仙颜屈域：风月困双生草稿

The descent from the celestial realm was meant to be a quiet passage, a veiled journey into the mortal world to seek the deeper truths of the Dao and temper the heart through the trials of human fate. Yet fate, it seemed, had woven a thread far more twisted than either Su Moli or Luo Yuening had anticipated.

They landed in a domain utterly alien to anything they had known. The sky above was thick with an amber haze, the sun hanging low and bloated like a molten eye. The earth beneath their feet was cracked and dark, strewn with coarse black stone and stubborn scrub. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of dust and wild game, and a heat that clung to the skin like a second layer. This was not the mortal realm of scrolls and legend—this was the Black Domain, the lawless heart of the barbarian territories, a place where the sons of the Central Plains were neither welcome nor expected to leave.

The moment their feet touched this soil, both men felt the crushing weight of the Heavenly Seal clamp down upon their cores. It was not a violent suppression, but a quiet, inexorable lock. Their majestic immortal power, which once could shatter stars and command the seasons, was now coiled deep within, dormant and unreachable. They were left with mere echoes of their former strength—enough to keep their bodies whole, but nothing more. The realization struck like a blade of ice.

Su Moli stood still, his slender form rigid beneath the pale silken robes he had worn from the celestial realm. His face, cold and ethereal, was a masterpiece of jade and moonlight—flawless, sharp, yet possessed of a beauty that blurred the lines of gender. His eyes, clear as frozen lakes, swept across the desolate landscape. Inside, a storm of disbelief and humiliation churned. *This is a trial?* he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening beneath the translucent fall of his dark hair. *To be cast here, stripped of power, like a mortal lamb thrown to wolves?*

Beside him, Luo Yuening exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible. His bearing was equally lofty, his features a blend of cold majesty and haunting allure—proud brow, long lashes, a mouth that curved like a petal carved from frost. His body, slender and graceful, betrayed a softness that his fierce spirit denied. He said nothing at first, but his pale fingers curled into his palms, the fabric of his sleeve trembling with restraint. His gaze was steady, but behind it, something dark and sharp glimmered. *We are not meant to be broken here. We endure.*

"Let us proceed," Su Moli said at last, his voice low and cool, as if the very act of speaking here defiled his tongue. "There must be shelter. Information."

Luo Yuening gave a single, curt nod.

They walked.

The first settlement they encountered was a crude congregation of huts and hides, ringed by thorny barricades. The moment the inhabitants—tall, broad-shouldered black men with skin like polished obsidian—laid eyes on them, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations halted. The air grew thick with suspicion and hostility. Eyes narrowed. Hands drifted to the crude blades and clubs at their hips. Children were pulled inside. Women stared with hard, unreadable expressions.

Su Moli felt the weight of those gazes like a physical blow. He was not accustomed to being looked at with such disdain—no, worse. It was not disdain. It was the kind of calculating assessment one gave to livestock. The sense of being *prey* crawled beneath his skin.

Luo Yuening stepped slightly forward, placing himself between Su Moli and the nearest cluster of armed men. His voice, when he spoke to one of the elders who approached them, was calm but cold. "We are travelers. We seek only passage."

The elder—a huge man with a scar carved across his brow—sneered. "Travelers from where? You wear the silk of the soft lands. You smell of flowers and false purity. You are not welcome here."

"We intend no harm," Su Moli interjected, his tone frosty, barely concealing his own indignation. "We seek only to pass through."

"Pass through?" The elder laughed, a deep, gravelly sound. Others joined in. "There is no 'passing through' for men of your kind. You are either slaves or corpses. Only women walk free in our lands."

The words hung in the air like a sentence.

That night, they found a dilapidated inn on the outskirts of a larger encampment. The innkeeper, a gnarled old man with one eye, saw through them instantly. His remaining eye roved over their forms with a leer that made Su Moli's stomach turn. But he did not refuse them lodging—only charged them triple, and smiled with yellowed teeth.

"We have a problem," Luo Yuening said, once they were alone in the small, stifling room. The walls were made of dried mud and animal hide. The bed was a heap of coarse blankets. A single oil lamp cast flickering shadows.

Su Moli sat on the edge of the bed, his hands pressed flat against his thighs, his posture still regal despite the squalor. "He is right. We cannot move openly as we are. Every man here sees us as prey. We will not survive the week without being dragged into a cage."

Luo Yuening turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Then we adapt."

"Adapt?" Su Moli's voice rose, a crack in his icy composure. "Do you suggest we—"

"I suggest we survive." Luo Yuening's tone was flat, firm. "We must pass as what is allowed. Women."

The word hung between them like a poison.

Su Moli's pale face flushed a painful red. His hands trembled. *Women.* He, a Celestial Exalted, a being of supreme status and masculine lineage, was to don the garments of a mortal female? The very thought sent waves of shame through his core. *Is this the trial? To strip me not only of power, but of dignity? To force me into the skin of the lesser sex?*

But he saw the look in Luo Yuening's eyes. There was no pleasure in it, no mockery. Only grim acceptance. They were trapped. The Dao would not relent until they had learned whatever bitter lesson this land had to teach.

They found the garments in a market stall, traded for a small pouch of coins they had brought. The fabrics were cheap, thin, and vividly colored. The cuts were scandalous—short skirts that would barely reach mid-thigh, bodices that bared the shoulders and collarbones, sashes that cinched at the waist to emphasize the narrowness of the torso. Sandals with thin straps that wound up the calf. Veils of translucent gauze.

Back in the room, Su Moli stared at the pile of clothing as if it were a nest of venomous serpents. His hands, steady in battle and unshakable in meditation, now trembled as he lifted the bodice. The fabric was soft, almost silken, but to him it felt coarse as sandpaper against his pride.

He removed his outer robes slowly, each layer feeling like a shedding of identity. His shoulders, pale and delicate, were bared. His waist, impossibly slender, was wrapped in the sash. The skirt fell just above his knees, leaving his long, shapely legs exposed. When he looked at himself in the cracked bronze mirror, his heart stopped.

*Who is that?*

The reflection showed a creature of breathtaking, terrifying beauty. A woman—no, something more than a woman. A celestial seductress, a demon of allure. The masculine lines of his face were softened by the veil and the fall of his hair, and his body, already graceful, now seemed to belong to a different species entirely. He saw the curve of his hips, the swell of his backside beneath the thin fabric, the delicate arch of his neck.

His face burned. *This is not me,* he thought, but his voice was a lie. His hands clenched. *This is what I am reduced to.*

Luo Yuening changed in silence. When he turned, his beauty was equally devastating—sharp and soft in equal measure, his lean form clad in robes of deep blue that contrasted with his pale skin. His eyes met Su Moli's in the mirror.

Neither spoke. There was no need. They both felt it—the same shame, the same anger, the same powerless flutter in their chests. For a long moment, they stood side by side, two celestial masters dressed as mortal beauties, trapped in a play they had never agreed to perform.

Su Moli's voice was barely a whisper. "If anyone from the upper realm were to see us now..."

"They will not," Luo Yuening replied, though his voice lacked conviction. "We will endure. We will complete this trial. And we will forget."

They left the inn at dusk.

The veils helped. The leering gazes of the black men that lingered on the streets were no less intense, but at least the open hostility faded. They were now perceived as women—exotic, rare, breathtaking women from distant lands. Some men followed them for a few paces, grunting crude comments in their guttural tongue. Others simply stared, their dark eyes trailing over every curve and line with an appetite that made Su Moli's skin crawl.

*Their eyes strip me,* he thought bitterly, walking stiffly, holding himself as though the fabric on his body were armor. *They see a whore, not a man. Not a cultivator. Not a lord.*

Luo Yuening walked with measured steps, his face hidden, his posture cool. But his jaw was set, and his fingers occasionally twitched, as if reaching for a sword that was no longer there.

They were bystanders at a local festival that evening—a celebration of some chieftain's son coming of age. Bonfires roared, drums pounded, and the air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and sweat. A group of young men, emboldened by drink, approached them. Their leader, a towering brute with a scarred chest and a grin that showed too many teeth, spoke to them in a rough but friendly tone.

"You two," he said, his voice loud enough to cut through the din. "You are not from here. But you are beautiful. Come. Join our fire. Eat. Drink. We will not harm you."

Su Moli's instincts screamed *refuse*, but Luo Yuening's hand, hidden beneath the fold of his sleeve, brushed his wrist lightly. A warning. An agreement.

"We accept," Luo Yuening said, his voice modulated, softer, a passable imitation of a woman's tone.

The men cheered.

They were led to the largest fire, where elders and warriors sat on carved wooden stools. Cups of a dark, bitter drink were pressed into their hands. Su Moli held his cup gingerly, his eyes scanning the crowd, cataloging exits, threats, escape routes. Luo Yuening sat close beside him, accepting the drink but only wetting his lips. They played their parts.

As the night deepened, the questions came. The men were curious. Where were they from? Why were they here? Were they alone? Su Moli answered in careful, vague phrases, his voice cold but polite. He learned far more than he revealed—the names of the tribes, the hierarchy of power, the paths through the mountains, the rumors of a passable route to the eastern border, the laws of hospitality that kept foreign women safe but foreign men condemned.

"You are lucky you are not men," one elder said, laughing as he slapped his thigh. "If you had been born with the wrong parts, you would already be chained in a slave pit. Ha! But the Celestial Mother blessed you well."

Su Moli smiled beneath his veil. His eyes did not smile.

Luo Yuening leaned in slightly, his voice soft as wind. "We heard there is a pass through the Obsidian Ridge. Is that true?"

The elder's eyes narrowed, then he grinned. "Clever little thing, aren't you? Yes. There is a pass. But it is guarded. The Beasts of the Deep dwell there. You would not survive alone."

"We are not entirely helpless," Luo Yuening replied, his tone light but edged.

