Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 238- A Mother’s Pleas for her Daughter

Chapter 238: Chapter 238- A Mother’s Pleas for her Daughter

PAH PAH PAAH!

"—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—"

The mother’s forearms were white-knuckled on the stone edge, every muscle locked to hold herself together against what was coming through from behind.

Her body moved with him completely — chest swaying forward with each drive, knees scraping the pool’s rim, the water around her rippling outward in small waves that broke against the tile like a clock keeping time for something too old to name.

Her chest hung over the edge, heavy with milk, those thick dark nipples already stiff and beaded with fresh drops, grazing the cool stone with each thrust.

Thin white threads dripped from them into the pool below, dissolving into the clear water like smoke in wind — gone before you could look twice, the only evidence that something was spilling whether she wanted it to or not.

She was crying.

Not managing it, not hiding it — face sideways on the stone, tears running horizontal across her cheek and mixing with pool water that had splashed there, her amber eyes open and full and not looking at anything.

PAH PAAH!

"—AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—"

Her daughter was still in the water.

Still watching.

She stood chest-deep, wet hair plastered flat against her face, arms folded across herself in that specific way a girl holds her own body when she doesn’t know what else to do with her hands — not protection exactly, just the only thing that felt like hers, her small firm breasts pressing up beneath her forearms, nipples pebbled tight from the chill.

Her brown eyes hadn’t moved from her mother’s face.

The specific, terrible intimacy of knowing every line of a face — and watching that face come apart in real time, sideways on stone, mouth open, sounds pouring out of it that a daughter was never meant to hear.

Her mother’s face.

Amber eyes half-closed and wet, mouth loose with every hit, not performing anything, not holding anything back — just a woman reduced to the single present fact of what was being done to her body.

PAH PAH PAH.

"—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!!—"

He drove until the words left her.

Until what had been broken sentences became nothing but breath and sound — the language stripped out first, then the meaning, until all that remained was the body’s own report, honest and unedited, running warm and continuous like water from a cracked vessel.

Then he pulled out.

The wet pull of disconnection — a sound the pool amplified — and her body registered the absence immediately, hips shifting back toward where he had been before she could stop them.

"—Nnghh~...—"

She looked back over her shoulder, amber eyes finding him with the specific confusion of a body that had been open and was suddenly not — asking without words what had changed and why.

He looked at the daughter.

At the brown eyes.

"Come here," he said.

The daughter looked at him.

"—what—"

"Here," he said. "Knees."

She didn’t move.

Not refusal exactly — the instruction was inside her but her legs hadn’t received it yet, the gap between understanding a thing and having the body act on it.

"—My daughter—" The mother, voice surfacing from somewhere beneath the wreckage of the last several minutes, something sharpening in it. "—what are you—"

He was already moving through the water toward her.

His hand found the back of her head — full palm, fingers threading wet hair — and brought her down with the unhurried certainty of someone who had given the instruction once and considered the matter already settled.

Her knees found the pool floor.

Both of them, stone beneath the water, her shoulders now at the surface line, looking up with brown eyes wide and pool water still running down her face.

He was right there.

His cock at face level, warm and present and carrying everything that had been happening for the last several minutes — the heat of it, the specific undeniable weight of what it had been doing, close enough that she already knew the taste before her mouth had opened.

"—Master—wait—I have never—"

He pulled her forward by the back of the head.

She received him — no gentleness in the geometry, no ceremony — her mouth stretched around the full warm girth of him at point-blank range, and her eyes went wide in the way eyes go wide when the body is processing several things at once and losing the argument with all of them.

The stretch of it.

The warmth.

And the taste — salt and something deeper, the unmistakable specific truth of where he had been before this, the body-knowledge of her own mother on her tongue before her brain had even formed the thought clearly enough to panic.

"—Mmph~!!! Mmphhh~!!!—"

He held her head with both hands, grip steady, not cruel but not interested in movement — the position had been established and he was keeping it.

She gagged.

Real gag, first-time gag — her throat encountering something it had no architecture for and reporting the encounter loudly, honestly, without any of the performance that experience teaches.

"—Mmph~!!! MMPHHH~!!!—"

Her hands shot up and found his thighs, pushing at them from below with both palms, her whole body trying to create distance that his hands were not going to allow.

He drove.

Not fully — he had assessed the space available and was using it, measured, deliberate, this-is-the-depth-that-exists, not exceeding it, not wasting it.

"—MMPHHH~!!! Mmmph~!!!—"

Her throat worked around him — involuntary swallowing, involuntary clenching, everything below her chin trying to manage what had been put there and managing none of it.

The mother.

She had been still on the stone edge, catching breath with the specific hollow quality of a woman whose body had just been vacated — arms on the rim, chest still heaving, thinking nothing yet.

Then she heard her daughter’s sounds.

She turned her head.

Amber eyes finding the scene across the pool in one instant — her daughter’s head between his hands, the muffled sounds rising from the water, the visible strain in her daughter’s shoulders, the hands pushing uselessly at his thighs.

She gasped.

"—wait—" Immediate, sharp, everything shifting in her voice. "—wait—please—she has never—please—"

She pushed off the stone edge, arms coming off the rim, body turning toward them with the specific directional momentum of a mother who has decided where she is going.

He saw her coming.

One hand still at the daughter’s head — the other reaching, found her wrist, gripped it.

Pulled.

She went sideways in chest-deep water, feet leaving the pool floor, pulled by the wrist with a force that didn’t argue — and then the stone of the wider ledge was coming up to meet her back, her shoulders hitting the surface, her body landing on the flat stone above the pool rim with the impact ringing through her chest.

Both breasts jumped from the landing.

Not gently — the weight of them, the density, making the movement visible from across the room, settling with the specific warm heaviness of a near-manifestation physique that carried something older than the body it lived in.

She lay on her back.

On the ledge, above the pool, looking up at him — at one hand still inside her daughter’s hair, the other having just placed her here, and amber eyes doing the arithmetic of what she was looking at.

"—please—" Already talking, wrist released, looking straight at his face. "—please she cannot—she will choke—"