I let the silence cook them a little longer.
The braziers hissed. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of the chains.
Huo Qing's low, cracked laugh kept slipping out, wet and filthy.
Meixiang's thighs trembled; every tiny shift made the slick between them glisten in the red light.
Meiyue's chest rose and fell too fast, the Level-1 Mark glowing like molten gold under her skin, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
I drank the rest of the dawn-nectar. Sweet fire down my throat.
Past-me really was a genius for the refractory thing. I could go all night and still be ready for round three before breakfast.
I crooked a finger at Huo Qing.
She crawled like she was racing someone, knees dragging over the bearskin, chain rattling.
I caught the collar, yanked her up. Her mouth was already open, swollen lips shining with spit and the last of my release.
I fed myself in slow.
The heat of her tongue, the soft scrape of teeth she couldn't quite control, the way her throat fluttered when I hit the back.
I held her there until her eyes watered and her moan vibrated straight through my balls.
The twins were forced close (chain only gave a foot of slack).
Meiyue's breath hitched every time Huo Qing gagged. Meixiang's thighs rubbed together with a soft, wet sound that made my cock twitch inside the marshal's mouth.
I pulled out slow, strings of saliva stretching and snapping.
Huo Qing gasped once, chest heaving, then I spun her and bent her over the foot of the bed.
Her back arched hard, ass up, thighs already slick. The glowing Mark on her stomach painted golden light across the sheets.
I dragged the head through her folds once, twice, coating myself.
She tried to push back. I held her hips still.
Then I sank in to the root.
The sound she made was pure animal (half laugh, half scream), muffled by the sheets she bit down on.
Her walls clenched around me like a fist, scalding hot, dripping.
I set a slow, merciless rhythm.
Every thrust dragged a broken noise out of her. Every drag back made her chase me with her hips.
The Mark climbed.
Level 5 flared.
Level 6.
She came on the ninth stroke, entire body locking, pussy spasming so hard it almost pushed me out.
Juices ran down her thighs in a hot rush.
I didn't stop.
Second orgasm hit thirty seconds later (louder, wetter, her laugh turning into a sob).
Third turned her into a begging, shaking mess, pushing back against me, voice raw.
"Please—Your Majesty—harder—fuck—"
I gave her harder.
When I finally spilled inside her, the Mark blazed to Level 7.
I stayed buried, feeling her pulse around me, watching my release leak out in thick pulses every time her walls fluttered.
I pulled out slow.
The wet sound was obscene.
I turned to the twins.
Meixiang was openly crying, thighs shining, rocking in tiny circles that made soft squelching noises.
Meiyue's nipples were hard under the thin inner robe, the Level-1 Mark glowing like it was starving.
I crooked a finger.
Meixiang crawled forward, chain dragging, tears cutting clean lines down flushed cheeks.
I laid her on her back beside the wrecked marshal, spread her with my thumbs.
She was drenched (lips swollen, clit peeking, entrance fluttering before I even touched her).
One steady push and I slid in to the hilt.
The sound she made was soft, shocked, grateful, almost a sigh of relief.
I took my time. Long, slow strokes that let her feel every ridge.
Her walls fluttered around me like silk soaked in honey.
Her Mark climbed fast (1 → 2 → 3 → 4).
She came on the eighth stroke, delicate and shattering, pussy clenching in rhythmic waves, juices coating my balls.
I kept the same rhythm.
Second orgasm made her cling to my shoulders, nails digging crescents, whispering "Your Majesty" like a broken record.
Third turned her into a soft, sobbing mess, legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging, trying to pull me deeper with every thrust.
When I spilled inside her the Mark hit Level 6.
I stayed deep, feeling her milk every drop, her walls still fluttering in tiny aftershocks.
I pulled out.
She whimpered at the emptiness.
I looked at Meiyue.
She was breathing through her mouth, lips bitten raw, pride and terror at war on her face.
I didn't speak.
I simply pulled her up by the chain, turned her, pressed her chest-down beside her wrecked sister.
She fought for half a heartbeat.
Then the Mark flared in anticipation and her body opened like it had been waiting years.
I entered her in one smooth thrust.
She screamed (raw, furious, perfect).
I wrapped one arm under her breasts, the other flat over the glowing Mark, and took her at the same calm, relentless pace.
Every stroke dragged a broken noise from her throat.
Every drag back made her chase me with her hips.
The Mark climbed.
Level 2.
Level 3.
Level 4.
She lasted longer than both combined.
But on the twelfth stroke she broke.
Came so violently the Mark exploded straight to Level 7 in a single golden pulse, her pussy clamping down so hard it almost hurt.
I rolled her over, pinned her beneath me, took her face-to-face until her eyes rolled back and her voice gave out completely.
When I spilled deep inside her the Mark blazed to Level 8.
I stayed buried, feeling her pulse around me, watching her face go slack with overwhelmed pleasure.
Three bodies sprawled across my bed, dripping, trembling, chests heaving.
Three golden collars.
Three women who had sworn death before submission, now leaking me from every hole they'd offered up.
I leaned back against the headboard, chest rising slow, and listened to the wet sounds of their breathing.
Night two of four.
Tomorrow I'd make them beg louder.
To be continued…