The elder chuckled, his gaze lingering a moment too long on the line of Luo Yuening's waist. "Perhaps not. But even fierce flowers can be plucked."

Su Moli's grip on his cup tightened until his knuckles paled.

They stayed until the moon had risen high, the fires burning low. The hospitality was genuine enough, but beneath it lay a tension—a sense that these men were testing them, measuring them, deciding whether to keep them or let them pass. When they finally excused themse

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the foreign town as Su Moli adjusted the wide-brimmed hat low over his face. Beside him, Luo Yuening did the same, their movements synchronized from years of shared existence. They had chosen to explore the settlement dressed as women—a necessary deception in this barbaric land where two unaccompanied men would invite even more dangerous scrutiny.

Su Moli's robes, borrowed from a local vendor, draped over his transformed form with unsettling softness. The fabric clung to curves that should not exist, emphasizing a waist so narrow it seemed impossible, hips that swayed with each step despite his efforts to walk with masculine purpose. He felt the eyes on them before he heard the words—heavy, crawling gazes that slid over his body like oily fingers.

"Now there's a pair of fine-hipped beauties," a rough voice called from across the street.

Laughter followed, crude and knowing.

Su Moli's jaw tightened beneath the shadow of his hat. His hand moved instinctively to where his sword once hung, but he had hidden it away. Here, in the Black Wastes, weapons marked you as either prey or predator, and they could not afford to reveal their true nature.

"Keep walking," Luo Yuening murmured, his voice barely audible. "Do not engage."

They passed a group of massive men lounging outside a tavern—blacks with skin like polished obsidian, muscles bunching beneath scant clothing. One of them whistled, a long, low sound that made Su Moli's skin crawl.

"Look at those little waists," another said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Like reeds ready to snap. You think they'd bend or break?"

"Bend, definitely. Pretty things like that were made for bending."

The words hit Su Moli like physical blows. His mind, traitor that it was, supplied images he had fought to suppress for ten days. The rough hands gripping his hips. The unbearable pressure as that massive black cock pushed into him for the first time. His own voice, broken and pleading, begging for more even as tears streamed down his face.

Heat flooded his cheeks. Not from anger alone—from shame so deep it felt like drowning.

He remembered the way his body had betrayed him. How his back had arched instinctively, offering himself. How his lips had parted around sounds of pleasure he could not contain. How he had come, untouched, from the sheer force of being taken, his seed spilling onto his own stomach while the black giant grunted above him.

*Stop*, he commanded himself. *You are a Celestial Venerable. You have stood above the clouds. You have never bowed to anyone.*

But his body did not listen. The memory of that night had carved itself into his very marrow.

They walked faster, past more staring eyes, more whispered comments. A hand reached out and brushed against Luo Yuening's hip as they passed. Luo Yuening flinched but did not stop, did not turn, his face a mask of cold indifference that Su Moli recognized all too well. It was the same mask he wore himself.

"Gather information, then leave," Su Moli said through clenched teeth. "We find who did this to us, and we end them."

Luo Yuening nodded once, sharp and curt.

They had been asking questions, carefully, obliquely. Descriptions of massive black warriors, of a group that moved through the borderlands, of anyone who might have been near the sacred grove where they had been taken. The answers were always vague, always accompanied by knowing looks that made their skin prickle.

"Outsiders asking about the Night Drifters," a merchant had said yesterday, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You want to find them? Why? They don't take kindly to curious little flowers."

Su Moli had forced himself to smile, to lower his voice to something soft and feminine. "We heard they have... rare materials. Things we need for our trade."

The merchant had laughed. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

They had left quickly after that.

Now, as they rounded a corner and the main street opened before them, Su Moli felt the weight of ten days pressing down on his shoulders. Ten days since their world had been shattered. Ten days of pretending to be something they were not, of hiding their true faces and their true pain.

"Perhaps we should rest," Luo Yuening said, his voice carrying the same exhaustion Su Moli felt. "There is an inn ahead."

They entered without speaking, securing a table in the corner where they could watch the room. The establishment was modest but clean, filled with the scent of roasting meat and the low hum of conversation. No one looked at them twice as they sat down.

Su Moli allowed himself a moment of relief. Then the sensation began.

It started as a faint buzzing beneath his skin, a current of warmth that seemed to rise from nowhere. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore it. But the warmth spread, settling low in his belly, curling through his limbs like honey.

Beside him, Luo Yuening's breath caught.

"Do you feel that?" Su Moli asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Luo Yuening's eyes met his, dark and troubled. "Yes."

They had been feeling it more and more. These waves of heat that came without warning, that left them breathless and aching. At first they had blamed the climate, the strange energies of the Black Wastes. But they knew better now.

It was the seed.

The black men's seed had changed them. They could feel it working in their blood, reshaping them from within. Their bodies were no longer their own.

Su Moli looked down at his hands—slender, pale, the knuckles less prominent than they had been. His nails seemed longer, more delicate. He remembered how those hands had clutched at the black giant's shoulders, how they had scrabbled for purchase against that hard, dark chest as he was driven into the earth.

"Stop," Luo Yuening said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "Do not dwell on it."

"Easy for you to say."

"Nothing is easy. But we must continue."

Days passed. They explored the town, asked their questions, endured the stares. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sharp edge of their pain began to dull. The people here were crude, yes, but some were also kind. A woman selling bread gave them extra loaves, patting Su Moli's hand and telling him he was too thin. A young man offered to show them the best path through the northern hills. An elder invited them to share a fire and listen to old stories.

"We are having a festival tonight," the elder said, his weathered face creasing into a smile. "The Harvest Gathering. You should come. There will be music, dancing, good food. It will do you good to smile."

Su Moli hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to stay hidden, to keep his guard up. But Luo Yuening surprised him by speaking first.

"We would be honored."

Later, as they walked back to their inn, Su Moli turned to his companion. "Why did you accept?"

Luo Yuening's expression was unreadable. "Because we are hiding in plain sight, and hiding makes us suspicious. Because we need information, and people speak freely when they are drunk and happy. Because..." He paused, something flickering in his eyes. "Because I am tired of being afraid."

Su Moli said nothing. But he understood.

The festival was held in the town square, lit by torches and bonfires that cast dancing shadows across the gathered crowd. The air smelled of spiced wine and roasted meat, and laughter rang out from every direction. Musicians played instruments Su Moli did not recognize, their melodies wild and driving.

They were welcomed with open arms. Cups were pressed into their hands, food thrust at them from every direction. Su Moli found himself seated beside a group of women who chatted happily about the harvest, their husbands, their children. They asked him questions—where was he from, what was he doing here, was the wine too strong—and he answered with half-truths that seemed to satisfy them.

Luo Yuening was across the fire, speaking with a group of men. His face was still guarded, but Su Moli saw the way he relaxed incrementally, the way his shoulders lost some of their tension.

For a few hours, they were almost normal. Almost happy.

But as the night wore on and the crowd thinned, the unease returned. Su Moli felt it creeping back into his bones, a whisper of dread that would not be silenced. He caught Luo Yuening's eye across the square, and saw the same awareness there.

They made their excuses and left, walking back to the inn in silence.

The room was small, barely large enough for two narrow beds and a washstand. Su Moli lit a candle and sat on the edge of his bed, watching the flame flicker. Luo Yuening did the same on the opposite side of the room.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then the heat returned.

It came like a flood, washing over Su Moli with dizzying intensity. His skin prickled, every nerve ending suddenly alive and aching. He felt his nipples harden against the fabric of his robes, felt moisture gathering between his legs where no moisture should be.

"Not again," he breathed, but his voice came out thick, almost wanton.

Luo Yuening made a sound—half groan, half whimper. When Su Moli looked at him, he saw his companion's face flushed, his hands gripping the edge of the bed with white-knuckled force.

"I cannot—" Luo Yuening's voice broke. "I keep seeing it. The way they touched us. The way we—"

"Stop," Su Moli said, but the word had no power. His own mind was filling with images he could not control.

The black giant's face above him, dark and indifferent, yet somehow hungry. The impossible size of him, the way he had stretched Su Moli until he thought he would split apart. The pain that had given way to something else, something sinful and sweet. His own voice, crying out, begging for more.

*Harder. Please. I need—*

Su Moli's hand moved without permission, sliding down his stomach to press between his legs. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning.

Beside him, Luo Yuening had done the same.

They were both touching themselves now, too far gone to stop. Su Moli's fingers found his entrance—his *cunt*, for that was what it had become, wet and open and hungry—and pushed inside. The sensation was electric, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine.

He remembered, then, the moment the black man had orgasmed inside him. The hot flood of release, the way it had filled him completely, the way he had come from the feeling alone. He remembered the taste of the man's skin on his tongue, the rough texture of his palm against Su Moli's cheek, the way the giant had looked at him afterward with something almost like satisfaction.

*You are mine now*, those eyes had said. *You will always be mine.*

Su Moli's fingers curled inside himself, and he came with a shuddering cry, his body arching off the bed. For a moment, there was only pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming.

Then it faded, and shame rushed in to fill the void.

He pulled his hand away, staring at the glistening fluid on his fingers. His own seed, mixed with something else, something that made his stomach turn.

"What are we becoming?" he whispered.

Across the room, Luo Yuening was silent, his face buried in his hands.

They cleaned themselves without speaking, refusing to meet each other's eyes. But the truth hung between them, undeniable.

Something was happening to them. Something that went beyond the physical changes, beyond the new curves and softer features. Their very souls were being reshaped, twisted into something they did not recognize.

Su Moli looked in the small mirror that hung on the wall and barely knew himself. His face was the same—the same high cheekbones, the same sharp jaw. But there was something different in his eyes. A softness that had never been there before. A hunger that made him sick.

