Lan's Bathing Pool

Grand Elder Lan was done with mouths.

He had been hard through the long foreplay — soap, tits, twin tongues, one thick orgasm swallowed down Yan Ling's throat — and the hardness had not softened. Amateurs amused him. Hunger moved him. He bent, hooked an arm under each of them, and lifted Yan Ling and Liu Ying from the fragrant water as if they weighed nothing.

Their wet bodies slid against his chest. Purple hair and black hair dripped down his arms. He carried them to the pool's edge and arranged them with the casual precision of a man setting a table for a feast he intended to eat slowly.

He had fucked cultivators of every realm across a lifespan measured in centuries. He had broken sect beauties and rebuilt them into servants. He had taken wives from rival elders and returned them ruined and smiling. Hunger, for a man like Lan, was not a fever. It was a climate. Tonight the climate wanted Yan Ling and Liu Ying stacked and open, and the other three watching, and the fragrant pool as witness. He arranged them accordingly.

Liu Ying went down first on the wet stone lip, legs spread wide, pussy open to the steam. Yan Ling he laid on top of her, back to Liu Ying's front — a living sandwich of peak beauties. Breasts crushed together, flesh on flesh, nipples dragging nipples. Liu Ying's legs wrapped up around Yan Ling's thighs and pulled, forcing their pussies into a slick, kissing clash of lips and clit. Heat met heat. Both young women gasped into each other's faces, breath mingling, eyes too close to hide anything.

The stone lip of the pool was warm from the day and slick from the steam. Liu Ying's purple hair spread across it like spilled ink. Yan Ling's black hair, still damp from the bath, stuck to her cheek and to Liu Ying's collarbone. Their hip-panels had been discarded somewhere in the water; nothing separated pussy from pussy except the thin slick film of their own arousal. When Lan's shadow fell across them both, Yan Ling felt Liu Ying's heart hammer against her spine, and her own heart answered it.

Steam curled up from the water in slow white ropes and clung to the lacquered rafters of the bath mansion, where a row of paper lanterns glowed amber behind the haze. Drops gathered on the beams and fell, tapping the surface of the pool one by one, each tap sending a ring across the water toward the three watchers. The air tasted of jasmine and crushed herbs and the sharp mineral tang of the spring itself.

Lan lowered his head and licked the joined seam.

Sweet and hot, already wet enough to beg without words. He tasted both of them in alternating strokes — Yan Ling's familiar flavor, Liu Ying's sharper spice — until their hips twitched against his tongue and against each other. Yan Ling's fingers found Liu Ying's hair. Liu Ying's nails pricked Yan Ling's waist.

Lan's tongue was broad and unhurried. It dragged from Liu Ying's entrance up across the hood of Yan Ling's clit and back again, and every pass took both of them with it, so that their breath caught on the same beat and their stomachs fluttered against each other. Liu Ying's thighs trembled around Yan Ling's. Yan Ling's heels dug into the wet stone and slid.

The other three disciples at the poolside had stopped pretending to wash; they stood in fragrant water and watched with open mouths and busy hands, fingering themselves in time with Lan's tongue as if jealousy could be masturbated into patience.

After minutes of that wet worship he rose, took his cock in hand, and set the thick head into the middle of the pussy sandwich. He pushed.

His shaft slid between both cunts at once, spreading them, rubbing both clits on every stroke as he fucked the channel their pressed bodies made. Friction building. Their holes grabbed at him from either side whenever he drove deep. Yan Ling and Liu Ying hugged each other harder, tits massaging tits, faces rubbing with open mouths and broken expressions that carved hunger into beauty. The pool steamed around Lan's calves. Water lapped. Flesh slapped where his hips met the outer curves of two asses stacked into one offering.

Each stroke dragged the thick ridge of his glans over both clits in turn. The slick sound of it was loud in the vaulted room, a wet sliding that rose and fell under the patter of the dripping beams. Liu Ying's mouth fell open against Yan Ling's chin. Yan Ling felt the hot rod pass between her lips again and again, and her thighs began to shake.

Plap. Plap.

He stopped without warning, adjusted, and plunged fully into Liu Ying.

She cried out — sudden invasion, huge stretch, Heavenly-realm body still forced wide around a cock that had ruined her expectations years ago. Her walls fluttered and clung. Yan Ling felt the emptiness where the sandwich heat had been and jealousy stabbed her pride like a thin knife. He had chosen Liu Ying first.

She did not show it on her face. Pride was a luxury she spent in public; in this pool she spent moans instead. Her pussy, left kissing Liu Ying's stretched entrance around Lan's buried shaft, still throbbed with leftover friction and fresh envy.

