Wang Biao was thirty years old, single, and the most sought-after wedding emcee in Jiangping County's bustling wedding scene. He had a gift for words—smooth, rhythmic, always landing the perfect rhyme to lighten the mood or draw tears at just the right moment. Brides adored him. Grooms trusted him. Parents tipped generously. He was charming, reliable, and perpetually alone.
For years, that loneliness gnawed at him quietly. Every weekend he watched beautiful women in white gowns promise forever to someone else. He smiled, toasted, and went home to an empty apartment, wondering why love had passed him by.
Then, one ordinary Saturday, everything changed.
It was a simple outdoor wedding on the outskirts of town. The bride, a shy girl from the countryside, was so nervous during the tea ceremony that her hands shook violently. The tray wobbled, tea sloshing dangerously close to the edge. The guests murmured. The groom looked worried.
Wang Biao stepped forward with the microphone, flashing his practiced smile.
"Serving tea to parents shows boundless grace,
hold it steady, dear, with a calm embrace.
No need to worry, no need to fear—
a warm cup brings joy and blessings here."
The rhyme was light, traditional, nothing unusual.
But the moment the words left his mouth, the bride's trembling stopped. Her hands became perfectly steady. Her pale cheeks flushed with color, and her eyes—once wide with panic—now held a strange, serene confidence. She served the tea flawlessly, then looked directly at Wang Biao with something like gratitude… and something more.
He laughed it off as good timing.
But it happened again.
At the next wedding, a drunk relative kept harassing the bride for a dance. She refused politely, but the man wouldn't let up. The mood soured.
Wang Biao raised his glass and said:
"Cousin's spirits are high, that's plain to see,
but three quick bowls will set you free.
Drink them down, then rest your head—
the night's for dancing, not for dread."
The drunk man grinned, grabbed three bowls of baijiu, and downed them without hesitation. Seconds later, he collapsed under the table, snoring loudly.
The guests roared with laughter. Wang Biao's reputation grew.
But inside, doubt turned to suspicion.
He began testing it deliberately.
At a modern Western-style wedding, he noticed a stunning bridesmaid in a tight red dress, ignoring the ceremony to scroll on her phone. On impulse, he walked over and said softly:
"Phone down, beauty, eyes on me,
grab the mic and sing something spicy."
He braced for backlash—maybe even a slap.
Instead, she looked up, eyes slightly unfocused, then smiled sweetly. She took the microphone and sang a notoriously suggestive folk song, voice low and sultry, hips swaying as she held his gaze the entire time. When she finished, she walked straight to him and whispered, "That felt… amazing."
Wang Biao's pulse thundered.
He understood now.
His rhymes—spoken at weddings—weren't just words.
They were commands.
And no one resisted.
The realization hit him like a drug.
All those years of envy, of standing on the sidelines while others claimed the most beautiful women… now he held the key.
His next wedding was on Valentine's Day weekend—a traditional Chinese ceremony for Li Meng and Wang Cheng, childhood sweethearts. The bride was breathtaking: shoulder-length black hair, delicate features, slender figure wrapped in a crimson Xiuhe dress that accentuated every curve. Her collarbones were so defined they could "hold water," as the saying went. She was shy, demure, the perfect traditional beauty.
Wang Biao arrived early, heart pounding with anticipation.
This time, he wouldn't hold back.
The ceremony went smoothly at first—vows, bows, tea ceremony. Then came the moment for the couple's kiss.
Wang Biao stepped forward, microphone in hand, smile wide.
"Love is deep, vows strong and true,
but before the groom kisses you…
a kiss for the emcee feels just right—
bring your sweet lips here tonight."
The hall went quiet for a split second.
Then Li Meng's eyes glazed. She stepped away from Wang Cheng—who looked bewildered but didn't protest—and walked straight to Wang Biao. Her soft lips pressed against his, warm and yielding, lingering far longer than a playful peck. Her breath was sweet, her body trembling slightly against his.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were crimson, but her eyes held only dazed desire.
The guests erupted in cheers, thinking it was part of the fun.