He turned away from the mirror and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

In the morning, they would continue their search. They would find the men who had done this to them, and they would make them p

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They had spent the past several days in relative peace, if such a word could be applied to their time in this barbaric land. The local clan elders had been gracious hosts, full of curiosity and respect for the two celestial beings who had graced their crude settlement with their presence. Su Moli and Luo Yue Ning had allowed themselves, perhaps foolishly, to believe that the earlier incident was an aberration, a transgression by rogue elements that the clan leaders themselves would have condemned. The young chief, a man named Goro with grey-streaked hair and a respectful demeanor, had personally invited them to a grand feast to celebrate a successful hunting season.

"It would honor our people greatly if the two esteemed cultivators would join us," Goro had said, his deep voice carrying no hint of guile. "My wives still speak of the ethereal beauty of the Honorable Su's qin playing. The entire camp wishes to bask in your presence once more."

Su Moli had exchanged a glance with Luo Yue Ning. The invitation seemed genuine. The warmth of the previous gathering, the lively music, the respectful distance the men had kept—all of it suggested that the horror of that first night had been an isolated nightmare, an anomaly in a culture that, while rough, had its own code of honor. They were weary of their perpetual state of high alert, weary of the constant weight of suspicion pressing down on their chests. Perhaps, they reasoned, it was time to show a measure of trust, to attempt a semblance of normalcy amidst their desperate mission to find Mu Shuran.

"It would be our pleasure," Luo Yue Ning had replied, his voice cool but not unkind, a small concession to diplomacy.

And so, as the sun bled crimson and gold across the jagged horizon of the Black Wastes, they arrayed themselves in their finest. Su Moli chose a robe of pale lavender silk that flowed like water over his slender frame, the color soft against his luminous skin. Luo Yue Ning wore robes of deep azure that echoed the twilight sky, the fabric cinched at his narrow waist with a silver cord. They were, even in their own estimation, a striking pair. They moved with a grace that was alien to this land of raw muscle and sprawling sinew, two fragments of jade amidst a landscape of unpolished granite.

The feast was held in the largest communal hall, a longhouse of hewn timber and animal hides. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, woodsmoke, and the sweet, potent smell of fermented grain—their local wine. Women in colorful beads and leather skirts moved through the crowd, bearing platters of food and jugs of drink. The sounds of laughter and boisterous conversation filled the space, a din of life that was, for a moment, almost reassuring.

Su Moli accepted a gourd cup of the offered wine, bringing it to his lips. The liquid was sweet on his tongue, cloying, with a faintly floral aftertaste he didn't recognize. He was about to take another sip when the main entrance was thrust open, and two figures ducked under the lintel, their massive forms blotting out the last rays of the setting sun.

Ice. Pure, crystalline ice flooded his veins. The cup in his hand trembled, a faint slosh of wine spilling over his knuckles.

It was them. The giant, Derek, a mountain of black stone and coiled muscle, his face a mask of unreadable stone. And beside him, Laron, whose wolfish grin was already searching the crowd, his dark eyes landing on them with a predatory precision that was unmistakable. The nightmare of that first night, the brutal violation, the helpless shudders of their own bodies against those unyielding frames—it all came rushing back in a single, sourceless wave of panic.

Luo Yue Ning went rigid beside him. Su Moli could feel the shift in his companion's Qi, a subtle, cold pressure building like the air before a thunderstorm. He dared not look at Luo Yue Ning, for he knew exactly what he would see: a fury so cold and pure it could shatter stone. He felt it too. A rage so thick it clogged his throat, turning the sweet wine to ash on his tongue.

They should have known. They should have seen this coming. The clans were small, interconnected. These two beasts were obviously men of standing—their physical dominance, the arrogant way they carried themselves… of course they were leaders. Of course they would be here. The trust they had so foolishly extended was now a hook in their own flesh.

Goro, the young chief, strode forward to greet the newcomers with a hearty clap on Laron's shoulder. "Derek! Laron! We were beginning to think the hunt had claimed you. Come, come, the best seats are saved for our greatest hunters."

Hunters. The word felt like a brand. Su Moli's stomach churned. He watched, a puppet with severed strings, as the two men were led through the crowd. They didn't look at him or Luo Yue Ning. Not yet. They were playing a game, savoring the anticipation.

Goro turned to them, his face beaming. "Cultivators, you are in luck! These are our clan's most renowned warriors. You must have shared stories at the last gathering? Derek, Laron, you will be honored to sit with our esteemed guests. The seats of honor, side by side!"

Su Moli's throat constricted. Refusal was impossible. It would be a grave insult, a breach of hospitality that could sour their already fragile standing. They were guests, and worse, they were perceived as women—fragile, beautiful objects to be shared and displayed. To reject the chief's arrangement would be to admit weakness, or worse, to reveal the shame that had already transpired.

He saw Luo Yue Ning's hand, concealed in the folds of his sleeve, clench into a fist so tight his knuckles were white. A single beat of silence. Then, his friend's voice, calm and smooth as polished jade, cut through the tension: "We are honored."

The words tasted of poison.

The seating arrangement was a new circle of hell. Derek settled to Su Moli's right, the sheer mass of him pushing the air from Su Moli's personal space. Laron dropped onto the thick furs beside Luo Yue Ning, his muscular thigh brushing against the celestial being's robe.

Derek lifted his own gourd cup, his expression neutral, bland, as if the man had never forced Su Moli's hips into the dirt. "The Honorable Su is even more radiant in the firelight. The last time we met, I felt I did not have the time to properly appreciate your... features."

The words were a slow, deliberate torture. He was rewriting the assault as a missed opportunity for appreciation. He was daring him to object. Su Moli's fingers trembled around his cup, but he forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. "The night was dark. It is no wonder your recollections are faulty."

Laron laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the table. "Faulty? No, my memory is excellent. I remember every single sound you made, Honorable Luo. Every… detail. You are a memorable guest."

Luo Yue Ning’s face was a painted mask of porcelain serenity, but the air around him grew frigid. Su Moli felt a wave of cold Qi emanating from him, a warning. "One would hope that a hunter of such renown has more worthy memories to dwell upon than the distress of a passing stranger."

The barb was sharp, but Laron only grinned wider, his white teeth flashing. "Oh, the distress was the most beautiful part."

Su Moli's insides were a storm of acid and bile. He had to take a sip of his wine to keep from retching. The liquid burned, but it also coated his throat. He took another sip. And another. The floral taste was growing stronger, warmer. It was a distraction from the barbed conversation, a small comfort.

The wine was served in endless rounds. Toasts were made to the hunt. To the clan. To the ancestors. Su Moli and Luo Yue Ning were forced to lift their cups in kind, their social graces a thin veneer over a seething pit of fury. With each gulp, a strange heat began to bloom in Su Moli's chest. It wasn't the burning of alcohol, but a slow, creeping, liquid warmth that pooled in his belly and began to seep outward, making his skin tingle. His cheeks, normally cool and pale, began to flush a soft, rosy pink.

He saw a matching bloom of color on Luo Yue Ning’s cheeks. His friend's sharp, cold eyes had lost some of their edge, their focus turning inward, hazy. He blinked rapidly, his lashes casting long, soft shadows.

This was wrong. This was very wrong.

Su Moli's heart began to hammer against his ribs. The warmth inside him was not the bone-deep comfort of a fine spirit. It was a searching heat, a liquid fire that was seeking out dark, hidden places. It was making his nipples stiffen beneath the thin silk of his robe. It was making his thighs feel weak, the sensitive skin between them feeling hot and slick.

He looked at the wine in his cup. The rich, floral scent. The way it was affecting him with such sickening speed. It wasn't ordinary wine. It was a woman's wine. He had heard of such things in the outer sects—potions to prime a woman's body for a man's pleasure, to lower her inhibitions, to make her burn for a touch that she would otherwise despise.

He wasn't a woman.

But his body was responding as if it were.

He shot a panicked look at Luo Yue Ning. His friend’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling under the azure silk with a visible, unsteady rhythm. His eyes, when they met Su Moli's, were wide with a terrible understanding. They were trapped. Not just by social custom, but by their own treacherous flesh.

The poison was in their blood. And the predators were watching.

Laron leaned over, his dark hand landing on Luo Yue Ning's knee with a proprietary gentleness that made Su Moli's skin crawl. "You look flushed, Honorable Luo. The wine is strong, is it not? Do not fight it. Let it warm you." His hand squeezed, firm and possessive.

"D-don't touch me," Luo Yue Ning stammered, his voice lacking its usual frost. The heat was dissolving his edges, making his defiance sound like a weak, trembling plea.

Derek mirrored the gesture, his arm sliding around Su Moli's narrow waist and pulling him flush against the hard, burning wall of his chest. The contact was electric, jolting through the haze of desire blooming in his gut. Su Moli gasped, his body arching back against the man's pectorals before his mind could command it to flee.

"Shhh," Derek murmured, his breath hot against Su Moli's ear. "The wine is potent. You will feel better if you relax. We are all friends here."

"Friends?" Su Moli gasped, planting his hands on Derek's solid forearm, trying to push it away. The man’s skin was like hot iron. "This is not… friendship."

"Of course it is," Derek said, his other hand sliding from Su Moli's waist, over his belly, and coming to rest on the underside of his pectoral. He squeezed, a slow, appraising touch. Su Moli’s mind screamed ‘stop,’ but his body shuddered, a wave of liquid fire surging from the point of contact. "You were so tense the other night. We just want to help you… relax."

Su Moli tried to pull away. He pushed at Derek's chest, his movements clumsy and weak. His limbs felt like they were wrapped in cotton. The aroma of Derek's skin—smoke, clean sweat, a wild, male musk—was intoxicating. It wasn't an animal smell; it was the scent of power, and his drug-addled body was responding to it with a shameful, desperate hunger.

"I am not… a toy for your amusement…" he gasped, his words slurring.

