Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World

Chapter 295 295 - Delivering

Six inches. The head pressing against her cervix.

"AH—MASTER—I—HAANGHH~—"

He pressed 'through.'

The cervix stretched. Opened. And the Queen's scream went from words to pure, unfiltered sound — "HAAAANGHHT~!!" — her whole body seizing, back caving off the mattress, the enormous pregnant belly lifting with the arch as every muscle locked simultaneously.

The physician checked her pulse. Made a note. Did not look up.

'Phack.'

"AAAAHNGHH~!!"

'Phack. Phack.'

"HNGH~!! PLEASE — MASTER — BE GENTLE — MY BABY — HAAANGHH~—"

His hands pressed flat against her belly — both of them, broad and warm, the cultivator's hands that could crush a Core Formation elder like paper now pressing down with deliberate, steady pressure. Not violent. Purposeful. Like a man who knows exactly how much force is required and applies precisely that.

The Queen felt it — the pressure from outside meeting the pressure from inside, his cock driving upward through her cervix while his palms guided the child downward, and her whole womb 'clenched' in a long, involuntary contraction that was completely beyond her control.

"HIEEKNGHH~!! MASTER — AH — IT'S — I CAN FEEL — HAANGHH~!!"

'Phack. PHACK.'

Her tits swung in wide, pendulous arcs — massive and milk-heavy, the nipple chain catching the morning light each time they swung outward, milk spraying in thin arcs with each impact of his hips against her thighs. The droplets landed on the clean linen, on her belly, on the arms of the nearest maid who did not flinch.

Her tears came without ceremony. Just — running, from the outer corners of her eyes, streaking back into her platinum hair as her head pressed into the pillow with each thrust. Saliva collected at the corner of her open mouth. Her lips formed shapes that were not quite words.

"Slow — please — please be slow — Master — it hurts — it hurts so good — please — my baby — slow —"

'PHACK.'

"AAAAHNGHHT~!!"

"Helping you," Cang said, voice entirely steady. His hips drove down again with the same relentless, deep pace. "Stretching you open. Your body needs this." His palms pressed her belly in a rolling motion, guiding. "Stop clenching."

"I — HAANGHH — I CAN'T — I CAN'T STOP —"

"Stop clenching," he repeated.

She tried. Her pussy clenched around his cock like a fist.

He reached down and slapped her inner thigh — not hard, but sharp and precise enough to make her yelp and the muscles jump and then, involuntarily, 'loosen.'

"HYAA~!! — AH — mnghh — mnghh —" The clenching softened. Her whole lower body trembled in the specific uncoordinated way of muscles that have been ordered to release but don't know how to do it gracefully.

'Phack. Phack. PHACK.'

Lin Yuxi had positioned herself behind him on the bed.

She had wrapped her arms around his torso from behind — her pierced nipples pressing against the warm muscle of his back, her thighs on either side of his hips, her hands finding his hip bones. And then she 'pushed' — lining her body's motion with his, adding her weight to each thrust, driving him deeper with every forward rock of her own hips.

She was helping him fuck her mother.

Her face was pressed against the back of his shoulder. Her eyes were open, watching over his shoulder, watching her mother's face dissolve into formless, overwhelmed sounds beneath them. Her fingers dug into his hips.

"Hngh~—" Every time she pushed forward, the motion pressed her own soaked pussy against the back of his thigh. "Come on, Mother," she breathed, and the word in her mouth was raw and strange and honest. "Come on. Let him help you."

"YUXI—AH—HAANGHH~—YOUR MASTER—HE'S—TOO—IT'S TOO MUCH—HAAAANGHHT~!!"

'PHACK. PAAAHH.'

The contraction that rolled through the Queen was different from the ones before — deeper, longer, spreading from her cervix outward in a wave that seized her entire lower body and pulled a long, ragged, formless cry from the deepest part of her chest.

The physician moved closer. Two maids moved with her.

Cang felt the shift — the way her body changed around him, the internal pressure building, the cervix dilating further with each thrust now. His pace had been precise this entire time — not brutal, not fast, but deep and absolutely relentless, each thrust the exact depth required, his hands on her belly guiding the contractions into productive alignment.

The Queen's nipples were leaking continuously now — not in sprays but in a steady pour, soaking the linen beneath her, her tits rolling with each contraction, the silver chain swinging. Her mouth was open. Her eyes had gone to the ceiling. She was somewhere between agony and the furthest edge of pleasure — in the specific territory that has no name, where pain and ecstasy share the same nerve pathways and the body stops distinguishing between them.

