Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 109 - Yet to See Real Satisfaction

Meiling reached up.

Her thick fingers wrapped around the base of him the same way they had at some point in the previous night—by this point her hands knew the weight and girth of him the way hands know the shape of a familiar handle—and she brought the tip to her lips without ceremony, without fanfare, without anything except the hollow dignity of a woman who has decided that compliance offered willingly is still, technically, a choice.

Her mouth opened.

Her lips sealed around him.

The merchant looked at the wall. His eyes were dry. His jaw was working.

"Wider," Cang said, not unkindly.

Meiling’s jaw stretched. Her throat moved. From the angle of the merchant’s chair he could see the whole of it—his wife’s lips stretched obscenely wide, the thick column of flesh vanishing between them, the bob of her throat as she worked depth. The soft sounds she made were wet and rhythmic and entirely too audible in the quiet morning room.

"Mmph—Gkk—Nngh—"

Xiao Hua had her small hands at the base of him, fingers laced together around what Meiling’s mouth hadn’t claimed.

She stroked slowly, working the rhythm the way she’d been taught over the course of a very long night, eyes tilted up toward him with the complex expression of a nineteen-year-old who has recently learned that the world is structured differently than she was led to believe.

Her cheeks were blazing.

Her hands did not stop.

"Your tongue," Cang said to her.

She leaned in. Her tongue came out against the side of the shaft that Meiling’s mouth hadn’t reached, licking upward in a slow drag that made her want to close her eyes and made her keep them open instead, because somewhere between midnight and dawn she had learned that closing her eyes didn’t actually make anything stop happening.

I’m doing this, Xiao Hua thought with distant, dreamlike clarity. In front of—in front of them. The ones who were supposed to—who should have—

She licked again. A small, involuntary sound escaped the back of her throat.

"Ahn~—Nmm~..."

The merchant’s son’s hands had gone white-knuckled on his knees again. A vein had appeared at his temple. He was staring with the fixed intensity of a man who cannot look away no matter how badly he wants to because looking away would mean admitting that there is something here he cannot face.

Meiling pulled back with a slick, audible pop that rang through the room like a small gunshot.

She was breathing hard. Her thick chest rose and fell in heavy swells, the neckline of her silk disordered from her position. She stared at the floor for a moment. A thin thread of saliva connected her lower lip to the tip of him and she watched it break and felt herself go somewhere quiet and very far away.

"Both of you," Cang said. "Together."

They worked together without looking at each other. Meiling took the head, mouth wide, tongue pressing in slow circles. Xiao Hua stroked the length she couldn’t reach with both small hands, licking along the underside with the focused attention of a girl who has decided that doing this properly is the only variable she can control.

Her small fist moved. Her tongue worked. Meiling’s lips pulled deep and released, deep and released, and the sounds that came from them both mixed in the quiet air of the guest room in a way that the two men sitting eight feet away could not escape no matter how they positioned their attention.

"Stroke," Cang said. "Both hands, both of you."

Four hands wrapped what their mouths had vacated. Meiling’s thick, pale fingers, still elegant even now. Xiao Hua’s small, more delicate ones, knuckles pressed together in a double grip that still didn’t fully close the span.

He looked at the merchant.

"You built this compound yourself?"

The merchant’s throat worked. "...Yes," he said.

"Good workmanship," Cang observed. His hand had moved to the back of Meiling’s head, not pressing, simply resting. "Sixteen rooms?"

"Eighteen."

"Hmm."

The sound of the women’s hands moving was the only other sound for a long moment. Then Xiao Hua made a soft noise—not stimulation, simply effort, the small caught breath of someone whose arms were growing tired—and her grip tightened reflexively, and the stroking continued, and Meiling’s mouth came back down over the head again in a wet, slick seal.

"HNGH—GKK—"

She gagged. Pulled back an inch. Held. Pressed forward again.

I used to pray before breakfast, some distant part of Meiling’s mind noted, from a very long way away. I used to organize the household accounts on mornings like this. I used to—

His hand tightened slightly in her hair.

She went deeper.

"Gkkkh—!"

The tears she had not cried since the bath came now. Not in sobs. Just silently, running straight down her thick cheeks while her mouth continued its work, because her body and her grief had reached a kind of parallel state where they no longer interrupted each other.

Cang finished with less theater than either woman expected—a low sound, controlled, a tightening of the hand in Meiling’s hair that lasted three seconds—and then pulled back.

His free hand found Xiao Hua’s chin. Tilted it up.

She understood. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her face turned upward.

The first rope landed across her cheek and jaw. She flinched but held her position. The second crossed Meiling’s forehead and the bridge of her nose, and the merchant’s wife received it with her eyes closed and her hands still and the expression of a saint enduring something she had decided to let pass through her without touching her soul. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The third caught them both. Xiao Hua’s cheek. Meiling’s lips.

The morning light from the guest room’s high window was very clear and unsparing.

"Open your eyes," Cang said.

Both women did. Xiao Hua looked up at him with red eyes and wet lashes and a face that was a ruined catastrophe of youth and embarrassment. Meiling looked straight ahead at nothing, blinking very slowly, chin lifted exactly as high as dignity permitted.

He looked at the two men.

The merchant’s son had both fists pressed against his thighs hard enough to bruise. He was not looking at the cultivator. He was looking at his mother’s face, and his expression had caved inward in a way that was nothing as simple as anger.

The merchant sat with the stillness of a man at the eye of a private storm, expression flat, eyes tracking nothing.

[Evil Points: +47]

Cang adjusted his robe. Settled it. Sat back down on the sofa as though resuming a meeting that had briefly paused for refreshments.

"So," he said. "What do you want to ask me?"

The son’s head came up. "I want you to leave."

"That’s not a question." Cang glanced between them. "Ask me what you actually want."

A beat. The merchant’s hands flexed once on his knees. His son spoke again, and this time his voice had the tone of a man who has been stripped of everything except one last foothold and is gripping it with both hands. "Take the compound. Take the trade routes. Our cultivation resources—we have three storage rings, early-grade spirit stones, a meridian mapping manual from the—"

"I have everything I want," Cang said again. His dark eyes moved to the two women, kneeling on the floor in varying degrees of disarray, "in this room. Or rather—" He tilted his head. "—the women from this room."

The son went very still. "What do you mean."

"I mean I’ll be back," Cang said simply. "Daily. The ones that now belong to me require regular attendance." He glanced at Meiling. "Your wife in particular has not yet shown me half of what she’s capable of."