"But you are so much fun to play with, my little jewel," Laron’s voice drawled from the other side. Su Moli twisted his head to see his friend. Luo Yue Ning was half-collapsed against Laron's chest, the man’s massive hand splayed across his lower belly, his thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles just above the waistband of his trousers. Luo Yue Ning’s eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted, a look of such profound agony and humiliation on his face that it broke Su Moli’s heart. This was their fate. To be reduced to this.

Under the guise of the feasting crowd, Derek’s hand

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The air in the cavern hung thick and heavy, laden with the mingled scents of sweat, musk, and the faint, ethereal fragrance that still clung to their immortal robes. Su Muli and Luo Yue Ning stood side by side, their bodies still trembling from the ordeal that had only just begun. The rough-hewn stone walls, slick with condensation, seemed to close in around them, the flickering torches casting dancing shadows that mocked their fallen dignity. The chill of the deep earth seeped through the soles of their feet, a pervasive cold that crept into their bones, a stark contrast to the searing heat that pooled low in their bellies.

Their gazes met for a fleeting instant, a wordless exchange of shared humiliation and resigned sorrow, before they tore their eyes away, unable to bear the reflection of their own disgrace in the other’s gaze. Su Muli, once the aloof and untouchable Celestial Venerable, felt the oppressive weight of his new reality pressing down upon him. His skin, once pale and luminous as the finest jade, now bore a faint sheen of nervous sweat, and his slender frame, so often garbed in billowing celestial silk, felt unbearably exposed. He swallowed, his throat dry, forcing a calm he did not feel. *This is the man who took me,* he thought, the mantra a bitter comfort. *It is not the first time I have been breached. I must endure.*

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning, the peerless Sovereign of the Celestial Realm, mirrored his inner struggle. His features, a breathtaking blend of icy strength and seductive beauty, were tight with suppressed agony. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. The shame of their position was almost a physical entity, a suffocating blanket that smothered his pride. *I have never bowed my head, not even to the heavens themselves.* The thought was a bitter, shattered thing. *And now, I must bow to this barbarian’s will.* He too forced a breath, slow and deliberate. *It is what it is. This fate was sealed the moment we stepped into this domain.*

Their forced equilibrium shattered as they looked up and met the eyes of their captors. Derek and Larry stood before them, their immense, obsidian bodies seeming to swallow the light from the torches. Derek’s gaze was a flat, unchallenging stare, a predator’s cool assessment that held a deep, mocking amusement. Larry’s lips were curled into a lecherous grin, his eyes glinting with a schoolboy’s cruel anticipation as he watched their struggle. The unspoken, *We own you now,* was louder than any shout. Heat flooded their cheeks. Su Muli’s ears burned a brilliant scarlet, while a delicate flush painted Luo Yue Ning’s alabaster cheekbones. They turned their faces away, unable to hold that predatory stare. Inside them, a quiet sigh of acceptance mingled with the churning storm of humiliation. *It was inevitable. There is no escape.*

“Well, well,” Larry’s voice rumbled, a deep bass that vibrated in the stone floor. “Our little celestial flowers have finally decided to bloom. Took you long enough to stop your trembling. Don’t tell us you’re getting shy now, not after our last… encounter.”

“Silence,” Luo Yue Ning bit out, his voice a whisper of its former command, but it held no real power.

Derek chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “We’ve only just begun to play with our new toys. Now, you know the game. Show us how much you want it. Show us how eager you are to be filled.”

The words were a lash across their naked souls. Su Muli’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. Every fiber of his being screamed to resist, to lash out with the power that still hummed faintly in his dantian. But he also knew it was useless. The talismans the barbarians had used leeched their power away, leaving them as fragile as mortal maidens.

Shamefully, slowly, they moved. With trembling, snow-pale hands, they reached behind them, blindly searching for the thick, pulsing shafts that awaited them. Luo Yue Ning’s fingers brushed against Larry’s member, the sheer heat and size of it making him recoil. He gritted his teeth and forced his hand to close around the base. The skin was hot, taut, and impossibly thick, a foreign and terrifying object in his elegant, calligrapher’s hand.

Su Muli did the same, his fingers finding Derek’s colossal manhood. A wave of revulsion washed over him, so potent it nearly made him retch. *This… this is what I am to take inside me?* He squeezed his eyes shut, a silent plea for strength.

With agonizing slowness, they acted. Their other hand reached back to spread the cheeks of their own buttocks, the skin cool and smooth against their clammy fingers. They guided the ruddy, swollen heads of the black cocks towards their own virgin-tight openings. The first touch of the hot, slick flesh against their puckered entrances sent a shiver of pure terror through them. With a final, shuddering breath of surrender, they began to lower themselves.

A searing, tearing pain, as if their very bodies were being split, erupted through Su Muli. “Aahnn…!” The sound was torn from his throat, a high, sharp cry of agony. He froze, his body locked in a rigid arch, every muscle screaming. The thick crown had only just breached the ring of muscle, and it felt like a white-hot blade of fire.

Luo Yue Ning suffered a similar fate. The initial pressure of the massive head against his rosebud was overwhelming. As he forced himself down, the stretch was a burning, devouring pain. “Ah…!” he gasped, his voice cracking. His knuckles were white where he gripped Larry’s thighs for support, his own legs threatening to buckle. The pain was a stark reminder of their violation, a physical testament to their loss of control.

They paused, hovering in a state of excruciating suspension. The pain was a living thing, clawing at their insides. They gritted their teeth, sweat beading on their brows. “Ah… *hnn*…!” The small, pathetic sounds of their suffering were the only noise in the cavern, a stark counterpoint to the distant, musical laughter of the slave girls.

*Look at me,* Su Muli thought, a wave of self-loathing so profound it numbed the physical pain for a second. *Hanging here, impaling myself on this… this beast’s cock. I am no longer a man. I am a vessel. A receptacle.*

*What have I become?* Luo Yue Ning’s mind echoed the same despair. *I am willingly taking this barbarian’s whole, filthy cock into my clean body.* A dark, bitter laugh formed in his throat but died before escape. *I am a whore. A willingly debauched whore. I deserve this for coming to this cursed place.*

Yet, the agony began, sluggishly, to abate, giving way to a dull, throbbing ache. The path had been forced open. They had to finish what they had started. With gritted teeth and tears of shame pricking at their delicate lash lines, they forced their hips lower, inch by torturous inch.

The feeling of their own body voluntarily swallowing that monstrous organ was the most degrading aspect of all. Their inner walls, tight, hot, and virginal, were forced to stretch and accommodate the rigid, veined shaft. They could feel every throb of the barbarian’s pulse, the terrible heat of his blood. They were being filled, not just physically, but existentially, their very essence being colonized by this foreign, bestial presence.

Finally, with a choked sob, they sat fully, their buttocks meeting the rough skin of the black men’s thighs. The massive cocks were buried to the hilt inside them, the thick heads pressing against a deep, hidden spot that sent a jolt of sharp, undeniable pleasure through their tortured bodies.

“*Mnnn*…” It was a sound they could not suppress, a throaty moan that escaped their lips. The blend of searing pain and this new, electric pleasure was a disorienting, terrifying cocktail. Their bodies, traitors to their minds, grew soft and pliant. The rigid tension in their frames melted into a warm, languid weakness. They slumped slightly, their slender forms leaning against the massive chests of their captors for support they despised needing.

Just as the shame of that moan was starting to consume them, they heard it. A low, satisfied grunt from Derek. A huff of pure, masculine contentment from Larry. The sounds were of a man who had just taken his rightful prize, and it was a blade to their hearts.

All the while, in the background, the atmosphere of the banquet continued. From a nearby couch, they could hear the wet, sucking sounds of another girl’s mouth at work, punctuated by her soft, rhythmic moans. “Mmm… yes… Master…” The sounds were artful, practiced, a stark contrast to their own raw, clumsy surrender.

A wave of profound, encompassing sadness flooded them. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even fear. It was a cold, hollow grief for the men they had been, for the celestial heights they would never walk again. They were anchored to the earth now, filled to the brim with barbarian cock, a plaything for savages.

They were not new to this. The memory of their initial capture, the first shock of violation, was a fresh scar. Every time they thought they had plumbed the depths of their own debasement, a new layer was revealed. They were mortified by the unwilling, traitorous pleasure that coiled in their guts. Their bodies, once the pinnacle of ascetic control, now responded with shameful eagerness to this brutal intrusion. Their minds screamed in protest, but their flesh betrayed them. A subtle, insidious heat began to spread from the point of their deepest penetration, a warmth that promised a dangerous, addictive release.

They could do nothing but accept. They were toys. Playthings. Their only purpose now was to be used, to be filled, to provide amusement for the black giants who held them captive. The fight was gone. Only the stark, humiliating reality of their position remained.

“Your little holes are still so tight,” Derek murmured, his voice a low, buzzing rumble against Su Muli’s ear. “Like a virgin’s. It seems you were born for nothing else but to be filled with a man’s tool.”

“Pah!” Larry spat out a laugh, his hips shifting beneath Luo Yue Ning. “They’re so tight because they’re choosing to clench in shame. Look at them, too proud to admit they love the feel of it. But their bodies know the truth. They are natural little cocksleeves.”

The words felt like brands on their skin. *They’re right.* The thought was a sickening poison. *I am so tight because I am holding back the flood of my own desire.* Su Muli cursed himself, a thousand silent, venomous words directed at his own sullied spirit.

Collecting the last shreds of their composure, they began to move. With a soft, undulating motion of their hips, they started a slow, agonizing rhythm, lifting and lowering themselves on the engorged shafts. The movement sent fresh waves of sensation through them, and a soft, helpless moan escaped their parted lips.

“Mnn… ah… *nnn*…” It was a sound of purest shame, a honeyed confession of their fall.

