Raúl and Mei-Ling defy the Chens in a game of power and lust, using the butler Liang as a pawn in their revenge.
The Chen mansion rises like a colossus of black marble and gold, its sharp towers piercing the Shanghai night sky like the claws of a sleeping dragon. The air smells of jasmine and old money, of that rarefied perfume possessed only by lineages that have trampled through entire centuries to stay at the top. Inside, in the west wing reserved for the less worthy members of the family, Raúl leans against the doorframe of his private suite, his fingers entwined around a glass of whiskey that glows amber under the dim light of silk lamps. The liquid burns as it goes down, but not as much as the look the Chen elders gave him during dinner: contemptuous, loaded with that millenary scorn wielded only by those who believe themselves owners of time.
But right now, he isn't thinking about them.
His eyes, dark as oil wells, are fixed on the silhouette outlined under the leaded glass shower. Steam escapes in slow swirls, drawing curves in the air as the water slides over her skin. His wife. Mei-Ling. The woman who, against all odds, remains here, by his side, even when the clan urges her to abandon him like a mangy dog. He watches her through the misted glass, the contour of her wide hips, 그 thick, round, and firm ass that seems sculpted to make men lose their sanity, the black lace bikini—god, that damn bikini—that barely covers the essentials, leaving little to the imagination and much to desire. The fabric, soaked, clings to her like a second skin, outlining the crease between her buttocks, the dark triangle between her thighs. Raúl swallows hard. He feels the weight of his own excitement pressing against the zipper of his silk trousers, but he doesn't touch himself. Not yet.
—Mei— he calls, his voice raspy, loaded with something that isn't just lust, but also a kind of sickly triumph—. Come here.
She turns her head, her jet-black hair clinging to her face in damp strands. Her eyes, almond-shaped and golden like ancient coins, look at him with a mixture of submission and curiosity that makes Raúl's stomach contract.
—Yes, husband?— she responds, and the word *husband* sounds like an oath on her lips.
—Don't dry yourself— he orders, gesturing with his chin toward the four-poster bed that dominates the room, its red brocade curtains falling like blood over the dark wood—. Come just like that.
Mei-Ling obeys. Water continues to drip from her skin as she steps out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the cold marble. The bikini, now almost transparent, does nothing to hide the dark circles of her hard nipples or the curled hair peeking out between her legs. Raúl feels his cock harden even more, but his smile is cold, calculating. Because this isn't just for pleasure. It's for revenge. The Chens believe they have tamed him, that he is a lapdog they can kick whenever they please. But Raúl is playing a longer game. And Mei-Ling is his queen.
—Kneel on the bed— he says, and his voice admits no reply.
She does so, her knees sinking into the silk mattress, her tight ass lifted in the air like an offering. Raúl approaches, but not to touch her. Not yet. Instead, he heads toward the ebony panel embedded in the wall and presses a hidden button. A second later, the side door opens noiselessly.
—Come in, Liang— Raúl says, without looking back.
The butler appears like a tall, thin shadow, dressed in the impeccable uniform of the Chen service: a black jacket, pinstriped trousers, white gloves. But his eyes—ah, his eyes—are those of a wolf that has just smelled blood. Liang is young, barely touching thirty, with an angular jaw and thin lips that seem made for biting. And, most importantly, he has something Raúl does not: the favor of the Chen elders. He is their loyal dog. Or so they believe.
—Sir— Liang murmurs, bowing his head, but his eyes do not drift from Mei-Ling. From that fallen goddess body, from those buttocks that seem to defy gravity.
Raúl smiles. It's a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
—Undress— he orders, and the tone leaves no room for doubt: it is not a request.
Liang does not hesitate. His fingers, agile and precise, unbutton the jacket and let it drop to the floor. The shirt follows, revealing a pale and muscular torso, marked with ancient scars—from training? from punishment?—that Raúl doesn't bother to ask about. But it is when his hands go down to his belt that Mei-Ling catches her breath. The sound of the metal unbuckling echoes in the room like a gunshot.
The trousers fall.
And then it's there, free, standing tall like a monument to lust: Liang's cock, thick and long, with a purple head glistening with precum, the veins standing out like cables under the skin. Mei-Ling bites her lower lip, and Raúl knows she is wet. That the soaked bikini isn't just from the shower water.
—Get closer— Raúl tells Liang, and the butler obeys, advancing until he is only a step away from Mei-Ling.
—Touch her— Raúl orders, and his voice is a whip-crack.
Liang doesn't need to be told twice. His hands, large and calloused, rest on Mei-Ling's hips, his fingers sinking into the firm flesh of her buttocks. She gasps, a sharp and needy sound, as he pulls her toward him, pressing that ass against his crotch. Liang's cock wedges between Mei-Ling's buttocks, parting the fabric of the bikini, searching for heat, for moisture.