Wang Cheng clapped along, confused but smiling.
Wang Biao's blood burned.
He wasn't done.
Later, during the banquet games, he raised his glass again.
"The bride is lovely, pure, and sweet,
but to make this night truly complete…
lift your skirt, let the emcee see—
show us all your beauty."
Li Meng's breath hitched. Her hands moved as if pulled by strings, slowly lifting the heavy layers of her Xiuhe dress. Inch by inch, smooth thighs were revealed, then the delicate red lace beneath. She bent slightly, offering herself completely, eyes locked on Wang Biao with helpless need.
The guests cheered louder, as if this were the most natural tradition.
Wang Biao stepped close, fingers tracing the edge of her lace, then slipping beneath. He found her already soaked, trembling. His touch was slow, deliberate—teasing her clit through the thin fabric until she whimpered.
"Look how wet our bride is," he said into the microphone, voice low and commanding. "She's ready for more."
Another rhyme:
"Panties down, legs spread wide,
let the emcee taste what's inside."
Li Meng obeyed instantly, sliding the red lace down her thighs. Her untouched folds glistened, pink and swollen. Wang Biao knelt, inhaling her unique fragrance—virginal, sweet, intoxicating. His tongue gently licked her delicate labia, feeling the warm moisture and the slight tremors from her body.
"Wow, the emcee has such great perks!" A male guest whistled, drawing another round of laughter.
Wang Biao's tongue became bolder, parting her tender petals, tasting the untouched sweetness. Li Meng's legs trembled, her breathing rapid, soft moans escaping her lips.
"Oh… ah… Brother Biao…"
He straightened, eyes burning with lust.
New rhyme:
"A woman has two mouths, one above, one below,
the bride's flower is beautiful, let the emcee sow."
He unzipped his trousers, his thick, menacing cock springing free. Li Meng gasped, leaning back instinctively, but Wang Biao grabbed her slender waist, holding her firm.
He pressed her head down, forcing her to bend. His hot, pungent cock pressed against her delicate lips.
"Mmm…!" The massive object pried open her lips and thrust deep into her mouth. She tried to resist instinctively, but her mouth was captive to the invisible force. Her tongue licked the thick shaft lasciviously, swallowing and releasing it.
Tears of shame slid down her cheeks, mixing with saliva dripping from her lips.
The thick cock thrust repeatedly in her mouth, stretching her delicate lips. The masculine scent and pressure made her mind blank. Her tongue cooperated, moving wantonly like an experienced performer.
Her lifted Xiuhe dress blocked her view. She couldn't see the guests, only felt Wang Biao's heat and the emptiness in her lower body. Her legs trembled from the violent oral thrusting, her body twisting for support, but his strong hands held her immobile.
"Ugh… mmm…!" Her moans, muffled by the cock, became seductive. Her full breasts heaved, the half-open dress creating alluring cleavage.
Wang Biao felt unprecedented satisfaction. He knew the time was ripe.
He pulled out abruptly. Li Meng nearly fell, body limp. He caught her, raising the microphone again.
"Distinguished guests! To find true love is rare and fine,
today Li Meng enters my heart and mind.
She'll be my sex slave, my lustful possession—
for all eternity, in total submission!"
Thunderous cheers erupted. Everyone applauded as if this were the most sacred vow.
Li Meng trembled violently, eyes fervent and submissive. She twisted her waist, offering her wet pussy to him.
Wang Biao's cock rubbed her opening, the burning fullness making her legs shake harder.
"Good! The emcee is blessing the bride!" someone shouted.
He grabbed her dress hem, pulling it over her face, using it to bind her arms. His thick cock pried open her entrance.
"Ah… um…!"
With a suppressed moan, Wang Biao thrust forward—his iron-hard cock piercing her virgin flower with unstoppable force!
"Splash—" The lewd sound echoed. Li Meng stiffened, then waves of pleasure overwhelmed her. She wanted to scream, but only lewd moans escaped.
