Chapter 3: Bathing in Profits
The steam in the Crimson Bathhouse clung to everything, a dense, perfumed fog that did little to obscure the scene. Lan Fenghuang’s head lolled back against the meaty shoulder of Merchant Huang, her neck exposed and gleaming with sweat and bathwater. The man himself was a mountain of pale, doughy flesh, his breath coming in hot, wet gusts near her ear as his hips churned the water around them.
“Mother! The Twin Blades delegation has arrived—” Jingwei’s voice cracked, his form a dark, tense silhouette in the arched entrance.
Fenghuang’s eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, slid toward her son. A low, throaty moan escaped her as Huang buried himself to the hilt inside her, his thick cock stretching her full. The water sloshed against the porphyry tiles. “Let them wait, darling,” she purred, not missing a beat. “This pig’s golden pill reserves will fund next season’s expeditions. He’s almost… ripe.”
Her words were a deliberate provocation, as much for Huang’s humiliation as for Jingwei’s education. She arched her back, pressing her full, generous ass more firmly against the merchant’s bloated stomach. His sausage-like fingers, adorned with heavy jade rings, kneaded her breasts roughly, pinching and pulling at her dark nipples until they were hard, aching points. She cried out, not in pain, but in raw encouragement. “Yes! Squeeze them. Milk the Qi for all it’s worth, you greedy fuck.”
Jingwei turned his head, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot. The delegation leader, a stern-faced swordmaster, now stood silently beside him, having followed him in. The swordmaster’s expression was carved from stone, but his eyes were wide.
Huang grunted, a sound like a boar rooting in mud. He was close, his massive body trembling. Fenghuang could feel the frantic pulse of him inside her, the chaotic surge of his untrained, opulence-fueled Qi. It was coarse, unrefined, but potent. A glutton’s energy. Perfect.
“He’s going to come,” she announced to the room, her voice hazy with feigned rapture. “He’s going to pump his filthy, rich seed right into my cunt. And I’m going to take every drop.” She reached one hand behind her, tangling her fingers in the sparse, wet hairs on Huang’s chest. The other hand slipped between her own legs, finding the swollen nub of her clit. “Come on, you fat bastard. Give it to me. Don’t you dare hold back.”
Her fingers worked in tight, quick circles, matching the frantic, slapping rhythm of Huang’s thrusts. The sound was obscene—wet flesh on flesh, amplified by the water, punctuated by his guttural groans and her own sharp, theatrical gasps. She threw her performance open to her audience, her eyes locking with the horrified swordmaster’s.
“Watch,” she commanded him, her breath hitching. “Watch how the Azure Embrace harvests.”
Huang’s grip on her breasts became vicelike. A strangled shout tore from his throat, and he slammed into her, deep and bruising, as he erupted. Fenghuang gasped, a genuine shiver of ecstasy mixing with the calculated act. She could feel the hot, thick flood of his release filling her, a tangible wave of crude spiritual energy. She clenched her inner muscles around him, milking his cock, drawing the essence out in pulsating jets.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she moaned, her head falling back. “That’s it… all of it…”
Her own climax followed, sharp and coiling, triggered less by the man and more by the potent theft, the sheer power of the exchange. Her body tightened, quivering, as she rode out the waves, her fingers a blur on her clit until she saw stars behind her eyelids.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the lapping water and Huang’s ragged, dying wheezes against her neck. He was spent, limp, already shrinking inside her.
Fenghuang sighed, a sound of deep satisfaction, and patted his damp, fleshy hand. “Adequate.” She disentangled herself from his grasp, rising from the water in a cascade of droplets. She stood tall, completely nude, her skin flushed and glowing with a subtle, stolen luminescence. She faced her son and the stunned envoy, not a shred of modesty in her bearing.
She stepped gracefully from the pool, ignoring Huang’s slumped, exhausted form. A senior disciple, waiting silently in the shadows, moved forward with a robe of deepest azure silk. Fenghuang slid her arms into it, leaving it open, allowing the men to see the trickle of Huang’s spend begin to leak down her inner thigh.
“Now,” she said to the swordmaster, her voice crisp, all business. “You’ve seen our methodology. Let us discuss your sect’s proposal. Jingwei,” she added, not looking at her son, “have the kitchen prepare the merchant a restorative broth. He’ll need it.”
She swept from the bathhouse, the moist air parting before her, leaving behind the stink of sex, the silent merchant, and her son, who stared at the floor, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.