Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 228- Banging the MILF to test her Quality

Chapter 228: Chapter 228- Banging the MILF to test her Quality

The trees swallowed them both before the town’s last ambient sound had finished leaving the air.

He did not land in the clearing. He landed in the deep part — the specific, old-growth, no-paths-here, bark-and-root-floor, canopy-closed-overhead deep of a forest that had not seen a person since before the cultivation wars and whose floor was soft earth and old moss and the flat, quiet, wild ambient of a place that was not a town and not a sect and was not maintained by anyone.

He set her down.

Not gently — the flat, present, both-hands, controlled descent of a man moving from carry to position, her knees meeting the earth with the soft, compressed, moss-and-soil yield of a forest floor that had decades of compressed leaf matter under it.

She stirred.

The specific, coming-back, first-breath-of-forest-air, eyes-not-fully-open stir of a woman returning from the deep end of a foundational activation event — her lashes moving, her brow pulling slightly, the flat, present, body-awareness returning quality of a woman who had been somewhere else and was receiving information that she was no longer somewhere else.

The forest smell hit her.

Old wood. Earth. The specific, cool, green-dark, after-rain, root-deep smell of a forest that was alive in the particular way forests that no one managed were alive.

She opened her eyes.

She was on her knees. The sky-blue robe — his robe, the one he had given her in the square — had slipped at the shoulder. Her dark hair was forward, the specific, heavy, disheveled, been-through-a-morning fall of hair that had not been managed since before the square started.

He was in front of her.

She looked at him.

She looked at the trees.

"Where—" she started.

He was already moving.

His hand found the robe’s shoulder where it had slipped and did not push it back up — he pulled it down, the flat, present, deliberate, removing-it-from-her-arm pull of a man who had decided the robe was no longer relevant to the situation.

The fabric fell.

She breathed in the cool forest air against her warm skin — the full, everywhere-at-once, every-surface contact of forest air at close range on a body that had been through what hers had been through, the warm-brown skin reading the temperature difference with the flat, present, skin-level, all-at-once report.

"Wait—" Her voice. Low. The flat, present, not-a-protest, more-of-an-I-am-still-returning voice of a woman whose body was awake and whose brain was catching up.

He did not wait.

His hands found her hips — the flat, full-palm, familiar-architecture, both-palms-at-once grip of someone who had held this specific geometry of hip before and whose hands went there with the flat, no-search, already-knew-where quality of familiarity.

He turned her.

The flat, both-hands, turning-her-at-the-hips turn of someone who had decided the geometry and was implementing it — and she went, the warm, full-weight, cooperating-before-she-had-decided-to-cooperate turn of a body that had been responding to his hands since the square and had not stopped.

She was on her hands and knees.

The forest floor under her palms — the flat, soft, earth-and-root, damp-moss texture of old growth floor, the specific, cool, present, real-thing quality of soil against the skin of her hands.

She looked at the trees.

At the dark, vertical, bark-deep, old-growth dark of the forest around her.

His hands at her hips.

The flat, full-grip, present, both-palms-and-fingers-closing grip of someone doing final positioning.

She breathed.

The forest was quiet.

Then it was not.

He entered.

PAH.

"’—AAAHN~!!!—’"

The sound left her and went into the trees — the flat, full, high, present, nothing-managing-it sound of a woman receiving the full, first-entry, no-building-up, immediate-depth event of his entry from behind in a forest with no walls and no ceiling and nowhere for the sound to go except outward into the old-growth dark.

The birds in the canopy moved.

The forest received the sound.

PAH PAH PAH.

"’—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—’"

Her arms buckled.

The specific, first-thrust-sequence, arms-going-from-straight-to-bent, elbows-meeting-the-forest-floor buckle of a woman receiving full, unhurried, Nascent Soul Mid Stage output from behind and whose arms had filed the first report by deciding the floor was closer.

Her cheek hit the moss.

The flat, soft, damp, cool, full-cheek contact of her face against the forest floor — the specific, both-cheeks-warm, forest-floor-cool contrast of that contact — and her hair spread forward across the old leaf matter with the flat, heavy, present, loose-fan quality of unpinned dark hair falling forward.

He held her hips.

He did not stop.

