what Yan Jing had done to them after the transfer. He could guess. The flushed heat on their beautiful faces, the way their bodies moved without complaint, the practised suck, the wet sounds filling the room — those were not the shy maids of the childhood memories. Those were women remade. Follow the newest chapters on NovelPing.
He was not foolish enough to start a fight with Elder Yan Li a few rooms away. He moved closer instead, invisible, freeing his cock from his trousers before he had fully decided to, and circled toward Yan Jing's head with slow careful steps on silent boards.
Up close, the bastard's tongue was buried in a pink flower of a pussy, licking like a dog.
Her folds were swollen and shining. Her clit peeked from under its hood whenever Yan Jing sucked. Clear juice slicked his chin and ran down onto his throat. Yan Chi wanted to shove his own face into that ass and taste what Yan Jing was tasting and replace that tongue with his own, but the other man's mouth was already there, greedy and loud. He watched for one more beat — the twin's thighs trembling around Yan Jing's head, her oil-slick breasts rising and falling with each hitching breath, her fingers digging into the bastard's belly — and then he moved back to the twin bent over the cock.
Her back was perfectly arched under the oil gloss.
Her holes were on open display beneath it: a cute pink asshole puckered tight above a puffy pussy that was already leaking clear juice down her thighs, the wetness stringing whenever she shifted. The lips of her cunt were flushed darker than the rest of her, parted just enough to show the glistening pink inside. Every time she bobbed on Yan Jing's cock, her ass flexed and her pussy clenched on nothing, and another bead of slick gathered at her entrance and slid down toward her clit.
Yan Chi leaned in until his invisible nose almost brushed her.
The scent that rose from between her thighs was sweet and musky all at once, oil and woman and heat braided together until his mouth watered. Up close he could see the fine tremor in the muscles of her inner thighs, the way her entrance fluttered between breaths, the thin shine of oil that had run down from the small of her back and pooled in the cleft of her ass before dripping onto her pussy. His cock jerked in his free hand. A bead of precum welled at the tip and cooled against his knuckles. He swallowed once.
Then his tongue stretched out of its own hunger and licked a long slow line up her pussy lips from behind.
From the lower swell. Up through her slit. Across the swollen pearl of her clit. All the way to the tight ring of her asshole. He tasted salt and slick and something that belonged to him by every law except the one that currently ruled this room. Her folds parted under the flat of his tongue. Her juices coated him from tip to root of the stroke. When he reached her asshole he paused there for half a heartbeat, breathing against it, and felt her whole body go still.
She jolted.
A full-body shiver ran through her that locked her spine rigid and broke her sucking of Yan Jing's cock into a muffled sound. She had definitely felt something — warm, wet, deliberate, a tongue that was not supposed to exist behind her — but there was nobody her eyes could find when she tried to glance back without lifting fully off the cock in her mouth. Her thighs trembled. Her pussy twitched visibly where Yan Chi's spit now mixed with her own juices, a fresh shine catching the lamp. A small whimper escaped around the shaft in her throat.
After a heartbeat she forced herself forward again and sucked harder, as if she could bury the confusion in work.
Yan Chi licked her again.
This time slower. He parted her folds with the tip of his tongue and dragged it up through her wetness in one long stroke, tasting her properly, mapping every fold. He found her clit and circled it twice, pressing flat and then pointed, and her hips jerked. When he reached her asshole he circled it once, twice, before pressing the flat of his tongue against it and holding there. She whimpered around Yan Jing's cock. Her hips jerked back toward the invisible mouth for half a second before she caught herself and froze, confused and shaking, her pussy dripping onto Yan Chi's chin in a thin warm trail he could feel even though she could not see him.
He gave her one last stroke — a single filthy lap from clit to asshole that left her trembling — and then he took two steps back with his heart slamming and his cock dripping at the tip.
It had been a mistake, too close and too greedy, and the hour — damn the hour — was almost gone. He felt the invisibility flicker at the edges of his senses like a candle burning low, a warning tingle racing over vanished skin. He had already wasted a precious pill on voyeurism and one reckless lick, and he did not want to leave both women with this bastard. Every part of him wanted to drag them out of the bed and cover them and take them home and kill Yan Jing where he lay with twin spit still on his cock.
He took one more look at them before he made himself turn away.
At the oil shining on identical breasts. At the pink nipples standing hard in the lamplight. At the twin asses that should have been waiting on his own sheets instead of straddling this smug bastard's face and thighs. He burned the picture into his memory the way a man burns the face of an enemy, so that he would never be able to pretend afterward that he had not known exactly what he was walking away from.
He had no choice. The invisibility was already thinning when he shoved his dick back into his trousers with shaking hands, climbed back out through the window, and dropped into the courtyard shadows just as the pill's last minutes began to fray. On the way home, all he could think about was what that bastard would do to the twins after he left. Yan Jing would fuck them, of course he would; they had looked too flushed and too wet and too practised not to finish what the oil had started. Their faces had been hot and their bodies had moved as though they needed it.
Yan Chi told himself, for the sake of his own peace, that Yan Jing would probably come from the blowjob and fall asleep like a pig.
He did not believe it. The lights of his own residence rose ahead of him through the trees. He walked faster, cutting through the shared gardens between the two mansions with his hands shoved deep in his sleeves and his jaw locked so hard that his teeth ached. A pair of shadow guards crossed the path ahead of him, talking quietly about a dice debt, and he stepped aside into the hedge until they had gone, not wanting to explain why the useless young master was out after midnight with his clothes smelling of another household's incense. Behind him, in a room he could no longer see, the night continued without him. He told himself he would come back. He told himself that thirty-five points and a Body Refining foundation were not the end of anything, only the start. The words felt thin in his mouth.