As Zhao Xuan was mulling this over, a system notification popped into his mind.
[First Pot of Gold: After gaining this system, you've shown a strong desire for money for the first time. Now, try to earn your first 1,000,000 yuan through a method other than a direct system transfer.]
Zhao already basically understood the system's pattern — its tasks weren't random. They were tailored to catch his existing desires.
Like when he faced Cao Shudong, he got his first mission; the first time he met Lin Jingjing, he got a "first taste of forbidden fruit" task; last night with Ye Peiqi, he got the Snatch from the Tiger's Mouth mission.
The system never told you the reward upfront — plainly put, the tasks were just this symbiotic lifeform's way of encouraging him to unleash his desires.
He chuckled. Not bad.
Meanwhile, at Ye Peiqi's place.
It was the first time in years Ye had been alone without wearing a chastity belt. Back with Luo Changhao, whenever they were apart, her pussy was locked behind a steel contraption — she couldn't touch her sensitive parts at all.
When the lust burned, she could only relieve it by roughly massaging her breasts.
That had led her to develop the extremely rare habit among girls of taking cold showers.
Except on special days, she'd rinse with cold water to tame her starving body. Luckily, years of dance kept her fit — she hadn't gotten sick in those two years.
For Luo, who couldn't get hard, it was just another way to torment and control her. Zhao didn't know that yet, so her pussy was now free.
Freshly deflowered the night before, Ye couldn't resist her body's demands. She lay in bed, legs spread, masturbating.
That morning, she'd cautiously tried on a dance outfit that showed her thighs and shoulders, snapped a few practice photos, and posted them to her Moments. Sure enough, Zhao saw it after lunch and commented with an "×." Ye knew that meant he was unhappy, deleted the post right away, and apologized.
From the result, Zhao's control freak tendencies were strong, but not at Luo's pathological level. His issue was mainly with how much skin she showed, which allowed her breathe more easily.
Of course, she didn't know that Zhao planned to let her keep a normal public life on the surface, then enjoy conquering her. His control over Lin Jingjing and Yan Qing was actually stricter than what she'd endured.
When she saw Zhao's car the night before, she was stunned, then realized — he definitely wasn't from an ordinary working‑class family.
She wasn't a car expert, but she knew Luo Changhao's dad also drove an Audi A8. Last night she'd glimpsed the rear badge, and this morning she'd looked it up — not the top trim, but still around 1.3 million yuan. After getting his license post-Gaokao, Luo had only driven a ~700,000 yuan Mercedes CLS.
So suddenly, the hopelessness she'd felt melted into a glimmer of hope for keeping her glamorous life.
As she fantasized, she adjusted herself to face the wardrobe mirror, legs spread. In the reflection, her pussy looked perfectly shaped, trimmed with neat black hair.
With her left index and middle fingers, she spread her lips, exposing the tender red inner flesh. She accidentally brushed the wounds from Zhao's rough deflowering, and whip — pain brought tears.
Never used before, rarely even touched, her pussy was a delicate pink. Yesterday's whip had left a red welt that hadn't faded yet, stark against the pink. Staring at herself, she slid two fingers of her right hand inside.
Without a hymen, she didn't need to be as cautious as before — just avoid the unhealed spots.
Soon her thoughts scattered. Her body was naturally sensitive and had been forced into long abstinence; last night's rough but satisfying sex had ignited something she couldn't put out.
As her fingers moved faster, slick dripped down, soaking the dark curls — a tinge of lewdness in the air.
But her fingers were tiny compared to Zhao's cock — they only rubbed the outer part of her vagina, unable to thrust deep. That shallow tease couldn't satisfy the craving she'd stoked. She started missing the hot, massive shaft from last night.
"Master… fuck me… come fuck your little bitch—ahhhh—" To satisfy her body, she replayed last night's memory, rubbing her inner walls while imagining Zhao spreading her legs and pounding her hard.
But that only made the gap between fantasy and reality hurt more — two fingers weren't enough.
Giving up on fingers, she got out of bed and opened the fridge, rummaging.
A few minutes later, she pulled out an eggplant and a cucumber. After a moment's thought, she put the eggplant back.
Zhao hadn't banned her from masturbating, but she worried the thick eggplant would mess up her pussy's tightness — ruining Zhao's pleasure later would be a loss.
The cucumber in her hand was over 8 inches long, with a diameter close to that of Zhao's dick, with uneven bumps on the skin. Just imagining it ploughing her cunt made her legs weak.
She rinsed and dried it, then returned to bed in the same pose.
Gripping the base, she pressed the cucumber to her entrance. With a slight push, her slit widened around the green shaft. Trembling, she fed it in slowly.
"Ah—" The sensation echoed last night's pleasure.
It lacked warmth and force compared to a real cock, but it reached her cervix, and the bumps dragged along her vaginal walls, making her cry out.
In the mirror, her eyes were hazy, legs wide, a green tail of cucumber visible between her thighs, her hand slowly pumping.
"What a slutty body… deserves to be treated like a bitch." The thought brought a flicker of shame — instantly drowned by pleasure.
"Master… fuck your worthless bitch to death… see, Qi-dog's training her cunt…" She fell fully into it, blurting filthy words that shocked even her own nerves.
Pleasure made it hard to keep a steady rhythm — her strokes were slow — but for a body new to sex, it was more than enough.
"Aaaaah—I'm cumming—" With a lewd scream, her pussy gushed — she'd squirted from using a cucumber.
Weak afterward, she lay there, the cucumber still inside, enjoying the fullness and pretending it was Zhao's huge cock.
Sweaty and chilled, she grabbed a towel blanket to cover her pinkening body.
Just as she wanted to savor the afterglow, the click of a key in the door froze her. By the time she realized, the door had shut — her mom was home.
Ye nearly passed out from shame. If her mother saw her naked, the cucumber still inside, she'd probably kill her.
"Peiqi, eaten yet?" A young woman's voice called. Seconds later, the bedroom door opened — a stunning middle-aged woman stood there.
If Zhao had been there, he'd have been shocked — because that woman was none other than Yan Qing, already his slave.
Ye had no clue her mother and Yan were now owned by the same man. Hastily throwing on a sleep shirt, she didn't dare uncover — the cucumber was still between her legs.
"I ate, practiced a bit, was just gonna nap," Ye said, forcing calm. But she could feel her face burning, surely bright red, and the lingering scent of her squirting would tip anyone off. She half-expected her mom to yank back the blanket and see her daughter's obscene, slutty body.
Time seemed frozen. Yet nothing happened.
Yan Qing wasn't overly worried about her daughter — Ye had been independent for years. She'd only come home to collect her thoughts.
She knew she had no way out now but to be that man's slave; luckily, he was young and generous. But she didn't know how to face her daughter, even though she'd done it all for her.
When she walked in, Yan still thought she smelled the strong scent of pussy juice — maybe hers, maybe Lin Jingjing's.
Last night, at his demand, they'd 69'd and trained their tongue skills, squirting all over each other's faces. She didn't dare get too close to Ye, afraid her daughter would notice something off.
Seeing Ye still half-asleep (actually dazed from her orgasm), Yan took the chance and closed the door without approaching.
Ye breathed again, slowly lying back.
Behind that door and out here — which mother or daughter was more embarrassed?