Lan fucked Liu Ying in short, claiming thrusts, then pulled free with a wet sound and drove into Yan Ling to the womb.

She clenched around him at once, trying to keep him, pussy tightening in greedy pulses that milked along his length. If anyone from Jinling had seen her now — clan sister, protective sword, Grand Elder Lan's prized disciple — they would not have believed she was the same young woman who once entered the academy with her chin high and her eyes cold.

That old self had been prideful and strong. This self loved the dick that had trained her. In the beginning she had hated its size, hated the way it remade her breathing, hated the nights when service felt like erasure. Now she could not get enough. The hate had been trained into hunger so thoroughly that even her jealousy tasted like arousal.

Lan's hands gripped her plump ass, lifted, slapped the right cheek hard enough to print a palm. The slap made her cunt squeeze like a fist. She moaned like a slut and meant every note. He fucked her deep enough that she felt him at the mouth of her womb, withdrew, slammed in again, and watched her face come apart above Liu Ying's watching eyes.

The stone was hard under Liu Ying's shoulder blades, and every thrust shoved the pair of them an inch higher up the slab, so that their wet hair dragged across the rock and the tips of Liu Ying's toes scrabbled at the wall of the pool. Yan Ling heard her own voice climb into a register she would have been ashamed of in daylight.

The slap's heat bloomed across her asscheek in a bright palm-shaped fire. She pushed back onto him, greedy, trying to take him deeper than anatomy allowed, and he laughed once under his breath — the first sound he had made in minutes — and gave her what she wanted. His cock battered the mouth of her womb on every stroke.

Her tits dragged across Liu Ying's below her, nipple on nipple, and Liu Ying's hands came up to squeeze them from underneath while she watched Yan Ling's face dissolve. The other three at the poolside had stopped even pretending their hands were for washing. Li Ying had two fingers buried in herself to the knuckle.

Wang Yue's heavy breasts shone with fragrant water and her own spit where she had licked her palms to slick them. Li Na stared with her golden hair plastered to her wet shoulders and her mouth open, looking almost like she was praying.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Liu Ying waited beneath with her own pussy dripping, watching Yan Ling's horny face from inches away. Saliva threaded from Yan Ling's open mouth onto Liu Ying's cheek and lips. Their bodies rubbed in helpless little movements. Then the huge cock left Yan Ling and filled Liu Ying again, and it was her turn to shake and cling while the other three at the poolside fucked their own fingers and burned.

Li Ying's brown hair stuck to her neck with steam-sweat. Wang Yue's heavy breasts bounced with each desperate circle of her own hands. Li Na's golden head tipped back, youngest mouth open on a silent plea to be chosen next.

The three of them had drifted closer without noticing, and the water around their waists rippled in tight quick circles in time with their wrists. Li Ying's free hand gripped the stone lip beside Yan Ling's head, and Yan Ling could see the white of her knuckles and the pulse jumping in her forearm.

Lan alternated them without hurry — one hole, then the other, sandwich strokes between, slaps on ass-flesh, fingers in mouths — until both young women were trembling wrecks of Heavenly talent reduced to wet need. He spoke almost nothing. He did not need to. On this mountain his silence was curriculum.

Water sloshed over the lip and ran in thin sheets across the stone, pooling under Yan Ling's elbow and soaking into the ends of her hair. Lan's grip on her hip left five red marks in the wet skin, a crescent for each finger and a thumb on the curve of her rear, and he shifted his stance so that his knees took more of her weight.

Yan Ling came first with a broken cry that echoed off bath-house stone; Liu Ying followed when he switched back into her and rubbed her clit with a thumb while he thrust. Their juices mixed on his cock and on each other's thighs. The fragrant water slapped the stone in messy rhythm.

He did not rush the finish. On Lan's mountain, climax was a curriculum item, not a race. He pulled free of Liu Ying with a wet sound that made her whimper, set his cock back into the sandwich channel their pressed cunts made, and fucked that slick friction for another dozen strokes while both young women clung to each other and moaned into each other's mouths.

Li Na at the poolside came on her own fingers with a broken cry she tried to muffle against Wang Yue's shoulder. Wang Yue held her and kept rubbing her own heavy breasts, eyes fixed on the stacked offering at the pool's edge as if she could will herself into Yan Ling's place.

Li Na's knees gave out afterward and she sat down hard in the shallow water, gasping, her golden hair floating around her shoulders like a cloud. Wang Yue slid a palm up her back and held it there.

Li Ying bit her lip until it bled a little and fucked herself harder.

