Elder Li's Young Wife

Jinling City's Yan district slept under demonic lantern light.

The lanes between the Yan compound and Elder Li's residence were quiet at this hour — a merchant's cart left overnight against a wall, a stray cat watching from a roof tile, the smell of fried oil drifting from a late kitchen somewhere down the slope.

Elder Li's residence sat a short run from the main compound, walled and guarded, but not against a young man who had already walked invisible through worse and who now had real power humming in his bones. Yan Chi crouched in the shadow of a neighboring wall and watched the patrol.

Two guards chatting about wine prices near the front gate. A third pissing behind a shed on the east side, humming to himself. A fourth somewhere on the far wall, his qi signature lazy and half-asleep. The formation seam on the side wall was the same lazy seam he remembered from the Invisible Pill night — a place where the old array had thinned and never been properly repaired, because Elder Li's pride preferred looking strong to being careful.

Yan Chi hopped the side wall when the third guard was still pissing, dropped onto damp grass in a garden that smelled of expensive night-blooming flowers and old men's pride, and went still. Dew wet the toes of his suit. A koi pond murmured somewhere to the left. A night insect sang once and stopped. No alarm. No shout. He breathed out through his nose and moved toward the house.

A dog barked once in a neighboring courtyard and went quiet. Yan Chi waited in the shadow of a spirit maple until the last lantern along the inner walk guttered and steadied, then crossed the open ground to the side of the house on silent feet. The window latch he remembered from the Invisible Pill night was still the same lazy latch. He eased it open, slipped through the gap, and closed it behind him without a click.

He entered without alarming anyone.

The room he wanted was the one he remembered: luxurious, low lamps, sandalwood in the air, the bed where he had once watched Elder Li fuck this woman while Yan Jing's twins suffered elsewhere in the same house. Silk curtains half-drawn. A vanity cluttered with jade combs and half-used rouge. A lacquer screen painted with cranes that looked too innocent for what this house did after dark. A half-empty wine cup on the side table.

A man's outer robe discarded over a chair — Elder Li's, by the embroidery — which meant the old bastard had been here earlier and left again. Tonight the bed held only her. No husband. No servants. Elder Li was elsewhere — perhaps still smiling about Yan Mei, perhaps drinking with hangers-on, perhaps stroking himself to the memory of her throat — leaving this beauty alone the way rich old men left unlocked cabinets.

Yan Chi stood in the dark just inside the curtains and looked at her for a long moment before he moved.

She slept on her side in loose clothes, tired enough that even a creaking board did not lift her lashes. Perfect curves showed through the fabric. Her beautiful breasts tried to show off from the loose upper cloth, heavy rounded shapes that rolled with each breath; the neckline had slipped enough that the inner curve of one breast and the hint of a pink nipple almost escaped. Her thighs were fully open in the careless sprawl of deep sleep.

Bottom clothes had slid from her buttocks and rested on the bed, exposing the full curve of her ass. She wore purple underwear under the dress, the fabric sticking into her butt crack in a lewd little line that made Yan Chi's mouth water. Completely defenseless. A few years older than him — twenty-two, maybe twenty-three — forced into a marriage bed with a man whose cultivation outranked her choices.

What a waste of a beautiful lady on that old bastard, Yan Chi thought, cock already hard against the suit, and approached.

He drew the Talisman of Lust and pressed it to her buttocks from behind.

The paper clung to her skin and its runes warmed under his palm. For a few breaths nothing happened — only the soft rise and fall of her sleeping ribs. Then her sleeping hands drifted toward her private place. Fingers rubbed her pussy through cloth in slow, unconscious circles. Her breath changed as she drifted half-awake, and a soft whimper escaped her throat that did not sound like Elder Li's name.

Yan Chi eased her top aside.

Two mountain-shaped breasts spilled into the lamplight, nipples erect and pink, areolas tightening as cool air kissed them. He stared for a heartbeat. They were not as large as his mother's — few women's were — but they were full and heavy and beautiful in the low light, the kind of breasts a young man dreamed about when he was alone.

He filled both hands with sleep-warmed flesh and massaged, thumbs rolling the peaks in slow circles, feeling the weight of them fill his palms and overflow between his fingers. The skin was warm from sleep. The nipples stiffened further under his thumbs until they stood like hard little buds.

He bent and took one into his mouth.

Wet heat. The salt-sweet taste of a woman's skin. The give of a breast that filled his palm and overflowed. He sucked, tongue circling the nipple, then scraped his teeth lightly over the tip and felt her whole body shudder.

He switched to the other side and did the same, leaving both peaks wet and shiny in the lamplight, then pressed her breasts together with both hands and dragged his tongue through the valley between them, from the sternum up to the hollow of her throat. She moaned without opening her eyes — confused, pleasured, not fighting.

