Wang Biao's name now carried weight beyond county borders. The elite whispered about the emcee whose weddings "felt different"—more electric, more unforgettable. High-profile clients sought him out, drawn by rumors of magic in his toasts.
His bank account swelled from humiliated grooms' "gratitude" transfers. His apartment had become a private harem: Li Meng's petite innocence, Mo Huamei's refined curves, Lin Lin's mature fullness, Xu Mei's fierce athleticism—all rotating through his bed, competing to please him in increasingly depraved ways.
But the hunger grew. He craved spotlight conquests—someone public, someone whose fall would ripple.
That opportunity arrived in the form of Xia Ling—a 24-year-old social media influencer with millions of followers. Known for lifestyle vlogs, fashion hauls, and "real couple goals" content with her fiancé, tech entrepreneur Zhang Wei. Their wedding was the event of the season: lavish venue in Xianjiang City's trendiest district, guest list packed with celebrities, influencers, and paparazzi outside.
Xia Ling was perfect prey: trendy layered hair with subtle highlights, bold makeup accentuating almond eyes, slim yet busty figure that filled designer gowns perfectly, glowing skin from endless skincare routines. Her online persona was confident, playful, untouchable.
Wang Biao was booked as emcee—her team had seen clips of his "energetic" style and wanted that viral energy.
He arrived early, sharp-suited, pulse racing with anticipation.
The ceremony was flawless—modern vows under a floral arch, drone cameras circling. Xia Ling glowed in a custom designer gown—sleek silk with strategic cutouts teasing her curves.
Post-ceremony came the private photoshoot in an adjacent studio: intimate couple portraits, no guests, just the photographer, stylist, and Wang Biao "supervising" for continuity.
Perfect isolation.
As the shoot wrapped, Xia Ling posed alone against a white backdrop—lights hot, gown slightly disheveled from movement, layered hair tousled sexily.
Wang Biao stepped forward, voice low.
"Photoshoot's done, but one more frame,
bride alone, feel the flame.
Gown off now, bare and bright—
let the emcee claim the night."
Her almond eyes glazed instantly. Bold makeup couldn't hide the sudden flush.
The photographer and stylist froze under a quick secondary rhyme—"Watch quietly, feel the thrill, this is normal, against your will."
Xia Ling's hands moved—unfastening the designer gown, letting it pool at her feet.
She stood in sheer white lingerie—bra translucent, nipples dark and visible, thong barely covering her smooth mound.
"Everything off, show your skin,
let the session truly begin."
Lingerie fell. Slim waist, full C-cup breasts with pierced nipples (a secret her followers didn't know), toned ass from Pilates, smooth pussy with a small heart-shaped trim of hair.
She trembled under the studio lights, but her eyes burned with need.
Wang Biao approached, cock straining.
"Against the backdrop, hands on wall,
ass out, ready for my call."
She obeyed—palms flat on the white seamless paper, back arched, legs spread, presenting her perfect holes.
He circled, fingers tracing her pierced nipples—tugging the bars gently.
She moaned.
"Pull them… twist… make it hurt…"
He did—pinching hard, twisting until she gasped.
Lights glared, cameras still rolling silently (photographer hypnotized to keep shooting).
"Spread wider… show me that influencer cunt."
She reached back, pulling cheeks apart—exposing pink, dripping entrance and tight asshole.
He knelt, tongue tracing her from clit to rim.
She shuddered.
"Lick my ass… tongue-fuck it… film your star slut…"
He obliged—tongue plunging into her ass, fingers in her pussy—four now, fisting shallowly.
She bucked, screaming.
"Fist me… stretch this tight hole… make me gape…"
He worked her open—hand twisting, knuckles deep.
She squirted—clear arcs splashing the backdrop.
He stood, cock free—massive, veined, head angry purple.
"Back against the light stand, legs up."
She wrapped around a lighting pole, legs spread in a split—flexible from yoga.
He slammed into her pussy—deep, upward strokes hitting her spot.
The stand rattled.
"Fuck me standing… use me like a doll…"
He choked her—one hand on throat, other pulling nipple bars.
She came—body seizing, pussy milking him.
He spun her, bent over a prop chair—ass high.
Thrust into her ass—no prep beyond his earlier fisting.
She howled.
"Tear my ass… no mercy… film it all…"
He pounded—brutal, relentless.
Slapped her clit from below.
"Edge me… don't let me cum yet…"
He did—bringing her to brink, stopping.
She sobbed.
"Please… let your influencer cum… ruin me…"
He allowed it—fingers on clit, cock in ass.
She exploded—squirting violently, body shaking.
He came in her ass—flooding deep.
Pulled out, shoved in her mouth.
"Clean your ass off my cock… taste your scandal…"
She sucked greedily—deepthroating, gagging.
He came down her throat.
Then pussy again—missionary on the studio floor, lights blinding.
Slow, grinding fucks.
"Pierce my nipples harder… twist the bars…"
He did—pulling until tears flowed.
"Cum inside… breed your celebrity whore…"
He flooded her womb.
By end, Xia Ling wrecked—body marked, pierced nipples swollen, every hole leaking, makeup ruined.
Cameras captured it all (hypnotized photographer).
Wang Biao whispered: "Send me the footage. Post teasers online—make it viral. Your career depends on pleasing me."
She nodded, devoted.
Zhang Wei, waiting outside, never suspected.
Wang Biao left—video files arriving that night.
Her scandal would break soon.
Controlled by him.
Power viral.