Yan Ling's orgasm, when it came, tore through her like a blade through silk. She cried out against Liu Ying's cheek, her whole body locking, her pussy spasming against Liu Ying's and against the thick shaft that filled the space between them.

Liu Ying followed a dozen thrusts later, when Lan drove back into her and thumbed her clit, her purple hair plastered to her wet face, her Heavenly-realm cultivation doing nothing at all to save her from shaking like a first-night virgin.

Lan watched both of their faces come apart with the calm of a man grading disciples.

When he finally spent himself it was between them both, pulling free at the last moment to stripe Yan Ling's belly and Liu Ying's purple-damp hair with thick white ropes while they clung to each other and shook. The night steam rose around the three of them like incense after a rite.

He let them collapse into the fragrant water afterward, cum striping skin and hair. Yan Ling drifted in afterglow, far from Jinling, far from invitations, close only to the cock that had remade her.

The water around them was cloudy now with oil and cum and the pale petals that had floated on its surface. A single petal had stuck to Yan Ling's cheek and she did not lift a hand to brush it off. Her legs were still wound loosely around Liu Ying's hips, and a slow tremor ran through them every few seconds, aftershocks from a body that had not finished with the night.

---

Yan Chi walked the Yan mansion corridors with twenty points burning a hole in his patience.

Spin the Wheel had left him poor in the most insulting way: rich in a legendary skill, bankrupt in spendable numbers. Cuckold Partner sat in his status like a loaded dice cup waiting for someone else's throw. He needed opportunity — exposure, accident, anything involving a listed woman that did not require him to be the only man in the room.

The twins would give him ordinary sex points if he went to them and buried himself in familiar heat. But sex with his own slotted women was not what the legendary skill paid for. He needed them with someone else. Or Yan Mei performing for strangers. Or Cao Ning caught in some accident of clothes and eyes.

He turned a corner toward the inner gardens and found his mother.

Yan Mei walked ahead with two male guards trailing at a respectful, hungry distance. The clothes Yan Tian had been buying her since Elder Xuan Wu's visit left very little to respect. A small silky cloth covered her breasts, held by three fine chains that circled each full mound — mainly hiding nipples, leaving the surrounding curves bare to lantern light and to any man with working eyes.

Golden chains wrapped her waist and belly in glittering loops that drew attention to how narrow she was above and how full she was below. At her hips a round chain held two silky panels, one on each side; the fabric had a habit of shrinking toward the middle and sticking to skin, which meant her buttocks, from behind, looked like a crime committed against public order. Round and white, moving with every step.

The guards' eyes never left that crime. Their auras stayed disciplined. Their cocks did not. Yan Mei felt their stares the way she now felt most stares: as heat between her legs, a warm slickness gathering against whatever scrap passed for underwear today. She had begun to enjoy it. She hated that she had begun to enjoy it.

Under her slippers the flagstones were warm with the afternoon, and the chains at her waist swayed against her skin with a faint dry chime that she could hear from inside her own head. A breeze came down the corridor smelling of plum blossom and hot stone and lifted the silk at her hips so that it fluttered like the wing of a bird, and the guard on the left drew a breath through his teeth.

She walked anyway, hips moving with the unconscious sway of a woman who knew she was watched and had stopped pretending otherwise. Since the guests left, since Hidden Pearls, since Elder Li's mouth and hands had become memories instead of impossibilities, the mansion itself had turned into a stage. Yan Tian bought the costumes. She wore them. The audience found itself.

Yan Chi followed at a distance, throat dry, slotted mother's name glowing faintly in the back of his mind like a coin waiting to drop. Part of him — Earth pervert, system addict — wanted the breeze to strip her completely. Part of him — Yan Chi's filial sediment — wanted to shout at the guards until they bled. Both parts watched. Neither interrupted. That was becoming the pattern of his second life: witness, harvest, pretend the harvest was strategy instead of hunger.

He had lived both halves of that split for months now, since the night he woke up in this body with a dead Earth life behind his eyes and a System that paid him for looking. The split never got easier. It only got quieter, the way a wound gets quieter when you stop pressing on it.

He pressed anyway. He watched his mother's ass move under the shrinking side-panels and counted the steps until the garden, and every step was a small betrayal of the boy who had once called this woman Mother in a fever and meant nothing but safety.

A gardener pruning a plum tree bowed as Yan Mei passed and then stared after her with his shears forgotten in his hand. A pair of outer disciples on an errand stopped talking mid-sentence and only remembered to bow when she was already past them. The mansion's afternoon rhythms bent around her the way water bends around a stone.