As their bodies started to move in tandem, a trembling wave of motion, one of them glanced up. Their eyes met across the short distance between them. For a moment, they were not Su Muli and Luo Yue Ning, the Celestial Venerable and the Sovereign. They were just two men, two souls, drowning in the same sea of degradation. They saw the other’s flushed cheeks, the glistening tears at the corner of their eye, the stark shame in their beautiful faces. The shared recognition was a second, more profound violation.

A fiery blush erupted over both their faces, and they tore their gazes away, unable to witness the other’s ruin. The shame of it, of knowing that someone else, an equal, was witnessing their fall from grace, was the deepest cut of all. They were no longer isolated in their shame; they were companions in a shared hell.

And so, they moved. Their bodies, supple and graceful even in submission, rose and fell, their round, pale buttocks slapping softly against the thick, muscled thighs of their conque

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The pleasure was relentless, a tidal wave that crashed over them again and again, leaving nothing but the raw, pulsing need at its core. It was no longer a battle; it was a drowning. The shame was still there, a hot, clinging thing in the back of their minds, but it had been buried under so many layers of ecstasy that it felt distant, almost unreal. Sobs hitched in Su Moli’s throat, his breath a staccato rhythm against the massive chest he was pressed against. The world had narrowed to the heat of Derek’s body, the impossible fullness stretching him, the slide of slick skin against slick skin. When had his hips started moving on their own? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that when he stopped, the emptiness was a cold void he couldn't bear.

He lifted his head slightly, his vision blurry with unshed tears of pleasure. His muscles screamed, but he pushed himself up, his palms flat on the dark, sweat-slicked plains of Derek’s chest. A ragged breath escaped him as he began to move, a slow, agonizing pivot of his hips that made him gasp. *It’s just pleasure,* a treacherous, honeyed voice whispered in his mind. *It’s just… physical. You’ve been fucked before. What does it matter if you take it, if you ride it? There’s no one to see. There’s no shame in feeling good.* The lies were sweet and soothing, a balm for his shredded pride. He let the thought take root, and with it, his movements became bolder. He rose and fell, a clumsy, desperate rhythm, his pale, slender body a stark contrast of beauty against the brutal, black mountain beneath him.

Luo Yue Ning was a mirror of shame and surrender. He watched his own hands, looking alien as they gripped Larry’s broad shoulders for balance. His body moved in perfect counterpoint to Su Moli’s, a slow, rolling grind as he impaled himself again and again on the massive shaft that sheathed him. The pain was a distant memory, replaced by a molten, addictive pleasure that coiled low in his belly. A sob almost escaped him, a sound of pure, self-loathing. *I am a disgrace.* He thought it, but the thought had no power. The feeling was real, the feeling was now. *Just enjoy it,* his mind urged, and the voice was not his own, but the voice of his own body. *You are nothing now but this. So be it. Be this.*

Derek’s laugh was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through Su Moli’s bones. He didn't move, his massive hands resting loosely on the pale, narrow hips that were working so frantically above him. He watched the desperate, beautiful creature ride him, his dark eyes filled with a lazy, possessive amusement. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with mockery. “The ice-cold Immortal Lord. Now a needy little bitch, bouncing on my cock like a whore who hasn't been fed in a month. Is this what all that high and mighty training was for? To learn how to take a black man’s dick?”

Larry grunted in agreement, his calloused hand coming up to cup Luo Yue Ning’s chin, forcing the immortal’s gaze to meet his own. His grin was wolfish, sharp and cruel. “Man, you were so proud. So cold. Had to look down your nose at everything. Now look. Your pretty nose is buried in my chest while your ass is trying to swallow me whole. You love it, don't you? This is what you were made for, pretty boy. Being stuffed full by a real man.”

The words were brands, searing into the fragile lie of control Su Moli had just built for himself. *A whore.* The word echoed, a death knell for the last vestiges of his dignity. He didn’t deny it. The denial died on his tongue, tasting like ash. Instead, a terrible, thrilling shame washed over him. *He’s right. Look at me. Look at what I’m doing.* “You’re… right,” he breathed, the words so quiet they were almost inaudible. The confession felt like a violation and a liberation all at once. He was a disgrace. He was a whore. He was a beautiful, desperate thing on a beast’s lap, and the acceptance of it made his hips stutter, a fresh wave of slick heat flooding down his thighs.

Inside his own mind, a part of him screamed in horror. *What are you saying?!* But that voice was small, lost in the roar of blood in his ears. He saw Luo Yue Ning’s gaze flick to him, a flash of shared, horrified understanding in the shimmering depths of those eyes before they both looked away, too ashamed to hold the connection.

“Ah… aah… ngh…” The sounds that fell from Luo Yue Ning’s lips were no longer words. They were pure, animalistic cries. His body had learned the rhythm, his hips finding a desperate, frantic pace. He was no longer riding Larry; he was possessed by the act. The shame was a fire, and the pleasure was the fuel. “I… I’m… a-aah… so… low…” he whimpered, the words a broken apology to his own reflection. “Such… a… slut…”

“That’s it, bitch,” Larry growled, his hips beginning to buck up to meet her downward thrusts, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. “Say it. Say what you are. You’re nothing but a hole for my black cock.”

“I am… a hole… for your… black… cock…” Luo Yue Ning repeated, the words bitter and sweet on his tongue. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The confession was the final key. The door to his old self slammed shut.

Su Moli’s own tears were hot on his face. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, but the pain was a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure. He felt Larry’s thick fingers wrap around one of his nipples, which had swollen into a sensitive, pink pearl on his chest. The rough pinch sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin, and he let out a high, keening wail. “Ah! Yes! Please!”

“Please what?” Derek’s voice was a cruel purr in his ear. “Please touch your pretty tits? You’re getting tits too, you know. Getting soft. Getting fat. Perfect for a man to play with.”

Luo Yue Ning felt a similar sensation as his own chest was roughly kneaded. The skin was sensitive, the flesh beneath it feeling oddly tender and swollen. In his mind’s eye, he saw an image of himself, his chest soft and womanly, a perfect, pale mound under a dark hand. The image was horrifying. The image was intoxicating. *What is happening to me?*

The entire hall was a cacophony of debauchery. Wet, slapping sounds punctuated every thrust, a percussive beat for the symphony of moans, cries, and mocking laughter. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and sex. Su Moli’s mind went blank as a wave of pleasure crested and broke, his entire body arching as a gush of clear fluid splashed onto Derek’s stomach. A sob of pure, unadulterated bliss tore from his throat, even as he felt his consciousness shatter into a thousand glittering pieces of light. It wasn't just an orgasm; it was an annihilation of the self.

A moment later, Luo Yue Ning followed, his body stiffening into a bow of pure agony and bliss before collapsing onto Larry’s chest, a shuddering, weeping mess. His release was a silent scream, a thousand tiny needles of pleasure that left him breathless.

In the aftermath, the pleasure receded, leaving a hollow, crashing wave of desolation in its wake. The world was quiet except for the rasping of their breaths. The heat was still there, the feeling of being full, but it no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt like a cage.

A profound, soul-crushing acceptance washed over them. They were not just here. They belonged here. The thought was not a rebellion; it was a surrender. A soft, internal weeping began, a silent dirge for the men they used to be. Every blessed, relaxing throb of the cocks inside them, every delicious, boneless sigh of their own bodies, felt like a betrayal. The more comfortable they became, the more they felt their own pathetic, fragile humanity slipping away. *I am so weak. So lost. There is nothing left.*

Su Moli forced his head up. His eyes were glassy, still swimming with the remnants of his climax. Across from him, he saw Luo Yue Ning do the same. Their gazes met, and in that single, devastating instant, they saw everything. They saw the lingering, lustful haze in each other’s eyes. They saw the swollen lips, the flushed cheeks, the raw need that had not yet been sated. They saw their own degradation reflected perfectly in the other.

A violent blush, born of pure shame, erupted across both of their faces. It was the scarlet of mortification, not of passion. They both knew. They knew that for a few precious, terrible minutes, the pleasure had been everything. That they had craved it. That they had *wanted* to be used. The knowledge hung between them like a physical wall. Their eyes widened in shared panic for a millisecond before they both flinched, breaking the connection as if they had been burned. They stared down at the dark chests they were resting against, refusing to look up, to acknowledge the silent, damning testimony in the other’s face.

Silence. The only sounds were the deep, steady breaths of the men beneath them and the frantic, uneven catch of their own. The silence was a vacuum, filling with all the things they could not say. The lingering pleasure had curdled into a thick, cloying shame. Every moment of silence deepened the pit in their stomachs. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for what? For the inevitable. For the next wave of humiliation.

Su Moli’s body was a ruin. His limbs felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and useless. A fine tremor ran through his frame, a constant reminder of his physical and psychological violation. His mind was a wasteland, dotted with the crumpled ruins of his pride and his honor. He had no more fight. His spirit had been shattered into a million shards, and it had no sharp edges left to cut with. He curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to the heat of Derek’s skin, a little creature seeking warmth in a cold, dark cave.

Luo Yue Ning did the same, his body instinctively seeking the shelter of Larry’s massive frame. He felt the trembling of his own limbs and the hot sting of tears he had no strength to shed. He was a ghost in his own body, watching from a great distance as the shell of his former self clung to a barbarian in a hall of sin. He was pathetic. He was broken. He was a conquered nation, laying on the chest of its king. And in the quiet of his own mind, he knew that he would do it all again. That was the worst truth of all.