"Master—" The word came out on a sob. "I'm — I'm going to — HAANGHH — MASTER—"

"Give it to me," Cang said.

'PAAAHH.'

"AAAAHNGHH~!! HIEEKNGHH~!! MASTER — CANG — IT'S — I'M — HAAAIYAANGHH~!!"

The orgasm and the contraction arrived simultaneously — the same wave, cresting, and the Queen's entire body lifted off the mattress in one full, arching lurch. Her back curved. Her belly pushed outward. Her scream cracked off the ceiling of the grand hall and sent the nearest candle flames guttering sideways.

Cang pulled out.

The withdrawal was fast — clean, deliberate. His cock dragged free of her with a thick, obscene sound, the walls of her pussy pulling outward with him before releasing.

The physician was already there. The two flanking maids moved in with practiced hands.

And beneath the sound of the Queen's continuing, helpless cries — beneath the rustle of the physician's robes and the soft voices of the maids and the creak of the bed frame — the sound of a child entering the world filled the grand hall of the Lin Clan.

Small. Indignant. Alive.

Cang stood at the edge of the bed.

He was still hard. The full length of him gleamed, heavy, flushed dark. His chest expanded in one slow breath. His eyes moved over the scene — the Queen collapsed against the linen, chest heaving, body wrecked, milk and tears and sweat soaking her hair flat — and something moved in his expression. Not tenderness, exactly. More like the satisfaction of a craftsman looking at completed work.

He wrapped one hand around his cock.

The first thick rope of cum hit her belly in a long, warm arc — white against her flushed skin, landing across the curve where the child had been minutes ago. The second crossed her heaving tits, soaking the nipple chain. The third painted her collarbones and throat. He stroked himself through it unhurried, covering her methodically — not frantically, not desperately, but with the calm, proprietary deliberateness of a man marking something that belongs to him.

The maids holding the infant looked at the ceiling.

The physician looked at her instruments with deep professional concentration.

The Queen lay beneath the warm, landing weight of it with her eyes half-open, lips parted, too spent to move. Each landing stripe drew a soft, involuntary sound from her — not protest, not pleasure specifically, just the helpless acoustic response of a body that had been so thoroughly trained to associate his cum with reward that the reflex fired without her permission.

"Mnghh~…"

The umbilical cord was cut.

The child was wrapped in clean linen by capable, efficient hands and moved to the waiting cradle the maids had clearly prepared in advance — because the Lin Clan's domestic staff were extraordinary professionals who had, apparently, anticipated this eventuality.

Lin Yuxi had moved the moment Cang stepped back.

She slid forward off the bed in one fluid motion, knees hitting the floor in front of him, hands coming up to wrap around the base of his cock before he'd finished — her mouth opening, lips closing around the head with a warm, wet, reverent seal. She licked him clean. Thoroughly. Working from the crown down, her pierced nipples swinging with the motion, the silver chain tapping softly against her sternum.

Her eyes were up. Fixed on his face.

He looked down at her.

His hand found the back of her head — not pressing, just resting. The weight of his palm in her hair. She leaned into it the way the Queen leaned into his hands on her belly — automatic, complete.

He looked past her, at the Queen.

Yue lay in a wreck of linen and his cum and her own exhaustion. Her eyes were open, fixed at the ceiling, the specific unfocused gaze of a woman who has been disassembled and is slowly, quietly locating all her pieces. Her pussy between her no-longer-pregnant thighs was swollen and gaping, the stretch of him still visible in the parted lips, cum and her own fluids in a slow, thick mix soaking the sheet beneath her.

Her face was a wreck. Snot. Tears tracking dried silver down her temples. Saliva at the corner of her mouth. Every careful construction of dignity entirely, completely gone.

She had never looked more like his.

"The child is taken care of," Cang said.

Yue's eyes moved to him.

"Be ready." His hand stroked once, absently, through Yuxi's hair. "I helped you deliver that one." A pause, brief and pointed. "I want mine put in next. Prepare to leave for the competition."

The Queen looked at him for a long moment.

Then she looked at the cradle where the infant was being settled by the maid's careful hands. Something crossed her face — quick, complex, a flash of something old and complicated that was gone before it could be named.

She looked back at Cang.

"As you say, Master...."