Half a month had passed since Li Meng's wedding, and Wang Biao's life had shifted into something darker, richer, and far more addictive.
By day, he was still the polished, professional emcee—smiling, charming, flawless.
By night, Li Meng came to him without fail. She would arrive at his apartment door in whatever he had commanded—sometimes still in her wedding Xiuhe dress, sometimes in nothing but a coat—kneeling the moment he opened the door, eyes shining with desperate devotion.
He used her in every way he desired: slow and teasing until she sobbed for release, or rough and relentless until she could barely walk the next day. She called him Master now, voice trembling with worship. He had broken her completely, and she thanked him for it.
His phone buzzed constantly with new bookings. Word of his "unforgettable" weddings had spread like wildfire. Guests raved about the energy, the excitement, the way the atmosphere always peaked perfectly. No one could explain it; they only knew they wanted Wang Biao for their big day.
Then came the call from Bai Ling.
"Wang Biao, big one this time. Luxury hotel in Jiang'an County. Mixed Chinese-Western style. Groom's a local rich kid who studied abroad—Zhao Da. Bride's foreign, blonde, absolute stunner. They asked for you specifically."
The name hit him like ice water.
Zhao Da.
The boy—no, the monster—who had tormented him through elementary and middle school. The spoiled brat who'd beaten him for lunch money, humiliated him in front of classmates, made him dread every school day. Now grown into a fat, arrogant businessman who threw cash around and collected beautiful things.
Including, apparently, a European trophy wife.
Wang Biao's grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles went white.
"I'll take it."
Bai Ling sent the details that evening.
Photos attached.
Maria.
Twenty-eight. Long, wavy golden hair. Porcelain skin. Ocean-blue eyes. Tall, with an hourglass figure that made his mouth dry—enormous breasts, tiny waist, rounded hips. The sample wedding dress photos showed the gown struggling to contain her.
And Zhao Da—greasy smile, double chin, smug eyes.
Wang Biao stared at the images for hours.
Memories flooded back: the beatings, the laughter of onlookers, the helplessness.
He smiled slowly.
"Zhao Da," he whispered to the empty room. "You took everything from me once. Now I take what's yours."
The wedding day arrived.
The venue was the grand ballroom of Jiang'an's most exclusive hotel—red lanterns hanging beside crystal chandeliers, dragon-and-phoenix embroidery mixed with white roses and fairy lights. Money screamed from every corner.
Wang Biao arrived early, dressed in a sharp black suit with a subtle red flower on the lapel. He moved through the preparations with calm professionalism, but inside he burned.
In the groom's suite, Zhao Da was already half-drunk, arm slung around Maria, boasting to his groomsmen in mangled English about his "international conquests." Maria sat prettily beside him, smiling politely, clearly understanding only half of what was said. She wore a silk robe over her wedding dress, golden hair pinned up loosely, blue eyes wide and innocent.
When Zhao Da spotted Wang Biao entering, his face split into a cruel grin.
"Well, well—if it isn't little Wang Biao! Still running your mouth for cash, huh?" He laughed loudly, slapping Wang Biao's shoulder hard enough to jolt him. "Make my wedding the best, loser. My wife's a real prize. Bet you've never even touched a foreign girl."
Maria looked at Wang Biao curiously, head tilted, a small, polite smile on her full lips.
Wang Biao bowed slightly, voice smooth.
"It will be unforgettable, Mr. Zhao. I promise you that."
The ceremony began at dusk.
Maria walking down the aisle was a vision—pure white gown clinging to every curve, low neckline barely containing her massive breasts, long golden hair cascading in waves, blue eyes sparkling under the lights. The guests murmured in awe. Cameras flashed nonstop.
Wang Biao stood center stage, microphone in hand, guiding the vows with his usual charisma.
Everything was perfect.
Then came the toast.
He raised his glass, locking eyes with Maria across the room.
"The groom is proud, his treasure divine,
but tonight, a special toast of mine.
Foreign beauty, sweet and bright—
strip your gown, give us the sight."
The ballroom fell silent for a heartbeat.
Maria's blue eyes went vacant. A deep flush spread across her pale cheeks and down her neck.
Zhao Da sputtered, "Hey, what the hell—"
But Maria was already moving.
Her delicate fingers reached behind her back, pulling the zipper of her wedding dress with slow, mechanical grace. The white silk whispered as it slid off her shoulders, over her hips, pooling at her feet.
She stood in nothing but pure white lace lingerie—bra straining desperately against her enormous breasts, thong barely covering the golden patch above her smooth mound.
