Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 927: Fucking Sect Mistress Lianhua

The air in the small, rented bedchamber had grown thick, heavy with the scent of burning incense and the far more potent, intoxicating aroma of aroused female ambition clashing with primal male dominance.

Wang Jian knew, with the cold certainty of a master strategist watching an enemy army walk into a fatal ravine, that the Rubicon had been crossed. The moment his hands had moved from the ʼmedicalʼ positions on her abdomen to the sacred, forbidden territory of her breasts and between her thighs, there was no turning back.

There was no plausible deniability left. No ”oops, my hand slipped during the healing trance” excuse that could possibly work on a woman as intelligent and experienced as Sect Mistress Lianhua. She wasnʼt a naive outer sect disciple who could be tricked into believing this was standard medical procedure.

Her initial shock—that frozen, deer-in-headlights paralysis—was already beginning to fade. Through the haze of unexpected, chemically-and-spiritually induced arousal he had expertly forced upon her, he could see the sharp, cold light of realization dawning in her magnificent, ancient eyes.

If he stopped now... if he hesitated for even a fraction of a second and let her gather her scattered wits, the spell would be irretrievably broken. Her rational mind, honed by centuries of rigid self-discipline, sect leadership, and adherence to the righteous Dao, would return with a vengeance. The shame would instantly convert into a lethal, murderous fury. She would not just be angry; she would be his eternal enemy, a woman violated who would stop at nothing to wash away this stain with his blood.

He couldnʼt let that happen. He had to push through. He had to drown her rationality in a tsunami of pure sensation before she could even form a coherent thought of resistance. He had to break the dam so thoroughly that it could never be repaired.

Lianhuaʼs lips parted. A sound, half-gasp, half-word, began to form—a protest, a demand for him to cease this instant. Her eyes widened, the horror warring with the undeniable, burning desire that his Verdant Essence was pumping directly into her most sensitive regions.

But before that single syllable of defiance could escape her lips, Wang Jian moved.

He didnʼt just lean in; he attacked. His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her words, his tongue invading her mouth not with the tentative exploration of a lover, but with the demanding, possessive thrust of a conqueror planting his flag. It was a kiss that mirrored exactly what he intended to do to the rest of her body—total invasion, total dominance.

At the same time, his hands ceased any pretense of healing. They roamed freely, wildly, over her naked form. He was everywhere at once. One hand kneaded her massive, heavy breast, fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumb dragging roughly over the stiff peak of her nipple, sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core. His other hand was between her thighs, fingers diving deep into the slick, incredible wetness that had already soaked the sheets beneath her.

He broke the kiss only to give her a second to gasp for air, not to let her speak. He stood up, towering over her prone form on the bed.

In a single, fluid motion, he tore at his own sash. His robes fell away, pooling on the floor in a disregarded heap of cheap fabric.

Lianhua, gasping, her chest heaving, looked up. Her eyes, already wide, dilated further until they were almost entirely black, swallowing the irises.

His massive, fully erect manhood was revealed to her. It was terrifying. A thick, veined weapon of conquest, throbbing with a potent, visibly dense aura of demanding Yang energy. It seemed to pulse in time with her own racing heart, the very air around it vibrating with its aggressive heat.

It was a sight no man had ever shown her. A sight she had forbidden herself from ever even imagining for hundreds of years.

ʼNo...ʼ her mind screamed, a tiny, dying voice of reason buried under an avalanche of lust. ʼThis is wrong. He is a junior. He is Ruyanʼs... I am the Sect Mistress...ʼ

Wang Jian didnʼt wait for her to process the sight. He didnʼt bother with any more gentle preparation. She was wet enough; her body had betrayed her mind long ago.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her widely spread legs. He grabbed her wide, unbelievably curvaceous hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her towards him, angling her perfectly for his assault.

He positioned the broad, hot head of his shaft against her entrance. It was tight. Incredibly, impossibly tight. A centuries-old virginity, guarded by powerful cultivation and an unmatched status, now lay vulnerable before him.

He didnʼt hesitate. He didnʼt ask for permission. With a grunt of exertion, he thrust his hips forward with brutal, uncompromising force.

RIIIIP.

He breached her. He tore through the delicate barrier that had stood inviolate for centuries, burying himself to the hilt inside her in one ruthless, unstoppable stroke.

”AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

Lianhua screamed. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that tore through the quiet room, echoing off the stone walls. Her back arched off the bed, every muscle in her body locking rigid in shock and pain.

It felt like being stabbed with a red-hot sword. The sheer size of him was too much; she felt ripped open, stretched beyond any reasonable limit.

A trickle of bright red blood leaked from her, mingling with her own juices, staining the pristine white sheet beneath her hips—the definitive, undeniable proof of her purity, now violently claimed by him.

Wang Jian didnʼt stop. He didnʼt even slow down to let her adjust to the massive intrusion. He began to thrust immediately, like a madman, his hips hammering against her soft buttocks with a brutal, unrelenting rhythm. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

But as he thrust, he simultaneously did something only he could do. He channeled a massive surge of his Verdant Eternal Spring Essence directly into her torn, bleeding intimacy.

The potent, miraculous life energy flooded the ravaged tissue. It didnʼt just soothe the pain; it healed the physical damage almost instantly, knitting flesh back together even as he stretched it apart again.

The agony vanished in seconds.

It was replaced by something infinitely more terrifying to Lianhuaʼs rational mind.

Pleasure.

A tidal wave of it. Intense, blinding, all-consuming pleasure that whited out her vision and short-circuited her every thought.

The combination was lethal to her restraint. His incredibly potent Yang energy, her own hyper-sensitive state from the ʼhealingʼ sessions, the sheer, shocking novelty of penetration, and the rapid healing-tearing cycle created a sensation overload she couldnʼt possibly handle.

Her rational mind—the cool, collected Sect Mistress who valued propriety and restraint above all else—died in that moment. It was burned away by the searing heat of his possession.

In its place, a creature of pure, unadulterated instinct was born.

Her screams of pain morphed, twisted, and became ragged, breathless moans of pure ecstasy.

”Ah... no... too much... Wang Jian...!” she gasped, her head thrashing wildly from side to side on the pillow, her sweat-damp hair plastering to her face. Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning bone-white as she tried to anchor herself in reality.

But reality was gone. There was only him. Only the feeling of him filling her completely, stretching her, claiming her.

ʼMore... oh gods, more...ʼ her inner thoughts were a chaotic, ecstatic jumble, completely devoid of reason or shame. ʼDonʼt stop... it hurts but it feels... it feels too good... I canʼt think... I donʼt want to think... just more... fill me!ʼ

Within fifteen minutes, her body couldnʼt take the overstimulation anymore. She convulsed violently, her inner walls clamping down on his shaft like a steel vice.

”AAAAH! IʼM... IʼM DYING!” she shrieked, not knowing what the sensation was.

She climaxed. It was a shattering, full-body orgasm that ripped through her, making her toes curl and her back arch until she thought her spine would snap. She screamed his name, a desperate plea to the heavens.

And then, barely a minute later, before she could even catch her breath, his relentless pounding triggered another one. And another.

Three massive, earth-shattering climaxes in rapid succession. Her mind completely shattered under the relentless onslaught of ecstasy. She was a whimpering, twitching mess beneath him, completely broken by pleasure.

Wang Jian grunted, his own pleasure reaching its peak. Her tight, spasming interior was incredible. He grabbed her hips, driving deep one final time, burying himself to the womb.

He roared as he released, filling her newly claimed territory with his copious, potent, glowing seed. He marked her internally, fundamentally, as his.

But he didnʼt stop there. Most men would be finished, exhausted. Wang Jian was just getting started.

He didnʼt let her rest. He didnʼt withdraw. His lust was a bottomless pit, and this woman... this magnificent, voluptuous Sect Mistress... she was too sexy, too responsive, to stop after just once.

He felt his dick remain terrifyingly hard inside her, still twitching, still hungry.

He grabbed her shoulder and roughly flipped her over onto her stomach. She was limp, pliable as a ragdoll, her mind completely gone, lost in the afterglow.

He grabbed her wide, incredibly curvaceous hips and pulled her up onto her knees, positioning her like an animal in heat. Her massive breasts hung down, swaying heavily, their nipples brushing the sheets. Her ass... it was a sight to behold. Round, massive, perfectly shaped, spread wide for him.

