The days following Zheng Yao's wedding blurred into a haze of indulgence for Wang Biao. Lin Lin had become his most devoted acquisition yet—a mature, voluptuous widow whose body he ravaged nightly in his apartment, her full breasts leaking milk under his rough hands, her experienced pussy clenching around his cock as she begged for more degradation.
She'd whisper filthy confessions between moans, her dark eyes glazed with hypnotic loyalty: "Master, use this widow's holes... milk me like the cow I am..." Zheng, the tycoon groom, sent lavish "gifts"—cash transfers, luxury watches, even a new car—convinced it was his duty to support the "man who made the wedding perfect." Wang Biao's bank account swelled, but so did his hunger. Each conquest amplified his power; the rhymes flowed easier, the obedience deeper.
Yet, one target had eluded him: Bai Ling, his boss at Hengjiu Wedding Company. Sharp, ambitious, thirty-two, with a figure that turned heads—high ponytail framing shrewd dark eyes behind frameless glasses, athletic curves hugged by her signature black suits, long legs in stockings ending in red heels. She'd built the company from nothing, spotting Wang Biao's talent early and promoting him. But her involvement in the wedding industry made her uniquely vulnerable.
His power, tied to weddings, extended to those immersed in them—like planners, vendors, anyone whose life revolved around the ceremonies. Bai Ling lived and breathed weddings; her office was a shrine to them—photos of past events on walls, sample invitations on desks. In her world, his rhymes weren't anomalies; they were "creative flair," normalized by the industry's constant exposure to ritual and performance. Colleagues would see any odd behavior as "industry eccentricity," not something to question.
Today, he'd test it. Bai Ling had called him in for a "performance review"—code for praising his recent successes and dangling more elite gigs.
Wang Biao arrived at the office mid-afternoon, the small building quiet as most staff were out on site visits. Bai Ling's door was ajar; he knocked lightly and entered.
She looked up from her desk, papers scattered around her laptop. Her black suit jacket was unbuttoned slightly, hinting at the full breasts beneath her blouse. Red heels kicked off under the desk, stockings sheer against her crossed legs.
"Wang Biao! Sit, sit." Her voice was warm, professional, but her eyes held that appraising glint. "You've been on fire lately. Zheng Yao couldn't stop raving—said the wedding was 'life-changing.' Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Wang Biao sat across from her, smiling humbly. "Just doing my job, Boss Bai."
She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, cleavage subtly deepening. "No false modesty. Bookings are up 50%. You're the star here." Her gaze lingered on him a second too long—curious, perhaps sensing the change in him.
This was his opening.
He met her eyes, voice dropping to that rhythmic, commanding tone.
"Boss Bai, you've built this empire strong,
but now it's time to right a wrong.
Professional walls come tumbling down—
let desire rule, wear passion's crown."
Bai Ling's shrewd eyes glazed instantly. Her posture shifted—shoulders relaxing, lips parting slightly. The rhyme, infused with his power, resonated because of her deep ties to the wedding world. She planned ceremonies daily; her mind was primed for the hypnotic "normalcy" his words created.
In her office, surrounded by wedding paraphernalia invitation samples, floral catalogs, photos of brides in white—it felt like an extension of the venues themselves. Colleagues, if they walked in, would see it as "creative brainstorming" or "industry passion"—nothing alarming in a business built on romance and performance.
"What... what do you mean?" she murmured, but her voice was breathy, cheeks flushing.
Wang Biao stood, circling the desk slowly.
Another rhyme:
"Lock the door, dim the light,
let the emcee claim you tonight.
Jacket off, blouse undone—
show your curves, let's have fun."
Bai Ling rose mechanically, locking the office door with a soft click. She flicked the light switch to dim, casting shadows that accentuated her figure. Her hands moved to her suit jacket, shrugging it off to reveal a white blouse clinging to her athletic curves. Buttons came undone one by one—exposing black lace bra cups straining against full, firm breasts.