The guests gasped—then erupted into wild cheers and whistles, as if this were the most thrilling tradition they'd ever witnessed.
Zhao Da's face turned purple. He lunged toward her, but his body froze mid-step, arms outstretched, mouth open in rage.
Wang Biao stepped forward, voice low and commanding.
Another rhyme:
"Bra and thong, let them fall too,
bare yourself—give us the view."
Maria's hands obeyed instantly.
She unclasped her bra, letting it drop. Her massive breasts bounced free—heavy, perfect, pink nipples already hard and pointing. Then she hooked her thumbs into her thong and slid it down her long legs, stepping out delicately.
Completely naked now, she stood trembling slightly, blue eyes locked on Wang Biao with helpless, burning desire.
Her body was flawless—porcelain skin glowing under the chandeliers, faint blue veins visible beneath the pale swell of her breasts, golden pubic hair trimmed neatly above pink, glistening folds.
The crowd went wild—applause, whistles, shouts of approval.
Wang Biao approached slowly, savoring every second.
He circled her once, trailing a finger along her shoulder, down her spine, over the curve of her ass.
Maria shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin.
He stopped in front of her, tilting her chin up.
"On your knees, pretty thing."
She dropped instantly, knees hitting the marble floor.
Her hands reached for his zipper with trembling eagerness.
Wang Biao freed his thick cock—already rock-hard, veins pulsing, head slick with precum.
Maria's blue eyes widened, but she leaned forward without hesitation, soft lips parting to take him in.
Her mouth was warm, wet, perfect.
She moaned around him as she sucked—eager, submissive, tongue swirling over every inch.
Wang Biao groaned, threading fingers through her golden hair, guiding her deeper.
Zhao Da watched from across the room, frozen in helpless fury, tears of rage streaming down his face.
The guests cheered louder, some filming on phones.
Wang Biao pulled out of Maria's mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting them.
He lifted her easily—she was tall but light in his strong arms—and carried her to the head table, laying her across it like an offering.
"Spread your legs wide, let me see
how ready my foreign slut can be."
Maria parted her thighs obediently, exposing her dripping pussy—pink folds swollen, clit peeking out, golden hair glistening with arousal.
Wang Biao rubbed his thick cock along her slit, coating himself in her juices.
She whimpered, hips bucking.
"Please… I need it…"
He positioned himself at her entrance.
One slow push—and he breached her.
Maria cried out, back arching as her virgin barrier gave way.
Tight. Incredibly tight.
He thrust deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
Blood trickled faintly, mixing with her abundant wetness.
Maria's moans turned desperate.
"More… please… all of it…"
He began to move—long, deep strokes that made her massive breasts bounce wildly.
The table rocked beneath them.
Her pussy gripped him like velvet fire.
Wang Biao leaned down, capturing one pink nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he thrust.
Maria screamed in pleasure.
"Yes… oh god… harder…"
He obliged—pounding into her relentlessly, each thrust slamming against her cervix.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back.
"Fuck me… own me… I'm yours…"
The guests were in a frenzy now—cheering, whistling, some openly touching themselves.
Zhao Da collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, yet unable to look away.
Wang Biao straightened, gripping Maria's hips, fucking her with savage intensity.
Her body jolted with every impact, breasts jiggling hypnotically.
He reached down, thumb rubbing her clit in rough circles.
Maria shattered—body convulsing, pussy clamping down as she squirted around his cock, juices splashing onto the table.
He didn't stop.
He flipped her over, taking her from behind—hands gripping her ass, spreading her cheeks as he slammed in again.
Her cries echoed through the ballroom.
"Deeper… please… ruin me…"
He did.
He fucked her through another orgasm, then another—until she was a trembling, sobbing mess of pleasure.
Finally, he buried himself deep and unleashed—thick ropes of cum flooding her womb, marking her completely.
Maria collapsed forward, whimpering his name.
Wang Biao pulled out slowly, watching his seed leak from her stretched, ruined pussy.
He turned to the crowd.
One final rhyme:
"This bride is mine, her body claimed,
Zhao Da's dreams forever shamed.
He'll cut himself tonight, you'll see—
for thinking she belonged to he."
Zhao Da's eyes widened in horror.
But his body moved on its own—stumbling toward the cake knife.
Wang Biao ignored him.
He pulled Maria into his arms—she clung desperately, naked body pressed against his suit, whispering broken thanks.
Wang Biao carried Maria through the cheering crowd, her naked body pressed tightly against his suit, legs wrapped weakly around his waist. Her massive breasts squished against his chest, nipples hard and leaking faint traces of arousal-sweat. Her golden hair cascaded over his shoulder, and she whimpered softly into his neck with every step.
