Shameless Immortal: Emperor of Ten Thousand Beauties

The rhythm of the room became a heavy, wet percussion, the sound of a goddess breaking herself against a sovereign. Meng Yan’s movements were no longer calculated, they were the desperate thrashings of a woman drowning in pleasure. Her internal walls rippled around him like a tightening vice, desperate to draw every drop of essence from his form.

Slap. Squelch. Slap.

"Yes, my Lord... yes!" she cried out, her voice cracking as she drove herself down onto him again and again.

Shen Yu watched her with the detached, cold hunger of a king watching a territory burn. He reached up, his hands shifting from her breasts to her throat, his thumbs resting just beneath her jaw. He did not squeeze, but the weight of his hands alone was reminder enough of who held the leash.

"Look at me, Yan’er," he commanded.

She snapped her head forward, her eyes glazed and swimming with tears of sheer, over-stimulated bliss. She was panting, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she worked her hips with frantic, animalistic speed.

Slap. Slap. Squelch.

"You like this, don’t you? Being filled by a man decades younger than you?" Shen Yu’s smirk was razor-sharp. "You like being claimed by the monster."

"I am... yours," she gasped, her rhythm stumbling as a massive wave of climax began to roll through her. "I am... nothing... without... this!"

With a guttural shout torn from the depths of her throat, Meng Yan’s body went rigid. Her internal muscles spasmed with violent intensity, clamping down on him with a desperation that felt as though she were trying to fuse their very souls together.

She collapsed forward, her sweat-slicked chest heaving against his, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she sobbed into his skin, her frame still twitching with the electric aftershocks of her release.

Hah. Hah. Hah.

But Shen Yu was far from finished.

He raised his hand and brought it down against her flushed, quivering backside with a resounding crack.

Smack.

The sound echoed through the room, and Meng Yan let out a moan so loud and shattered that, were it not for the silencing formation, the entire estate would have known exactly how the dignified Matriarch Meng had been broken.

Shen Yu gripped her emerald hair, winding it around his fist to force her head back. He made her look him in the eye as he loomed over her with a predatory smile.

"Didn’t you want to serve your husband, Yan’er?" he purred, his voice dripping with mocking silk. "And here you are, coming like a common girl before your Lord has even begun."

Smack.

"Ahhhhh!"

"Do you seriously think you can compete with Xu Yi with these skills?" Shen Yu asked, his golden eyes burning into hers.

"Weren’t you claimed before her? Aren’t you her senior sister?"

"Yes... I am..." she gasped, her eyes swimming with a mixture of shame and renewed, frantic heat.

"Then show her," Shen Yu growled, his grip tightening in her hair. "Show her how a senior sister wrings her Lord dry. Show her how to worship your master with every inch of your heat."

He delivered a single, devastatingly deep thrust that bottomed out within her.

Squelch.

Her breath hitched in a strangled sob. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice dropping to a dark, sovereign rasp.

"Remind her why you were chosen first, Yan’er. Show her why you are the Second Wife of this house."

Meng Yan’s eyes gleamed with a sudden, competitive fire. She pushed herself upright, palms flat against Shen Yu’s chest, the silk sheets rustling beneath them. She cast a slow, sidelong glance at her sisters before returning her gaze to Shen Yu, her voice a heady mixture of lust and pride.

"Honey," she purred, her breathing still ragged. "I heard that Lixue is able to cover her insides with sword intent. I imagine that was... uniquely exquisite, was it not?"

"Exquisite doesn’t begin to describe it," Shen Yu replied, his smirk widening. "It was the first time I had seen a bloodline meant for slaughter used for such divine worship."

Meng Yan leaned down, her emerald hair cascading over his chest as she teased him with the tips of her fingers. "I am a Golden Core master, my Lord. My control over my essence is far more refined. Don’t you want to feel the true power of the bloodline you awakened for me?"

Shen Yu’s answer was a slow, possessive squeeze of her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh without apology.

Taking the gesture as his royal decree, Meng Yan closed her eyes and reached deep into her dantian. The Nine Yin Lunar Phoenix bloodline roared to life within her. The heat of her core began to skyrocket, a searing, sun-like warmth that made Shen Yu’s eyes go wide—

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh

—and then, in a single heartbeat, it vanished. Replaced by an abyssal, bone-chilling frost that felt like liquid moonlight poured directly into his meridians.

Mnnnnnnnnn—

The oscillating temperature sent a shockwave of extreme pleasure through his system, a sensation so total and so disorienting that he instinctively drove his hips upward to reclaim his dominance.

But Meng Yan was faster. She pressed her palm firmly against his abdomen, pinning him to the bed with the unhurried strength of a high-level cultivator, and hovered just inches from his face. Her gaze locked onto his golden eyes with an expression of absolute, carnal authority.

"Don’t move, Honey," she whispered. "You wanted me to serve you, didn’t you? Then let me show you, and them, the true power of your Second Wife."

She claimed his lips with predatory hunger.

Mm.

As their breaths mingled, she began a slow, torturous grind of her hips, and with every rotation she shifted the temperature of her core, burning him with the Phoenix’s fire one moment, then flooding him with Lunar frost the next. Back and forth. Heat and cold. Mercy and its complete absence.

Squelch. Squelch.

She was a master of her own body, her internal walls constricting in a rhythmic, pulsing grip that synchronised with each thermal shift, a sensory assault so precisely calibrated it left Shen Yu’s fingers curling into the silk sheets, his breath coming shorter than he would have chosen, his composure cracking at the edges in a way that only she, in this moment, had the specific and devastating ability to produce.

She was no longer merely a lover. She was a Matriarch, claiming her rightful place, and making absolutely certain everyone in the room understood exactly what that meant.