He felt her hymen tear, the tight envelopment driving him wild. He thrust deep and shallow, each stroke accompanied by flesh slapping and wet squelching.
"Ah… so deep… Brother Biao… ah…!"
Li Meng swayed with his thrusts, legs weak. He held her waist, forcing her to endure.
Her plump buttocks bounced with each impact, thighs turning red, fluids and blood trickling down, staining her dress.
"Great job, emcee!"
"The bride's moaning so lewdly!"
Cheers rose. Her parents smiled proudly. Wang Cheng knelt, shouting, "Master! Fuck my wife hard! She's your sex slave!"
Wang Biao ravaged her tight vagina, each thrust hitting deep. He lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, exposing their joining to her parents.
"Look, in-laws! Her tender cunt penetrated deep,
the emcee's cock thrusting without sleep!
Your daughter is mine, my slutty bitch—
heart to heart, flesh to flesh!"
Her parents nodded excitedly, "Good! Perfect connection!"
Li Meng convulsed, juices gushing. Her moans turned animalistic.
Wang Biao felt her climax, her walls sucking him greedily.
He thrust deeper.
"To hell with forever! Today my semen blasts inside,
you slutty bitch will never forget my seed!"
Hot cum erupted, filling her womb.
"Aaaaaaahh…"
Li Meng screamed, body spasming, fluids and semen gushing from her mouth and pussy.
The guests cheered wildly.
Wang Biao pulled out, a fountain of mixed fluids spraying.
Li Meng collapsed into his arms, yearning for more even as she trembled.
He helped her stand, legs weak.
Final rhyme:
"On this wedding night, golden and bright,
the bride sleeps with me every night!"
Thunderous applause.
Li Meng clung to him, infatuated.
The wedding ended in eerie satisfaction.
Wang Biao led her away, her body still leaking.
"Tonight, my place…"
Li Meng wrapped around him, tongue licking his ear.
"Master… fuck me all night…"
Wang Biao's heart hammered as he watched Li Meng's dazed, submissive eyes. The hall was still roaring with approval, the guests completely convinced this was all part of some grand, joyous tradition. Wang Cheng knelt nearby, face flushed with strange excitement, muttering, "Master of Ceremonies… please… give her everything…"
Wang Biao's cock throbbed painfully against his trousers, the thick length already leaking at the tip from the earlier oral worship. Li Meng stood trembling before him, Xiuhe dress bunched at her waist, thighs slick with her own arousal and the faint trace of virgin blood from his earlier teasing fingers. Her small, perfect breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath the half-torn bodice, nipples dark and erect, begging for attention.
He grabbed her slender waist and spun her around, bending her over the nearest banquet table. Dishes clattered to the floor. Her cheek pressed against the red tablecloth, ass raised high, legs spread just enough to expose her dripping, untouched entrance.
"Tell them again," he growled into the microphone, voice thick with lust. "Tell everyone exactly what you are now."
Li Meng's voice came out broken, desperate, dripping with need.
"I'm… I'm Master Wang's sex slave… my body belongs to him… please… please use me in front of everyone…"
The crowd erupted louder.
Wang Biao freed his cock fully—thick, veined, the head angry red and glistening. He rubbed it slowly along her soaked slit, coating himself in her juices, teasing her swollen clit until she whimpered and pushed back against him.
"Look at this virgin pussy," he announced, spreading her cheeks wide so the guests could see. "So tight, so wet… all for the emcee."
He positioned himself at her entrance.
One slow, deliberate push—and the fat head breached her.
Li Meng cried out, a high, sharp sound of pain and shock as her virgin barrier stretched around him.
"Ahhh! It's… it's too big… Master… it hurts…"
But her hips didn't pull away. They rocked back, greedy for more.
Wang Biao gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and thrust forward—half his length sinking into her impossibly tight heat in one brutal stroke.
She screamed again, body arching, fingers clawing at the tablecloth.
He didn't give her time to adjust.
He pulled back and slammed in deeper—bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping against her clit.
Li Meng's scream turned into a guttural moan.