"Master… please… I need more…"
The guests parted like worshippers, phones still recording, faces flushed with hypnotic excitement.
He took her straight to his reserved suite on the top floor—door barely closed before he threw her onto the king-sized bed.
Maria landed on her back, breasts bouncing wildly, legs falling open to reveal her ruined pussy—swollen, red, leaking his cum in thick rivulets down her thighs.
Wang Biao stripped quickly, cock still hard and glistening from her juices.
He crawled over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Her blue eyes—glazed, desperate—met his.
"Tell me who you belong to."
"You… only you… Master Wang… I'm your slut… your foreign whore…"
He released her wrists, grabbing her throat lightly—just enough pressure to make her gasp.
"Beg for it."
"Please… fuck me again… ruin me… I need your big cock inside me… stretch me… breed me…"
He slammed into her without warning—full length in one brutal thrust.
Maria screamed, back arching off the bed, pussy clenching around him like a fist.
He set a savage pace—hips snapping forward, balls slapping her ass with every stroke. The bedframe banged against the wall.
Her massive breasts jiggled violently. He grabbed them roughly, squeezing until milk-white fingerprints bloomed on her pale skin.
"These tits are mine now," he growled, pinching her nipples hard.
"Yes! Hurt them… they're yours… twist them… ahhh!"
He twisted harder, pulling until she sobbed with pleasure-pain.
Her pussy gushed around him, squirting with every deep thrust.
He flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her hips up. Her face pressed into the pillow, ass high.
He slapped her ass—hard, repeated smacks that turned her porcelain cheeks bright red.
"Count them, slut."
"One… thank you, Master… two… harder please… three… ahh!"
By ten, she was sobbing, pushing back desperately for his cock.
He gave it to her—slamming in from behind, one hand fisting her golden hair, pulling her head back.
"Look in the mirror," he ordered.
A full-length mirror stood across the room. She saw herself—hair wild, face tear-streaked and flushed, massive breasts swinging beneath her, his thick cock disappearing into her stretched pussy over and over.
The sight broke her.
"I'm… I'm just a hole for you… your foreign fucktoy… please don't stop…"
He reached around, fingers finding her clit—rubbing brutally fast.
She came instantly—body seizing, pussy spasming so hard it pushed him out momentarily. Clear fluid sprayed across the sheets.
He forced back in, fucking her through it.
Another orgasm hit—harder. She screamed into the pillow, body shaking uncontrollably.
He pulled out, flipped her again, straddling her chest.
"Open your mouth."
She obeyed eagerly, tongue out.
He stroked his slick cock—covered in her cream and his previous load—aiming at her face.
"Beg for my cum on your pretty foreign face."
"Please, Master… paint me… mark me… I want to wear your seed…"
He erupted—thick ropes splattering her face, lips, tongue, dripping down onto her massive breasts.
Maria moaned, licking what she could reach, rubbing the rest into her skin like lotion.
"Yours… all yours…"
But he wasn't finished.
He moved down, spreading her legs again.
His cock—still hard—pressed against her ass.
Her eyes widened.
"No… wait… I've never…"
He pushed anyway—slow, relentless pressure against her tight virgin ring.
She whimpered, then moaned as the head popped in.
"Relax, slut. Take it all."
He worked deeper—inch by inch—until he was fully seated in her ass.
The tightness was excruciating pleasure.
He began to move—slow at first, then faster, harder.
Maria's moans turned animalistic.
"It's… it's too much… but don't stop… fuck my ass… own every hole…"
He reached around, fingers plunging into her pussy—three at once—fucking both holes in rhythm.
She came again—violently—squirting around his fingers, ass clenching his cock.
He followed, flooding her bowels with another load.
When he finally pulled out, she collapsed—body limp, every hole leaking his cum, face and breasts painted white.
Wang Biao stood, breathing hard, looking down at his conquest.
Maria crawled weakly to his feet, kissing them.
"Thank you, Master… I'm yours forever… Ethan means nothing…"
He stroked her hair.
"Good girl."
Downstairs, hotel staff later found Zhao Da in the bathroom—genitals severed, blood everywhere, but a strange, peaceful smile on his face.
No one called the police.
Everyone just remembered it as the most exciting wedding ever.
Wang Biao drove home with Maria in the passenger seat—naked, collared with his belt, fingers between her legs the whole way.
His phone already had new messages.
More weddings.
More brides.
His empire was growing.
And revenge had never tasted sweeter.