The glow of triumph from Mo Huamei's high-society wedding lingered in Wang Biao's veins like a potent drug. It had been mere days since he'd claimed her voluptuous body on the banquet table, her educated poise shattering into wanton screams as he pounded her relentlessly in front of her elite guests.
Gao Ming, the scholarly groom, now sent monthly "gifts" via wire transfer—funds that Wang Biao used to upgrade his apartment, buy finer suits, and fuel his growing empire. Mo Huamei texted him hourly, begging for discreet meetings where he'd fuck her senseless in luxury hotel rooms, her hazel eyes glazing with addiction each time he filled her.
But satisfaction was fleeting. His hypnotic rhymes grew sharper, his desires darker. The power hummed stronger now—he could feel it coiling, ready for more elaborate conquests.
His phone rang mid-morning. Bai Ling's voice bubbled with excitement.
"Wang Biao, you've hit the jackpot again! Real-estate tycoon Zheng Yao—fifty-something, loaded—is marrying a widow named Lin Lin. She's thirty-five, but trust me, she's a knockout. Colleagues rave about her figure—full breasts, curvy hips, the kind that turns heads. And get this: he's so smitten, he's letting her bring her whole vibe to the wedding. They want you emceeing. This could lock in more elite gigs."
Wang Biao's interest spiked. A mature widow—experienced, glamorous, perhaps with hidden depths of repression waiting to be unleashed. And a doting tycoon groom ripe for humiliation.
"Details?"
"Sent. Oh, and Zheng mentioned hearing about your 'lively' style from a friend. Make it special."
Wang Biao hung up, opening the files.
Zheng Yao: Greasy, balding, honest-faced mogul.
Lin Lin: Stunning. Jet-black hair, captivating dark eyes, full lips curved in a knowing smile. Voluptuous figure—breasts that strained against blouses in her photos, rounded hips promising softness and strength. At thirty-five, she radiated mature allure, the kind that came from life experience, perhaps a hint of sorrow from widowhood turning to sensual fire.
He stroked his growing erection through his pants, imagining breaking her—milking her literally and figuratively in public.
The wedding was in two days—at the opulent Xianjiang Grand Hotel, rooftop ballroom with panoramic views. Wang Biao spent the interim honing rhymes, envisioning Lin Lin's body yielding to his commands.
Wedding day dawned crisp. The rooftop was a masterpiece: White silk drapes billowing, crystal glasses tinkling, a sea of high-society guests in designer attire. Champagne flowed; soft jazz played.
Wang Biao arrived in his sharpest suit, mingling with poise. Zheng Yao greeted him warmly in the groom's suite—greasy face beaming, clearly besotted.
"Emcee Wang! Heard you're magic with words. Make today perfect for my Lin Lin—she deserves the world."
Wang Biao nodded politely, eyes scanning for her.
Lin Lin entered moments later for final touches. Breathtaking in white—gown with deep neckline showcasing her full cleavage, fabric hugging her voluptuous curves, jet-black hair in an elegant updo. Her dark eyes held quiet confidence, full lips painted red. She moved with mature grace, hips swaying subtly.
"Pleasure to meet you, Emcee Wang," she said, voice soft and melodious, extending a manicured hand.
He took it, feeling the warmth. "The pleasure's mine, Ms. Lin. I'll ensure it's unforgettable."
Her eyes lingered on him a second too long—curious, perhaps appraising.
The ceremony began. Lin Lin walked the aisle gracefully, guests murmuring awe at her beauty. Vows exchanged—Zheng teary, Lin Lin smiling demurely.
Wang Biao waited.
Toast time.
He raised his glass, voice weaving its spell.
"The couple's love is deep and true,
but bride, a toast just for you.
Mother's milk flows sweet and pure—
bare your breasts, let it pour."
Lin Lin's dark eyes glazed. A flush crept up her neck.
Zheng chuckled, thinking it a joke.
But Lin Lin's hands moved—pulling down her gown's neckline, exposing her full, heavy breasts. Nipples dark and swollen, already beading with milk.
The crowd gasped—then cheered, hypnosis twisting it into tradition.
Zheng's face lit with pride. "That's my Lin Lin! So generous!"
Wang Biao stepped closer.
"Feed the guests, let milk flow free,
squeeze those tits for all to see."
Lin Lin obeyed, cradling her breasts, fingertips pinching nipples. Thick white milk squirted into waiting glasses—guests lining up eagerly.
Her moans slipped out with each squeeze.
"Ah… it feels… so good…"
Wang Biao watched, cock hardening.
He whispered to her:
"Dress off now, bare it all,
let the emcee make the call."
The gown fell. Lace panties barely covering her mound.
Another rhyme:
"Panties down, show your grace,
emcee's cock will take its place."
She stripped fully—voluptuous body exposed: full breasts leaking milk, rounded hips, smooth pussy with a neat strip of dark hair, already glistening.
Guests roared.
Wang Biao freed his massive cock.
"On the table, widow slut,
spread your legs, show your gut."
She climbed up, legs wide, pussy dripping.
He rubbed his head along her slit.
"Beg."
"Please… Master… fuck me… claim your widow whore…"
He thrust in—deep, brutal, filling her experienced but tight channel.
Lin Lin screamed, body arching.
"So big… ahhh… stretch me… own me…"
He pounded her—hips snapping, balls slapping her ass. Her full breasts bounced wildly, milk spraying with each impact.
He grabbed them, squeezing hard—milk squirting onto her face, his chest.
"Squeeze them yourself, milk-bitch."
She obeyed, pinching nipples, milk arcing as he fucked her.
"Harder… milk me like a cow… ahhh!"
He flipped her, taking her from behind—ass high, face down. Slapped her cheeks red.
"Whose pussy is this?"
"Yours! Master Wang's! Not his… fuck your milking slut!"
Zheng watched, cheering, "Yes! Give her what she needs, Brother Biao!"
Wang Biao reached around, fingers plunging into her ass—stretching with one, then two, prepping.
She moaned, "Yes… finger my ass… prepare me…"
He pulled out of her pussy, fingers still in her ass, then switched—cock slamming into her rear.
Lin Lin howled, body bucking.
"Too much… but don't stop… ruin my ass…"
He alternated holes—pussy to ass, ass to mouth—making her taste herself.
"Suck it clean, whore."
She did, gagging, drooling.
"Looks so good… your cock in my mouth… covered in me…"
He came down her throat first—thick load she swallowed greedily.
Then back in her pussy—pounding until she squirted thrice.
Finally, in her ass—flooding her bowels.
By the end, Lin Lin was a mess—body leaking from every hole, milk pooling on the table, begging for more.
Zheng, hypnotized, agreed to fund Wang Biao—transfers starting immediately.
Wang Biao dressed, leaving her trembling.
In his car, she knelt, sucking him the whole drive home.
At his apartment, he fucked her again—extreme, endless—choking her with his belt, slapping her breasts until they bruised, fingering her to multiple squirting orgasms while buried in her ass.
Dialogue filled the night:
"Choke me harder… make me your cum-rag…"
"Slap my tits… yes… milk them dry…"
"I'm your widow whore… breed me… own me forever…"
He came five more times—painting her inside and out.
By dawn, she was broken, devoted.
His power evolved—stronger, hungrier.
More brides awaited.