'Why?
Why is this happening to me? A man I don't even know—so strong and thick—keeps stir-frying me with his massive tool.
But… but it feels… so damn good.
Every thrust makes me want to match his rhythm, begging him to go faster, harder.
This… isn't me. This can't be real.
I'm Bibi Dong, the Pope of the Spirit Hall! How could I surrender to such shame? There must be another reason…
Another reason?
The Lust Apes?
Yes! It has to be the aphrodisiac gas from those Lust Apes I killed earlier.
That's why I'm like this!'
Bibi Dong's mind flashed back to the pack of Lust Apes she'd slaughtered. Just as "Ah Yin" suspected, she'd been gravely wounded when they ambushed her. Sensing her weakness, they'd tried to overwhelm her with their pheromones, planning to drag her back to their colony for violation. She'd exterminated them, but not before inhaling their potent lust-inducing gas.
Clarity dawned, igniting fury in her chest. Yet now, her body arched shamelessly against Ah Yin's, every nerve singing as he pistoned into her. Shame burned through her—she wished the earth would swallow her whole. As her consciousness flickered back, she vowed: Hold back. Don't moan. Don't surrender. .But Ah Yin was devastatingly skilled. Each stroke hit exactly where she needed, dragging her deeper into pleasure's riptide. Her iron will dissolved in the onslaught. Teeth clenched, she fought to stifle her cries—but seconds later, her lips tore open in a gasp.
"S-stop… Who… are you? Don't—I command you to stop! I am… Bibi Dong… Pope of the Spirit Hall! If you don't… I'll make you… regret this!"
Even as her hips rolled greedily against him, her voice cracked with ragged orders. Ah Yin's force rocked her like a reed in a storm. Her arms lashed around his neck for balance, then her teeth sank into his shoulder—a desperate anchor against the tidal waves crashing through her. Her mind blanked, drowning in sensation.
"Fuck—!"
Ah Yin hissed as her bite drew blood. "Biting like a dog, Your Holiness? If you love sinking teeth in… try a different spot."
Bibi Dong didn't grasp his meaning—until Ah Yin's rhythm shifted. Lightning. Poison. Dragon's Drill. The pattern seared into her: 1-2-1… 1-2-3… 3-2-1… deep-shallow-deep… deep-deep-shallow… She burned with humiliation, wanting to rip the flesh from his bones. Yet her jaw slackened as he hammered into her with three deep, one shallow—six deep, three shallow—nine deep, three-six shallow—
"Stop… I order you…! I'll… destroy you… after this… make you wish… you were dead!"
Her threats dissolved into pleas. She was breaking—if he didn't stop, she'd shatter. Ah Yin ignored her. His Lightning-Poison Dragon's Drill surged from 100 mph to 140.
"Nghhh—!"
The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Thought evaporated. Her soul hurtled into a white void—weightless, floating, consumed by pure ecstasy. A pleasure she'd never known. She never wanted to leave.
Ah Yin reveled in her climax, molten heat pulsing around him. He glanced down: Bibi Dong lay sprawled beneath him, eyes rolled back, unconscious. That debauched sight ignited fierce pride. Breaking the Pope… The thought seared his mind. One day… I'll conquer her completely.
Outside the Tent
Zhu Zhuqing trembled as Bibi Dong's final scream echoed—the sound of a woman pushed beyond her limits. Now's my chance. She could barge in, seize Ah Yin, and take Bibi Dong's place. The Pope meant nothing to her now; she'd kick that unconscious bitch aside without a second thought.
But… should she?
Hesitating, Zhu Zhuqing peeled back the tent flap—and froze.
Bibi Dong lay splayed on the bedding, eyes glazed white. He fucked her unconscious. Yet Ah Yin's Lightning-Poison Dragon's Drill still hammered relentlessly into her, as if determined to revive her through sheer force.
And it did.
Slowly, Bibi Dong's soul drifted back from that white abyss. Pleasure coiled through her again. Her eyelids fluttered open, straining to see the man who'd ruined her. But like before, his face stayed blurred—Ah Yin's deliberate illusion.
Clever, he thought coldly. Bibi Dong wasn't a woman tamed by one night. He knew her nature: submit now, and she'd slit his throat later. No—he'd break her slowly. With strength. With time. With his cock.
Until the Pope of the Spirit Hall begged to be stir-fried.
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