—Gods— Liang murmurs, his breath hot against her neck—. You are perfect.
Raúl watches, motionless, as one of Liang's hands slides forward, searching for the heat between Mei-Ling's thighs. She opens her legs a little wider, inviting him, and the butler doesn't hesitate. His fingers find the wet lace, pull it aside with a grunt, and then they are there, brushing against the swollen lips of her cunt, feeling how slippery it is, how ready she is for him.
—Ah!— Mei-Ling arches her back, pushing her rear against Liang's cock while he touches her, his fingers moving in slow circles over her clitoris.
—You like it, don't you?— Liang whispers, his voice a sweet poison—. You like being touched like the whore you are.
Raúl feels his own cock throb, painfully, inside his pants. But he doesn't move. He doesn't intervene. Because this is exactly what he wanted to see.
—Tell him yes— Raúl orders, his voice a filter of steel.
—I like it— Mei-Ling pants, her voice a broken moan—. I like it, please...
Liang waits no longer. With a brusque movement, he pushes her forward, making her fall onto her hands, her ass high, that black bikini now a simple, useless ornament. He kneels behind her, his throbbing cock brushing her entrance, and Raúl can see it all: the shine of Liang's precum mixing with his wife's fluids, the way she pushes back, searching, needing.
—Go ahead— Raúl says, his voice a rough whisper—. Fuck her. Make her yours.
And Liang obeys.
His cock sinks into Mei-Ling in a single brutal thrust, stretching her, filling her until she screams, her nails digging into the silk sheets. Raúl sees how the muscles of her back tense, how her buttocks tighten around the base of Liang's cock, swallowing it all. The butler grunts, his hips beginning a savage rhythm, each thrust making Mei-Ling's breasts bounce, her hair clinging to her sweaty face.
—More!— she screams, her voice a defiance, a plea—. Give me more!
Liang doesn't need to be told twice. One of his hands tangles in her hair, pulling her head back while the other digs into her hip, his fingers leaving red marks on her golden skin. Each shove is stronger than the last, the wet sound of their bodies colliding filling the room, mixing with Mei-Ling's broken gasps and Liang's animalistic grunts.
Raúl, finally, cannot resist any longer.
His fingers move toward his own zipper, releasing his cock, hard as steel and dripping. He masturbates slowly, eyes fixed on the spectacle: the way Liang's cock disappears inside his wife over and over again, how Mei-Ling's lips part in a silent scream every time he reaches the bottom. How her buttocks—that damn ass—shake with every impact, the flesh trembling like jelly.
—You're mine— Liang grunts, his words a possession, a brand—. Only mine.
Mei-Ling moans, but doesn't respond. She can't. Because in that moment, Raúl takes a step forward, approaching them, his cock in his hand, the glans red and glistening.
—Tell him the truth— Raúl orders, his voice cutting the air like a blade—. Tell him who you really belong to.
Mei-Ling lifts her head, her golden eyes meeting Raúl's. There is defiance there. There is submission. And, above all, there is pleasure.
—To my husband— she pants, the words like a lash—. I am his. Always.
Liang grunts, but doesn't stop his thrusts. If anything, they become more brutal, as if he wanted to punish her for that loyalty. But Raúl smiles. Because this—this—is exactly what he wanted. For her to give herself over. For them to give themselves over. And for the Chen elders, somewhere in this cursed mansion, to know it.
—Good girl— Raúl murmurs, quickening the pace of his hand over his own cock—. Now tell Liang what you want.
Mei-Ling doesn't hesitate.
—I want you to come inside me!— she screams, her voice a broken moan—. I want to feel you inside when I climax!
Liang emits a guttural sound, his hips moving in circles now, rubbing against that spot inside her that makes her tremble. Raúl can see it: the exact moment Mei-Ling tenses, her back arching like a bow, her thighs shaking.
—I'm going to—! I'm going to—!
And then she comes.
Her orgasm shakes her like a storm, her walls tightening around Liang's cock, dragging him with her. The butler grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he comes inside her, filling her, marking her. Raúl watches, his own cock throbbing in his fist, the semen erupting in thick spurts onto the cold marble, mixing with the water droplets still falling from his wife's body.
When Liang finally pulls out, his cock glistening with the fluids of both, Mei-Ling collapses onto the bed, panting, the bikini now a useless rag around her hips. Raúl approaches, running his fingers down her sweaty back, feeling the accelerated beat of her heart.
—Good— he murmurs, his voice a dark lullaby—. Very good.
Because this has only just begun. And the Chens will know.