Somewhere under the lust-fog she knew the touch was not her husband's. It was younger. Hungrier. The mouth on her breast was not Elder Li's careful, proprietary mouth. The hands squeezing her were not the hands of a man who owned her on paper. She had been forced to marry Elder Li for his realm and title; living under that arrangement had taught her to endure. A young man's mouth on her breasts taught her something else.

Happiness, almost. Hunger of her own. She moaned louder with her eyes still closed, hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink, thighs rubbing together while her fingers kept working her pussy through the purple cloth. Her free hand found the back of Yan Chi's masked head and held him against her breast as if she were afraid he would stop.

Yan Chi stripped her lower clothes down her legs and dropped them beside the bed.

Her pussy was already wet and dripping white arousal, the lips puffy and shiny, the purple underwear dark at the crotch where her juices had soaked through. The talisman was more powerful than he had guessed. He hooked a finger under the damp purple cloth and peeled it aside, exposing her fully to the lamplight, and for a moment he just looked.

She was shaved smooth and pink, the outer lips swollen and parted enough to show the darker glistening folds inside. A bead of her slick gathered at her entrance, trembled, and slid down toward the sheets.

He pushed two fingers into her.

She was hot and slippery inside, clenching around his knuckles. He kept sucking her nipples while he fingered her, ears stretched toward the door, spiritual sense brushing the corridor for footsteps. His fingers slid in and out, drawing a wet little sound every time they left her and pushed back in.

He curled them and found the soft spongy place inside her that made her hips jerk. A louder moan broke from her throat. He rubbed that spot in slow firm circles while his thumb found her clit and rolled it, and her hips lifted off the bed against his hand.

Slrrp.

He added a third finger. Her pussy stretched around him and dripped onto his wrist. He fucked her with his hand for another minute — deep, curling, thumb on her clit — until her moans turned continuous and her thighs started to shake, then pulled his fingers free and watched a string of her wetness stretch from his knuckles to her open cunt before it broke.

One hour. He had already burned too many minutes on teasing.

He shifted down the bed, spread her legs wide with both hands, and looked at her cunt opening like a flower — pink, shiny, twitching. A thin string of her arousal stretched from her entrance to the sheets. He freed his cock from the suit's seam. It sprang out hard and dark, the head already wet with precum.

He set it against her pussy lips and rubbed once, twice, three times, coating himself from tip to halfway down the shaft with her slick, teasing her entrance without pushing in. She whimpered and tried to lift her hips onto him. He held her down by the thighs, rubbed the head of his cock over her clit until she moaned louder, then lined himself up and pushed in.

She moaned loud at the stretch.

It was a young cock, thick and hard, not the familiar shape of the old man who owned her on paper. The head of him pushed her open and kept pushing, filling her in a long slow slide that made her back arch off the sheets. She took it anyway, hips lifting to meet him, and when he bottomed out — when his hips met hers and she felt him lodged deep against her end — a broken little sound escaped her throat that was half moan and half surprise.

Yan Chi held still for a breath and felt her pussy flutter around him, adjusting, squeezing, getting used to a shape it had not felt before. Then he started thrusting deep while holding her legs wide with both hands. She was wet and slick around him, tightening harder the longer he fucked. Her inner walls fluttered and sucked, greedy under the lust-fog. Each thrust drew a wet, sucking sound out of her.

Plap.

Plap.

Plap.

Her breasts bounced on her chest in heavy arcs. The nipples he had left wet caught the lamplight every time they rose and fell. She moved with him, matching rhythm, a few years older than his borrowed face and somehow still tasting first-time hunger for youth. Her hands found his arms through the suit and held on. Her heels dug into the mattress. Every time he drove in hard, her mouth opened and a moan spilled out that she did not seem able to stop.

He leaned down and kissed her.

She sucked his tongue into her warm mouth like she was starving, spit mixing, breath hot, breasts flattened warm under his chest while her nails found his shoulders through the suit. Her pussy clenched harder around him every time his tongue pushed into her mouth. He fucked her deeper, angling his hips so that the head of his cock dragged along her front wall on every stroke, and her moans climbed into the kiss until she was whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled almost all the way out, until only the head of his cock held her open, and looked down between them. Her pussy lips clung to him, shiny and stretched. A string of her wetness connected them. He pushed back in slowly, watching himself disappear into her inch by inch, and her moan went long and low and broken. He did it again. And again. Each slow thrust made her thighs tremble. Each time he bottomed out, her breasts jumped and settled.

Plap.

Plap.

Plap.

Then he gave up on slow and started fucking her properly.

His hips snapped forward. Her body slid an inch up the sheets. He hauled her back by the thighs and drove in again, harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the luxurious chamber. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes stayed closed.