The mocking laughter of Derek and LaRay still echoed in the wide stone chamber, bouncing off rough-hewn walls and disappearing into shadowed corners. Su Muli felt the sound wrap around him like a physical weight, pressing down on his shoulders, his chest, his very soul. He could not move. He could not speak. The firelight from the brazier cast flickering orange shapes across the floor, and he watched them dance with a dull, distant awareness, as though observing the world from the bottom of a deep, dark well.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning remained perfectly still, his pale fingers curled against the cool stone, his breath shallow and uneven. The two of them had been left kneeling on the cold floor, their bodies still slick with the remnants of what had just transpired, their skin flushed and tender. The air smelled of smoke and sweat and something else—something heavy and intimate that clung to the back of Su Muli’s throat.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Derek’s voice rumbled from somewhere above, low and thick with amusement. He stood with his massive arms crossed over his chest, the firelight glinting off the sheen of his black skin. Every ridge of muscle caught the glow, casting deep shadows that made him seem carved from obsidian. “Or maybe you’ve just realized where you are.”

LaRay let out a short, barking laugh from his place beside his companion. He was slightly leaner than Derek, but no less imposing—broad-shouldered, long-limbed, with a lazy confidence that made every movement seem deliberate. He tilted his head, studying the two kneeling figures with undisguised satisfaction. “I think they’ve figured it out. Look at them. Quiet as mice. Not a single word of protest left in those pretty mouths.”

Su Muli’s jaw tightened. The words cut deeper than he wanted to admit, because they were true. The fire of defiance that had once burned so bright within him had been smothered, doused by exhaustion and shame and the relentless breaking of his will. He could feel the ghost of hands on his body, the memory of heat and pressure and overwhelming fullness that had left him gasping and trembling. His muscles ached. His thighs were wet. And the worst part, the part that made his stomach clench with self-loathing, was that he could still feel the echo of pleasure trembling somewhere deep inside him, like a note still ringing after the instrument had fallen silent.

Luo Yue Ning shifted beside him, and Su Muli felt the brief brush of his shoulder. He turned his head just enough to meet the other man’s gaze. Luo Yue Ning’s eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something in them—a shared understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of their fall. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.

Derek stepped forward, the heavy thud of his boots against the stone floor sending a vibration through the ground. He reached down, and Su Muli did not flinch as those thick, powerful hands closed around his body, lifting him from the floor as though he weighed nothing. The heat of Derek’s skin seeped through the thin fabric still clinging to Su Muli’s frame, and he felt his face burn with fresh shame. He hung limp in the giant’s arms, his head lolling back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he was carried through the arched doorway into the inner chamber.

The room beyond was smaller, more private. A low bed covered in dark furs occupied the center, and the walls were hung with animal pelts and woven tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and conquest. A single oil lamp flickered on a stone ledge, casting long, dancing shadows that made the room feel alive, watchful. LaRay followed close behind, Luo Yue Ning held easily in his arms, and he deposited the immortal onto the furs with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Kneel,” Derek said. Not a command, but a statement. An expectation.

Su Muli’s body moved before his mind had fully agreed. He slid off the bed, his knees hitting the fur-covered floor with a soft thud. Beside him, Luo Yue Ning did the same. They knelt side by side, their shoulders nearly touching, their heads bowed. The furs beneath them were coarse and warm, and the smell of animal hide and smoke filled Su Muli’s nostrils. He kept his eyes lowered, staring at the dark lines of his own pale fingers where they rested on his thighs.

“You know what comes next,” LaRay said from somewhere behind them. His voice was lighter than Derek’s, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that cut through the air. “You’ve learned the first lesson. Now it’s time for the second.”

Derek stepped into Su Muli’s line of sight, his massive frame blocking the firelight from the outer room. He stood over the kneeling immortal, his shadow swallowing him whole. “Take it off,” he said, gesturing to the torn remnants of Su Muli’s robes.

Su Muli’s fingers trembled as he reached for the fabric. The silk was ruined, torn and stained, and he pulled it away from his body in slow, deliberate motions. Each piece that fell exposed another patch of his pale skin, another reminder of his vulnerability. He felt the air on his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, and he shivered. Beside him, Luo Yue Ning was doing the same, his movements equally stiff, equally reluctant. They worked in silence, the rustle of fabric the only sound.

When they were both naked, kneeling on the furs with their hands resting on their thighs, Derek let out a low hum of approval. “Good. Now lower. Hands on the ground. Knees wide.”

Su Muli’s throat tightened. He could feel the weight of the command pressing down on him, and his body responded before his mind could rebel. He leaned forward, placing his palms flat against the fur, and spread his knees apart. The position was degrading, exposing, and he felt a wave of heat rise to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Beside him, Luo Yue Ning assumed the same pose, his movements matching Su Muli’s beat for beat. They were two pale figures bent low, their heads almost touching the ground, their bodies offered up like offerings on an altar.

LaRay circled them slowly, his boots crunching on the stone floor. “Look at that,” he murmured. “Two immortals, kneeling like good little whores. Who would have thought it would be so easy?”

“They’re learning,” Derek replied. He had moved to stand directly in front of Su Muli, his legs planted wide, his body a wall of black muscle. Su Muli could see the outline of his erection, thick and dark against his thigh, and his mouth went dry. “Open,” Derek said.

Su Muli understood. He parted his lips, his tongue resting against the bottom of his mouth, and leaned forward. The first touch of the massive shaft against his lips sent a jolt through his entire body. It was warm, heavy, and smelled of salt and musk. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Derek’s hand came down on the back of his head, not pushing, just resting there, a silent reminder of what was expected.

He opened wider and took the head into his mouth.

The taste was overwhelming—bitter, earthy, alive. Su Muli’s eyes stung with unshed tears as he worked his tongue along the underside, trying to remember what he had done before, trying to mimic the motions that had earned him approval earlier. His jaw ached from the stretch, and his mind swirled with a storm of emotions he could not name. Beside him, he could hear the wet sounds of Luo Yue Ning doing the same, and the knowledge that they were both here, both on their knees, both performing this degrading act, sent a fresh wave of shame through him.

Luo Yue Ning’s mind was a battlefield of self-reproach. As his lips stretched around the thick shaft of LaRay’s cock, he could not stop the stream of thoughts that poured through his consciousness. *Look at you,* he thought, his tongue sliding along the heated flesh. *Look at what you’ve become. You were a master of the celestial realm. You commanded the stars. And now you’re on your knees, your mouth full of black cock, and you’re arching your back like you want more.* His fingers dug into the fur, white-knuckled, as he took the length deeper. *This is the second time. Only the second time, and already your lips know exactly what to do. Already your tongue remembers the shape of it. You’re not being forced. You’re learning. You’re becoming.*

He hated himself for the thought, but he could not deny the truth. There was a part of him, buried deep beneath the layers of pride and honor, that responded to this. That craved the weight of the body above him, the heat of the flesh in his mouth, the sense of being utterly consumed. The shame of it was intoxicating, and the pleasure that coiled in his belly was a betrayal he could not escape.

Beside him, Su Muli was fighting a similar battle. His eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks, as he worked his mouth over Derek’s cock. His mind was a cacophony of self-loathing. *You’re nothing but a whore now,* he told himself, his tongue tracing a line along the ridge of the shaft. *A pretty little slut with a hungry mouth and an empty hole. You should be screaming. You should be fighting. Instead, you’re licking like a dog, begging for more.* The bitter taste of pre-cum spread across his tongue, and he swallowed, the motion drawing a low groan from Derek’s chest. *And you like it,* the voice in his head hissed. *That’s the worst part. You fucking like it.*

Derek’s hand tightened in Su Muli’s hair, not painfully, but possessively. “You’re getting better at that,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Your mouth knows what it’s doing. Your tongue is smarter than your head. I think you were made for this.”

Su Muli could not respond. His mouth was full, his jaw aching, but the words burrowed into his mind and took root. *Made for this.* The phrase echoed in his thoughts, and the worst part was that it did not feel entirely like an insult.

After long, aching minutes, Derek shifted his weight and pulled back, his cock slipping from Su Muli’s lips with a wet sound. Su Muli gasped, his mouth empty, and looked up with dazed, questioning eyes. LaRay did the same, stepping back from Luo Yue Ning, who also looked up with a flushed, bewildered expression. The two immortals knelt there, mouths slick, eyes glassy, breathing hard.

Derek looked down at them with a dark, satisfied smile. “Well?” he asked. His tone was light, almost conversational, but there was a sharp edge of mockery beneath it. “What do you think? Is it good?”

Su Muli’s mind went blank. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. The heat in his face intensified, spreading down his neck and across his chest. He could feel Luo Yue Ning’s gaze on him, seeking an answer he did not have. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, quiet and raw, stripped of all pretense.

“It’s… good.”

The admission hung in the air like smoke, acrid and inescapable.

LaRay let out a low whistle, his eyebrows rising. “Good, is it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Luo Yue Ning’s voice was even quieter when he spoke, barely above a whisper. “I… like it.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the full weight of what he had said crashed down on him. He clapped a hand over his lips, his eyes going wide with horror. Su Muli stared at him, equally horrified, and for a moment the two of them simply looked at each other, two fallen souls trapped in the same nightmare.

Then the laughter came.

Derek threw his head back and roared, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. LaRay joined in, his laugh sharp and triumphant, slapping his thigh with a loud crack. “Did you hear that?” LaRay crowed. “They like it! They’re saying it out loud!”

Su Muli wanted to disappear. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His face was burning so hot he was sure the flush would never fade. He could feel the shame crawling over his skin, settling into his bones, becoming a part of him. Without thinking, he leaned forward and took Derek’s cock back into his mouth, desperate to silence the accusing voices

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The lingering heat of their own shamelessness still burned in Su Muli’s cheeks as he caught the knowing, mocking smiles curling on Derek and Larry’s faces. The brief, dizzying pride he had felt—the wicked satisfaction of having taken that enormous black shaft into his mouth, of having tasted its salt and musk—now curdled into a scalding wave of mortification. *How could I have been so proud of that?* He had actually felt a flicker of triumph, as if he had won some depraved contest. Now, under those dark, amused gazes, he could barely stand the weight of his own shame.

