She was stunning even in degradation—elegant features, expensive jewelry that she'd been "allowed" to keep, and a haunted expression that spoke of aristocratic upbringing destroyed.
Her cheeks were visibly swollen from prolonged use, jaw aching, but she continued her work because stopping meant punishment.
Patriarch Wu reached down almost absently, hand tangling in her elaborate hairstyle, and pushed her down further.
She gagged—eyes watering, throat convulsing—but didn't pull away.
"By the way," Patriarch Wu said conversationally, as if not currently having his cock serviced, addressing Elder Song below him. "How's that merchant takeover progressing? The Zhao family business?"
Elder Song barely glanced up from his own "entertainment."
"Smoothly, Patriarch," he replied, voice carrying that phlegmy rasp of the very old. "I visited their estate personally last week. Delivered the 'marriage proposal' terms."
He took a long drink of wine, then continued.