Under the lust-fog she fluttered around him, her tits bouncing, a helpless little sound breaking from her every time he hit the end of her.

Half an hour gone. Jealousy of Elder Li burned under the pleasure — this beauty waiting in a quiet room while the old man played outside, while last night that same old man tasted Yan Mei. Who knew what Elder Li was doing right now, leaving this woman alone with her purple underwear and her forced vows?

Stroking himself to the memory of a clan leader's wife's throat? Drinking with hangers-on? Yan Chi sped up, relentless, hips slamming, the wet sound of their fucking filling the luxurious chamber in a filthy, steady rhythm.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Her breasts bounced under his chest, trapped between their bodies, the nipples dragging against the fabric of his suit. Her pussy squelched around his shaft. Each thrust pushed a fresh bead of her slick out around his cock to run down over his balls. Her moans climbed toward something broken.

She whispered something that might have been a young man's name or might have been only a moan shaped like longing. Her legs locked around his waist. Her heels dug into the small of his back. Her nails dug into his shoulders through the suit hard enough that he felt them.

He drove into her harder.

The bed frame knocked softly against the wall. A jade comb rattled on the vanity. Her pussy clamped down on him in a long fluttering spasm, walls rippling the length of his cock, and she came with her eyes still closed, mouth open against his, a broken little cry that made his balls tighten and his vision go white at the edges.

Her juices ran down over him in a warm flood. She kept coming, shaking, moaning into his mouth, her cunt milking him in waves that made it impossible to think about timers or exits or anything except the heat wrapped around his cock.

He could not last against that. He buried himself deep and filled her vagina with thick semen, pulse after pulse, flooding the clenching channel until he felt himself leaking out around his own shaft. Pleasure whitewashed his vision. His balls drew up tight. Each pulse pumped another thick rope into her, and her pussy milked him through the orgasm, still lust-drunk, still moving, still squeezing every drop out of him.

He groaned into the side of her neck. She whimpered and clenched harder. For a few long heartbeats the only sound in the luxurious chamber was their breathing and the faint wet noise of his cock twitching inside her as the last of his cum spilled out.

He held himself there until the last pulse faded.

Then he pulled out on the aftershocks and sat back on his heels to look at what he had done. Her pussy stayed open for a moment, pink and used, and a thick white trickle slid from her entrance toward the sheets. Another followed. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, nipples still wet from his mouth.

Her lips were parted. A flush covered her from cheeks to chest. Under the lust-fog she looked almost peaceful — happier than he had ever seen her look when Elder Li was the one on top of her.

Take that, you old bastard.

He forced his brain back to timers and exits.

Dress her. Dress himself. No traces a casual glance would catch. He found a folded cleaning scrap on the vanity, wiped the worst of the mess from between her thighs, and settled her purple underwear back into place over the wet heat. The cloth darkened immediately where his cum and her juices soaked through.

He drew her loose clothes over the mountain curves of her breasts and smoothed the neckline so it looked as if she had only tossed in her sleep. He wiped his own cock clean, tucked it back into the suit, and checked the room once with spiritual sense — corridor empty, no footsteps, Elder Li's qi signature nowhere nearby.

The talisman's hour was thinning toward its end. He left the room without a sound. Behind him she stirred, sighed, and sank deeper into her sleep.

Ding!

[Reward Window] [Received 300 Pervert Points] [for cuckolding Elder Li.]

He almost laughed into the mask. Three hundred for one night's revenge. Net joy after the talisman's cost — a hundred-point profit if you counted the economy the way the system did, and a far richer profit if you counted the look on Elder Li's face.

He ghosted back across the district the way he had come: garden wall, side streets, the quiet seam in the Yan mansion's outer formation. A night patrol passed within ten paces of him and did not see the black figure pressed into the shadow of a spirit pine.

Cricket song. The smell of the mansion's night-blooming gardens. The soft thud of his own landing when he dropped into his own courtyard. He slipped into his room without waking the twins, whose faint heartbeats through the ring-bond told him they were deeply asleep in the adjoining chamber.

The black suit came off. The mask followed. Cool night air kissed the sweat on his chest. His cock was still sticky with another man's wife's juices, and when he looked down at himself in the dark he almost laughed again — Qi Refining fourth, six hundred forty points, the taste of Elder Li's young wife still on his tongue.

He sat cross-legged on the bed.

New qi hummed from the afternoon breakthroughs. Fresh points sat warm in the system's count — six hundred forty, and the taste of revenge still on his tongue. The night air coming through the open shutter was cool against his bare chest, and the bed smelled faintly of clean linen and old incense.

He closed his eyes, drew a long breath of night air into his lungs, and began to cultivate.