Luo Yue Ning’s fingers tightened against the massive thigh he was still latched onto. He, too, had felt that moment of strange, perverse victory. But the look in Derek’s eyes—a knowing, almost condescending glint—shattered it into a thousand pieces of humiliation. He dropped his gaze instantly, his cheeks, usually so cool and composed, now stained a deep, mortified crimson. He had no right to be proud. He was a man, a being of celestial grace, and he was kneeling here, mouth full of a savage’s cock, enjoying it.

They both ducked their heads, a synchronous, shameful movement, and returned their mouths to their work. The thick, veined flesh slid back between Su Muli’s lips with an obscene, wet sound. He forced himself to focus on the texture, the taste, the sheer size of it stretching his jaw, trying to drown out the sound of the giants’ low, rumbling laughter.

“Look at them,” Derek’s voice boomed, a slow, mocking drawl that cut through the heavy air. “Two proud little cultivators, licking my cock like it’s the finest elixir. You were puffing up like roosters, weren’t you? Thinking you’d done something grand.”

Larry’s chuckle was a deep, earthy rumble from behind his chest. “They’re just eager bitches, brother. New to the kennel, still trying to prove they’re good at their only trick. Sucking dick.”

The words were like whips of fire against Su Muli’s skin. His face burned so hot he felt the air around him shimmer. Yet, from the depths of his shame, a strange, traitorous thought surfaced. He *was* eager. He wanted to be good at this. The admission, fleeting and vile, made him hollow out his cheeks with renewed vigor, sliding his head up and down the massive, rigid length with a hungry, desperate fervor.

“Yes…” Luo Yue Ning’s voice was a breathless, husky whisper that surprised even himself. He didn’t know where the reply came from. It was as if the words were dredged up from a newly awakened, shameful part of his soul. He didn’t dare look up. He pressed his lips tighter around Larry’s cock, his tongue swirling around the sensitive crown as he took it deeper, his own treacherous mind recoiling at the sound of his voice.

*”I’m a disgrace,”* Su Muli thought, his body moving with a frantic, eager rhythm. *”A disgraced, filthy, useless slut for black cock. That’s all I am now. All I ever was.”* The self-flagellation was a strange comfort, a way to rationalize the pleasure that was building in his gut, the ache in his jaw, the wet emptiness he felt clenching between his legs. He was a born cocksucker. A natural. The very thought made him moan, a hum of vibration around the thick flesh in his mouth.

Luo Yue Ning’s mind was a maelstrom of similar thoughts. He ran his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Larry’s shaft, laving it like it was a favorite treat. *”This is my place. On my knees. Eating cock. Begging for it.”* The degradation was a hot, tight band around his chest, squeezing his heart with shame even as it sent a bolt of raw, illicit pleasure straight to his own neglected, aching cock. He took Larry’s full length down his throat, swallowing around the tip, feeling the man’s whole body shudder with a grunt of approval. The approval was a balm and a poison, and he sucked harder.

Derek and Larry did not hold back their derision. “Dumb little sluts. You think you’re easing the way? You’re just making us harder,” Derek rasped, his hand coming down to grip Su Muli’s silken hair, not to guide, but to mock. “Look at you. On your knees, choking on me, and your fucking hole is probably dripping.”

“I bet it is,” Larry agreed, his voice a guttural growl. He pulled out of Luo Yue Ning’s mouth with a wet pop, leaving the man gasping, his lips swollen and red. “Look at that pretty face. You want it somewhere else, don’t you? You want it where it *really* counts.”

The taunts hit their mark. A wave of heat, so sharp it was almost painful, washed over Su Muli’s body. His skin prickled with goosebumps, and a humiliating, aching emptiness yawned deep inside him. His untouched hole gave a weak, wet clench, a silent, traitorous prayer. He felt the fabric of his own robes press against him, useless barriers. He was burning. Luo Yue Ning’s head spun. His own backside, slick with a shameful, betraying moisture, ached to be filled. Every insult, every crude accusation, only served to tighten the knot of helpless arousal in his belly. The more they mocked him for what he was, the more he surrendered to being just that.

He saw Su Muli glance at him from under a wet, dark lash. The look was one of shared, abject horror at their own bodies’ betrayal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop what was coming. They were beyond that.

When Derek and Larry gestured with a lazy flick of their heads, they did not hesitate. The shift from kneeling to prostrating was a final, silent capitulation. Su Muli lowered himself, his hands touching the cool, hard ground. He dipped his head and pushed his shoulders down, letting his spine curve into a deep, offering arch. His waist, normally held straight with pride and cultivator’s grace, became soft and yielding. He pressed his chest flat to the ground, the pressure against his nipples a sharp, distracting sting. Then, with a quiver of pure self-loathing and desperate need, he lifted his hips high, pushing his pale, round buttocks into the air. He spread his knees wider, feeling the cool air kiss the hot, slick folds of his most private place.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning echoed the pose. He was a perfect mirror of surrender. His form, usually so ethereal and untouchable, was now a tableau of debasement. His legs were spread, his back a deep, submissive arch, his pale bottom presented high and open, the tight, pink entrance winking in the dim light. He was a bitch in heat, waiting for the master.

They caught each other's eyes for a single, fleeting instant. Su Muli saw the tears of shame clinging to Luo Yue Ning’s lashes, the same frantic, despairing plea that was in his own heart. *Why? Why do I want this?* The question was a silent scream. Luo Yue Ning flinched and tore his gaze away, his head dropping until his forehead almost touched the ground. The gesture was a picture of utter defeat.

A low, appreciative whistle from Derek was like a brand on Su Muli’s skin. “Now *that’s* a pretty sight. A divine jade bitch finally knows her place.”

“Took ‘em long enough,” Larry said, the amusement in his voice tinged with a dark hunger. “Look at them tremble. You scared, little flowers? Or just impatient?”

The words, laced with knowing cruelty, sank into their flesh. Fear and arousal were so intertwined they were impossible to separate. Their bodies vibrated with a fine, continuous tremor, every muscle taut as they held the offering.

Derek stepped behind Su Muli. He didn’t bother with any more mockery. He just raised a massive, dark hand and brought it down flat against the flawless, pale globe of Su Muli’s left buttock. The slap was loud, wet, and sharp. The shock of the impact was immediate, a bloom of fiery pain that raced across his skin. But then came the ripple. His flesh quivered and bounced, a wave of white, jiggling softness that slithered all the way down to his thighs. The secondary sensation was even more potent. The vibration rushed through his hips, straight to his cunt. It was a jolt of raw, bone-deep pleasure that made his whole body arc, his mouth falling open in a shattered, high-pitched moan. “Nnn…!”

He couldn’t stop it. His hips gave an involuntary, obscene little wiggle, pushing his ass back as if to beg for another.

Larry delivered the same punishment to Luo Yue Ning. His hand was just as hard. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed. Luo Yue Ning’s whole world narrowed to that single point of impact. The pain was a bright, sharp agony, and it was instantly followed by a wave of deep, shuddering pleasure that pulsed from his stinging skin, through his tailbone, and settled in his core. A gush of wetness escaped his needy hole. “Ahh…!” he whimpered, his voice thick and broken. His own hips betrayed him, rolling in a slow, sinful circle, presenting his violated flesh for another blow.

“A lesson,” Derek said, his voice a low growl. “Don’t ever be proud for doing what you were made for.”

Su Muli could only hear the blood rushing in his ears. *Yes, yes, a lesson.*

Then, the head of Derek’s cock was at his entrance. It was a blunt, hot pressure, a palpable threat. Su Muli’s breath caught in his throat. The world sharpened. The cold stone under his palms, the weight of his own body in this humiliating pose, the immense heat that was about to split him open. He had been fucked just moments ago. His passage was well-oiled and desperate, but the sheer, terrifying girth of the black man’s member was a trial every time.

Derek didn’t push slowly. He met the resistance with an unwavering, steady pressure. The head popped past the ring of muscle with a sensation of burning, tearing pressure. Su Muli gasped, a choked, sharp cry. “Ah…!” The pain was a stark, brutal clarity. It snapped the fog of lust for a single, terrible second. *What am I doing?* The thought was a spear of ice. He remembered the pictures of his own debasement. The way he had opened his mouth like a starving thing. The way he was now presented, ass-up and quivering, a hole for a man who saw him as a toy.

The shame was a physical sickness, a cold knot in his stomach that clenched with every inch of the dark invader. He glanced to the side. Luo Yue Ning was in the same position, his face hidden, his body tense, his beautiful spine a perfect curve of submission. He saw the same rigid tension in his shoulders. He knew, he *knew* Luo Yue Ning was thinking the same thing. *We are men. Cultivators. Lords of the celestial realm. And we are begging to be fucked by… savages.*

The thought was a crucible. The shame was so intense it was almost holy. He was a man, and the thick, hot ridge of a huge black cock was sliding into his bowels, filling a space that should have been repugnant, yet every nerve ending was singing with a ecstasy so pure it bordered on agony. He *loved* the feeling of being filled. He *craved* the brutal stretch. The thought brought with it a strange, horrific peace.

His mind, once a bastion of celestial law and righteous pride, was now a loop. The image of Derek’s dark, impassive face. The memory of the first taste of that enormous prick on his tongue. The sound of his own voice, begging for more. The feeling of his own depths being reshaped to accommodate this foreign, savage part. The shame and the pleasure were no longer separate. They were the same force, binding him to this moment, to this man.

*”I am being fucked,”* he thought, the words a low chant in his mind as the full length of Derek’s cock settled deep inside him. He felt the man’s coarse hair against his tender, slapped skin. *”I am a man, a cultivator, and I am being fucked by a black savage. And it is exquisite. And it is right. This is my place. Being filled. Being used. Being a woman for him.”* The finality of the thought was not despairing. It was a release. A surrender of a self he no longer wanted.