"Wang Biao... this feels... right..." Her voice trembled with confusion and rising heat.
He stepped closer, inhaling her perfume—mature, sophisticated, with a hint of floral sweetness.
"Skirt up, panties aside,
let my fingers take a ride."
Bai Ling hiked her pencil skirt to her waist, revealing black stockings and matching lace thong. She slid the thong aside, exposing her smooth, pink pussy—already glistening, folds swelling with arousal, a neat strip of dark hair above her clit.
Wang Biao's cock hardened instantly. He reached between her legs, fingers tracing her slit—wet, hot, ready.
She gasped, body arching.
"Ah... Emcee Wang... your touch..."
He plunged two fingers inside her—curling, thrusting roughly.
She moaned, gripping the desk.
"More... finger me deeper..."
He added a third, stretching her, thumb rubbing her clit in circles.
Her hips bucked, juices coating his hand.
"Wang Biao... oh god... don't stop..."
He finger-fucked her harder—wet squelches filling the office, her moans growing louder.
She came suddenly—body seizing, squirting onto his palm, legs shaking.
But he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to her lips.
"Suck them clean, Boss."
She obeyed, tongue swirling, tasting herself with hungry eyes.
"Good girl. Now, on your knees."
Bai Ling dropped, hands freeing his massive cock—thick, veined, head leaking.
She took him in her mouth eagerly—lips stretching, throat relaxing as she deepthroated.
He grabbed her ponytail, fucking her face roughly.
"Gag on it... show me how much you want this promotion."
She choked, tears streaming, but moaned around him.
"Mmmph... your cock... so big... fuck my throat..."
He thrust deeper, balls slapping her chin, until she was a drooling mess.
Pulling out, he yanked her up, bending her over the desk—papers scattering.
Skirt hiked, he rubbed his slick cock against her entrance.
"Beg, Bai Ling. Beg your employee to fuck you."
"Please... Wang Biao... fuck your boss... claim my pussy... make me your office slut..."
He slammed in—full length in one stroke.
She screamed, body arching.
"So deep... ahhh... you're splitting me..."
He pounded her relentlessly—desk shaking, her full breasts bouncing free from her bra as he ripped it open.
He grabbed them, twisting nipples hard.
"These tits are mine now... milk them for me."
She moaned, "Yes... pinch them... hurt me..."
He slapped her ass red, alternating cheeks with each thrust.
"Whose pussy is this?"
"Yours! Your boss's pussy belongs to you... fuck it raw..."
He reached around, fingers on her clit—rubbing brutally.
She came again—body convulsing, squirting down her stockings.
He pulled out, flipping her to sit on the desk, legs over his shoulders.
Deeper angle—hitting her cervix with every slam.
"Tell me... you're my whore now."
"I'm your whore... your cumdump... breed me... ahhh!"
He choked her lightly, thrusting harder.
Her eyes rolled back, another orgasm ripping through.
He erupted—flooding her womb, cum overflowing.
But he continued—pulling out, shoving into her mouth for cleanup, then back in her pussy.
They fucked for hours—on the desk, against the wall, her riding him in the chair.
Dialogue filled the air:
"Choke me harder... make me black out..."
"Slap my tits... yes... bruise them..."
"Finger my ass while you fuck me... stretch me for your cock..."
He obliged—three fingers in her ass as he pounded her pussy, then switching to anal.
Her ass was tight, resisting at first.
"Relax, slut... take it all."
"Ahhh... it's too big... but don't stop... ruin my ass..."
He came in every hole—throat, pussy, ass—marking her completely.
By closing time, Bai Ling lay spent on the floor—body leaking cum, marked with handprints, whispering devotions.
"Master... I'll serve you... promote you... anything..."
He dressed, leaving her to clean up.
Outside, the office was empty—no one had interrupted, the hypnosis normalizing even distant moans as "passionate planning."
His power now worked beyond weddings—on those tied to the industry.
Bai Ling was his first non-bride conquest.
And the doors to more were opening wide.