Before he entered her again, he couldnʼt resist. He leaned over her back, burying his face in her massive, hanging breasts.

He motorboated them, making wet, vulgar noises, shaking his head back and forth between the massive globes. He bit her nipples, hard, treating the revered Sect Mistress like a cheap harlot he had bought for the night.

”Mmph! Wang... Jian...!” she whimpered into the pillows, the biting sensation sending fresh jolts of confusing pleasure through her.

Then, he entered her from behind.

The sight of his thick, dark shaft disappearing into the pale, soft flesh of her mature buttocks drove him wild. It was the ultimate image of conquest.

He began to thrust again. Every impact sent shockwaves rolling through her soft, luscious body. He watched with savage delight as her massive ass cheeks jiggled violently, clapping against his thighs with a wet, rhythmic SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Lianhua could no longer form coherent words. Her dialogue consisted entirely of broken syllables, pathetic whimpers, and loud, shameless screams of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

”Ahn! Haa! Mmmf! MORE! PLEASE! DONʼT STOP!” she begged, her voice hoarse, her mind reduced to a single, desperate desire for his continued possession.

ʼYes... yes, like that...ʼ her thoughts were a delirious loop. ʼSo deep... fill me... break me... I donʼt care anymore... just donʼt stop... never stop...ʼ

He fucked her like an animal, abandoning all human technique for raw, primal dominance. He leaned down and bit her neck, hard enough to bruise, marking her skin just as he had branded her soul. He raked his nails down her back, leaving red welts.

He took her off the bed. He dragged her onto the floor. He took her against the wall, holding her up by her hips while her legs wrapped around him. He bent her over the sturdy wooden table where they had eaten their meals.

He wanted her scent everywhere in this house. He wanted her to know, deep down in her sub-conscious, that there was no place she could go where she didnʼt belong to him.

His Stellar Demonic Meridian Scripture was actively cycling, roaring through his meridians like a dark river. It fed greedily off her incredibly potent Yin essence—even crippled, her base essence was of a quality he had never encountered before, honed by centuries of purity. It fueled his endless stamina, making him a tireless machine of virility.

By the end of the first few hours, she was unrecognizable. Covered in sweat, his seed, and her own fluids, her hair a tangled mess, she was a thoroughly used, completely conquered woman.

The sex didnʼt stop. It continued through the night, the sounds of their coupling the only thing breaking the silence of the city. It went into the next day. And into the next night.

Nearly thirty-six hours of non-stop, relentless coupling.

Lianhua drifted in and out of consciousness, exhausted beyond measure. But every time she woke, groggy and confused, he was still there. Still inside her. Still thrusting. Still claiming her.

This marathon was designed to do more than just satiate him. It was designed to imprint him onto her very soul. He wanted her body to be addicted to him, to be unable to forget him, to crave him with a desperate, addictive need even when her rational mind inevitably tried to hate him later.

She lost count of how many times she climaxed. Dozens. Hundreds. Her body was in a constant state of overstimulation, a blissful, agonizing delirium where pleasure and pain blurred into one singularity.

Wang Jian climaxed countless times inside her, filling her womb again and again, ensuring his essence soaked into every cell of her body, becoming a permanent part of her.

Finally, after nearly a day and a half, even his monstrous stamina needed a brief recharge. He gave one final, earth-shattering thrust, a roar of triumph escaping his lips, and collapsed on top of her panting, sweat-slicked form.

They both fell instantly into a deep, comatose sleep, their naked bodies tangled together on the messed, fluid-stained bed, the air thick with the smell of their marathon.

Half a day later, Lianhua woke up first.

Consciousness returned slowly, like wading through thick mud.

Then, sensation returned.

She felt wrecked. Every muscle in her body ached with a deep, satisfying exhaustion. Her intimate areas were swollen, tender, and throbbing—though already healing rapidly thanks to the massive amount of residual Verdant Essence he had pumped into her during their coupling. She was sticky, covered in dried fluids that were not just her own.

As the fog of lust slowly cleared from her mind, her rational mind—the Sect Mistress—began to return.

And with it came memory.

The memories of what they had done... what she had done... crashed down on her with horrifying, crystal clarity. The screams. The begging. The sheer, animalistic abandon with which she had given herself to him.

Horror, cold and absolute, began to fill her.