As Derek began to move, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that clenched every nerve in Su Muli’s body, he arched his back even deeper. He pressed his forehead into the cool, unmoving stone of the floor, a low, keening moan of pure, shameles

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The air in the earthen chamber was thick with the musky scent of exertion and the raw, damp heat of two bodies pushed past their limits. Su Muri and Luo Yuening were both on their hands and knees, their pale, slender forms pressed low against the coarse animal skins that served as a bed. The massive black cocks of Derek and Larry drove into them from behind, each stroke a brutal claim that sent searing pleasure and piercing pain lancing through their cores.

The world narrowed to the point of contact—the thick, veined shaft that filled them so completely. When Derek’s cockhead ground against Su Muri’s hidden sweet spot, a violent shudder wracked his frame. A low, involuntary moan, laced with a whimper, tore from his lips. “Aah…” His voice, usually so cold and aloof, had dissolved into a breathy, melodic cry. His hips, acting on a primal instinct he could no longer contain, began to roll back to meet the thrust. He was not a being of celestial power now; he was a vessel for sensation, a tender sheath for the hard, dark flesh that claimed him.

Beside him, Luo Yuening’s experience was identical. Larry’s brutal rhythm hit that exact nexus of nerves inside him, and his entire body seized. His spine bowed, pressing his chest flat to the heavy furs as he let out a sharp, broken cry. “*Ah…* Ungh…” The sound was wet, desperate, and entirely foreign to his own ears. He, the Supreme of the Immortal Realm, the one who looked down upon all existence, was now keening like a common whore. His body, too, betrayed him, his hips swiveling in a small, obscene circle to grind his sensitive core against the invader. He could not stop the movement; it was a reflex born from the deepest, most base part of his being—a part he had never known existed.

They were two exquisite jade dolls, brought to life and made to crawl.

Derek gave a low, rumbling laugh of approval. “Look at that. Finally learning to take it, aren't you?” He smacked Su Muri’s pale, flawless ass cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the confined space. “That’s it, bitch. Move those hips for me.”

A hot, suffocating shame washed over Su Muri. He felt the sting of the slap, the possessive grip of Derek’s massive hand on his hip, and the degrading praise in the brute’s voice. A sheen of moisture gathered in his usually icy eyes. The wetness wasn't from pain, but from a deeper, more terrifying source: a burgeoning, filthy pleasure he couldn’t suppress. Unable to bear the reflection of his own degradation, he turned his head sharply, only to meet the gaze of Luo Yuening doing the exact same thing.

Their eyes locked for a fleeting, horrified second.

Su Muri saw it all. He saw the same glazed, helpless look in Luo Yuening’s eyes. He saw the flush that painted his rival’s elegant neck, the same way it painted his own. He saw the way Luo Yuening’s lips were parted, panting, his immaculate features slack with a bewildered ecstasy. It was a mirror of his own wretchedness. The sight was a spear through his heart, shattering the last vestige of his pride. He could not bear to look at the beautiful, broken creature that was Luo Yuening, because it was a perfect reflection of the beautiful, broken creature he himself had become. He hastily turned his head away, a choked sob escaping his throat. Luo Yuening did the same, his cheeks burning, a quiet, mortified keen muffled against his own arm.

Larry, watching their silent, shared shame, just chuckled, his voice a low, genial growl. “Ain’t no hiding now, is there? You two see each other for what you are. Pretty little bitches on their knees.”

Their bodies were no longer their own. Obedient to the hands that guided them, both men pressed their slender waists even lower, until their bellies were flat on the furs and their soft, budding chests were crushed against the rough surface. As Derek and Larry resumed their piston-like thrusts, the movement caused Su Muri’s chest, with its softly swelling, maidenly contour, to jiggle. A wave of milky white flesh would ripple with every jarring impact.

“Nnh… Ha… *haaah*…” The sounds that escaped Su Muri were no longer words. They were sharp, breathy exhalations of pure, unadulterated need. He had become a lewd picture, a snow-white bitch in heat, barking and whimpering for the cock that filled her. His entire being was a song of shame and ecstasy, a melody of surrender.

The thick, bulbous heads of the men’s cocks slid in and out of their slick, pink entrances, creating a wet, rhythmic *schlick-schlick* sound. Derek kneaded the pliant globe of Su Muri’s ass, his coarse fingers digging into the yielding flesh. The feeling of being filled to the brim was a dizzying mix of aching stretch and sublime pleasure, and it made Su Muri’s mind go blank. He found himself pushing back for more, a silent plea for the torment to continue. He was a lewd, greedy concubine now, and the only truth left was the pleasure between his legs.

“That’s it, ride that cock,” Derek grunted, using a thick palm to slap the side of Su Muri’s hip again. “Your pride is all gone. You’re just a hole for me to use.”

The words were a vile insult, yet they sent a current of even deeper pleasure through Su Muri’s loins. “Mmph… y-yes…” he heard himself whisper, the sound obscene and submissive. He was being broken down, re-shaped into something new. A pet. A possession.

Larry, meanwhile, was playing with Luo Yuening. “Look at you, Master of the Realm. You tremble just like a virgin bride when I hit that spot inside you, don’t you?” He smacked Luo Yuening’s pert derriere, leaving a red handprint on the flawless skin. “You love this. Admit it.”

The humiliation was exquisite. Luo Yuening bit his lip, a whimper escaping his nose. “*Nnngh…* Please…” he begged, not knowing what he was begging for—more pain, or more pleasure.

“Please *what*?” Larry taunted, slowing his strokes. “You have to say it.”

“Please… *fuck… me…*” Luo Yuening choked out, the words tasting like ash and honey in his throat. He was a ruined man, and he was enjoying his destruction.

Their owners were not done. Derek’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Su Muri’s silken hair, yanking his head up. “Open your eyes. Look at your friend.”

Larry did the same, forcing the two immortals to turn their heads and stare directly at each other. For a long moment, time seemed to stop. They were forced to witness each other’s fall from grace. Su Muri saw the sheen of sweat on Luo Yuening’s temple, the dumbstruck, lewd look of a woman in the throes of passion on his beautiful, masculine face. Luo Yuening saw Su Muri’s usually cool eyes, now blown wide and black with lust, his lips swollen from biting back his cries.

The sight was a mirror of surrender. And in seeing it, the last barrier in Su Muri’s mind crumbled. If he was damned, he was in the most beautiful company.

A new, hot wave of arousal, dark and competitive, flooded through him. He watched the massive black cock sliding in and out of Luo Yuening’s tight channel, and he felt a surge of pride in his own debasement. He wanted to be better at it. He wanted Derek to feel better than Larry. He wanted to be the most perfect, lecherous little bitch on this bed.

Su Muri began to move his hips with more purpose, a conscious effort to please. He swiveled his waist, met Derek’s thrusts with a perfect, wet counter-motion. “Haah… *haah*… D-Derek… more…” The moan was no longer a helpless sound; it was a request, an invitation. He had become fully, utterly, *his*.

Luo Yuening saw this and a flash of defiant jealousy sparked in him. If Su Muri could be that wanton, then so could he. He pushed back against Larry faster, grinding down into the thick shaft, his own soft moans turning into something more practiced, more inviting. “*Nnnnh…* L-Larry… yes… fuck your little bitch…”

They were no longer rivals in cultivation or dominion. They were rival bitches, competing for the approval of their masters.

The blacks allowed themselves a moment of greedy observation before a new, depraved idea struck them. With a grunt, Derek pulled out of Su Muri and manhandled him onto his back. Larry did the same to Luo Yuening, and then they were pressed together, chest to chest, the slick heat of their bodies mingling.

They were pushed and pulled, folded and bent, until they were locked in a sloppy, awkward 69. Su Muri found his face hovering over Luo Yuening’s waist, the same way Luo Yuening hovered over his. And in the next moment, the large black cocks were sliding back into their upturned asses, the angle changing the pressure, making them gasp.

“Suck him,” Derek ordered, pressing Su Muri’s head down.

With a sob of pure, total degradation, Su Muri opened his mouth and took Luo Yuening’s spit-slick, pale length inside. The taste of salt and sex flooded his tongue. It was salty, bitter… and utterly intoxicating.

At the same time, Luo Yuening, his eyes wide with mirrored horror, was forced to swallow Su Muri’s cock. But his gaze was glued to a different sight. Past the pale stomach of his rival, he could see the dark, monstrously beautiful sight of Derek’s cock stretching Su Muri’s virgin pink hole. The skin pulled and puckered around the dark shaft, shiny with their combined lust.

The thought bloomed in his mind, unbidden but undeniable.

*Such a pale, slender body… it looks like it was made for a black cock. Even though we are men, even though we are Lords of the Immortal Realm… this is right. This is what we were made for.*

Luo Yuening began to suck in earnest, his tongue swirling around the tip of Su Muri’s weeping shaft. He watched the thick, black pole penetrate his friend’s entrance, and he felt his own body tighten around Larry’s thick length. The reality of their situation was absolute. There was no shame left. Only a burning, aching need to be filled.

Su Muri, tasting the salt of Luo Yuening’s pre-cum on his lips and seeing the rhythmic pistoning of Larry’s cock in his rival’s asshole, felt the exact same thought crystallize. His body was a gift of pale marble, and its only worthy sculptor was the brutish, beautiful darkness of a man from the Black Wastelands.

He arched his back, taking Luo Yuening deeper into his throat, and moaned around the flesh in his mouth as Derek’s rough hips slammed against his tingling ass. In this moment, caught between the taste of a god and the stretch of a savage, the two former emperors of the sky had found their perfect, degraded heaven. The world had narrowed to the wet sounds of sucking and the deep, conquering rhythm of their black males. They were finally home.