PAH PAH PAAH!

"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"

Her hands — she had lost the arms-straight position and was now with her cheek on the ground and her hips up and her hands somewhere in the moss ahead of her finding the flat, present, I-need-something-to-hold grip of a woman whose body was fully occupied.

Her fingers found a root.

The specific, bark-rough, old-growth, came-up-through-the-soil root that was there and was available and was going to serve as the flat, present, something-to-hold architecture while the rest of her filed other reports.

She held it.

PAH PAH PAH PAH!

"’—AHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—’"

Her body — the specific, wide-hipped, dense, milk-warm, near-manifestation-yin-physique built, full-present body of a woman receiving full-depth thrust from behind — moved with the drive.

Forward-and-back.

The flat, physics, full-weight, every-thrust-committed forward-and-back of a body at the end of a full, unhurried drive sequence — her chest, the full, heavy, dense, lactation-warm weight of it, moving with the thrust rhythm in the flat, swinging, forward-on-impact, back-on-withdraw motion that the thrust rhythm produced.

The milk.

The specific, impact-produced, rhythm-forced, involuntary-release quality of milk that the thrust’s force was pressing from the movement — thin warm lines of it into the moss below her, the flat, present, quiet evidence of what the rhythm was doing to her body at the surface level while the rest of her body was occupied with the non-surface-level reports.

"’—please—’" Her voice, into the moss. The flat, present, cheek-against-ground, muffled-by-the-forest-floor quality of a voice that was not addressing anyone specific but was producing the word regardless. "’—please it’s—I’m—’"

PAH PAH PAH!

"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!!—’"

Her hips drove back.

The specific, involuntary, toward-him, full-weight-committed, body-overriding-management drive back — not cooperation, not decision, the flat, automatic, yin-physique recognition-response drive of a body that had received the Herb Integration passive at point-blank range for the second time since the square and was responding with the flat, direct, this-is-what-the-body-does response.

He felt it.

He noted: she was driving back.

He noted: the yin physique was running warmer than the square.

The forest’s ambient yin was different from the town square’s ambient — denser, older, the specific, unmanaged, long-accumulated, nobody-has-been-harvesting-this-for-decades yin of old growth forest at pre-dawn dark, the flat, rich, present, everywhere quality of yin energy that old forests carried in their bark and root and soil.

The near-manifestation yin physique in her was reading it.

He could feel it reading it — the flat, warm, pulling, hungry quality of a physique that had spent thirty years in a mortal body with no cultivation context for its own appetite and was now in a yin-rich forest with a Nascent Soul cultivator driving full qi transfer at full output and was running at a completely different level from the square.

PAH PAH PAAH!

"’—HAANN~!!! AAAHNN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"

"’—stop—’" She said it. The flat, present, into-the-moss, voice-cracking, muffled-by-ground quality of a woman who was saying ’stop’ with the specific, said-it-not-because-she-meant-it quality of a word produced at a volume and register that were not the actual message. "’—I’m mortal—you will kill me—stop—’"

PAH PAH PAH PAH.

"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—’"

He drove deeper.

The flat, single, deliberate, full-depth, finding-the-specific-location drive of someone who had assessed the geometry and was addressing it at the precise, correct, maximum-available-depth point.

"’—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—’"

Her back arched.

The full, complete, everything-committed arch — her spine reversing, her head coming up from the moss, her hair going back, the flat, total, neck-exposed, chin-up arch of a body that had received the specific, full-depth, maximum-available location and was reporting it at maximum available volume.

"’—please—PLEASE—I cannot—’" Her voice, broken, the flat, present, every-word-separated-by-a-breath quality of a woman speaking from inside a full-depth drive sequence. "’—my lord I am just a mortal woman—you will split me—PLEASE—’"

PAH PAAH PAH!

"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"

He looked at her back.

At the arch of it.

At the whip mark — the flat, present, still-there, still-warm, morning-red stripe of the slave trader’s whip across her lower back, the specific, linear, skin-level evidence of this morning.

His thumb found it.

Not rough — the flat, present, deliberate, full-thumb-pad-contact, tracing quality of someone noting the mark at the same time he drove.

PAH.

"’—AAAHN~!!!—’"