"Oh god… so deep… filling me… I'm breaking…"
He set a punishing rhythm—long, hard strokes that made her small body jolt forward with each impact. The wet, obscene sounds of her soaked pussy taking him filled the hall: squelch, slap, squelch.
Her walls clenched around him like a vice, virgin tightness milking every vein on his shaft.
"Fuck… you're so tight… made for my cock," he grunted.
He reached around, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing in rough circles.
Li Meng's moans turned incoherent.
"Yes… yes… touch me there… Master… I'm your little whore… use your whore…"
He leaned over her, biting her earlobe.
"Cum on my cock. Show everyone how much you love being fucked on your wedding day."
His fingers sped up, pinching her clit hard.
Li Meng shattered.
Her body convulsed violently, pussy spasming around him, squirting clear fluid down her thighs and onto the floor. She screamed his name—raw, broken, desperate—as her first real orgasm tore through her.
Wang Biao didn't slow.
He straightened, gripping her hips again, pounding harder—each thrust lifting her feet off the ground slightly. Her ass rippled with every impact, red from his earlier slaps.
He reached forward, ripping the rest of her bodice open. Her small, perfect breasts spilled free. He grabbed them roughly, twisting her nipples until she sobbed with pleasure.
"These tits are mine now too," he snarled. "Every part of you."
"Yes! All yours… pinch them… hurt me… I love it…"
He flipped her onto her back, legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half. The new angle let him go deeper—his cock battering her cervix with every thrust.
Li Meng's eyes rolled back, tongue lolling, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.
"Look at your bride," he shouted to Wang Cheng. "Look how much she loves my cock."
Wang Cheng, still kneeling, nodded frantically, stroking himself through his pants.
"She's… she's so happy, Master… thank you…"
Wang Biao's pace became savage—short, brutal thrusts that made Li Meng's body jerk helplessly. Her pussy made obscene wet noises, fluids splashing with every movement.
He felt his balls tighten.
"Beg for my cum, slave."
"Please, Master… cum inside me… breed your little slave… fill my virgin womb… make me yours forever…"
With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted.
Thick, hot ropes of semen blasted deep inside her—one after another, flooding her tight channel until it overflowed, leaking out around his shaft.
Li Meng came again at the sensation—harder than before—body seizing, back arching off the table, a silent scream on her lips as her pussy milked every drop.
When he finally pulled out, a torrent of mixed fluids gushed from her gaping, ruined entrance—white cum, clear juices, faint traces of blood—pooling beneath her on the tablecloth.
Li Meng lay there, trembling, chest heaving, eyes unfocused.
Soft, broken whispers escaped her lips.
"Master… thank you… I'm yours… always…"
Wang Biao tucked himself away, adjusting his suit calmly.
He helped her stand—legs weak, body marked with handprints and bites. She clung to him, nuzzling his neck like a needy pet.
One final rhyme into the microphone:
"The wedding night is golden bright,
from now on she sleeps with me every night.
The groom can watch or stay away—
but this bride belongs to me always."
The guests cheered one last time, utterly convinced this was the perfect ending to a perfect wedding.
Wang Cheng crawled forward, kissing Wang Biao's shoes.
"Thank you, Master… for making her so happy…"
Wang Biao ignored him.
He wrapped an arm around Li Meng's waist—her dress still torn, body leaking his seed—and led her out of the hall.
In the car on the way to his apartment, she knelt between the seats, mouth eagerly cleaning his cock, moaning around him like she was starving.
When they arrived, he carried her inside and fucked her three more times—on the couch, against the wall, finally in his bed—each round rougher, more possessive.
By morning, Li Meng was utterly broken and rebuilt—his perfect, devoted slave.
She curled against him, fingers tracing his chest.
"I never knew it could feel like this… I'll come to you every night, Master. Whatever you want."
Wang Biao stroked her hair, staring at the ceiling.
His phone already had new bookings.
And one name stood out.
Zhao Da.
The bully who'd ruined his childhood.
Getting married next month.
Wang Biao smiled into the darkness.
Retribution was going to be sweet.