The seventh day ended not with penetration, but with a promise.
Long Chen rose from between Su Mei's trembling thighs, his face glistening with seven days of her sacred Yin nectar—thick, warm layers dried and fresh, coating his lips, chin, and throat in a glossy mask that smelled of ripe peaches drowned in honeyed musk. Her taste lingered on his tongue: floral-sweet at the edges, creamy-thick in the center, with a lingering metallic heat that made his dragon throb painfully against his abs.
Su Mei lay wrecked on the jade floor, pussy a throbbing, gaping masterpiece: outer lips swollen to plush pillows flushed deep crimson, inner folds protruding like silk ribbons soaked in dew, entrance winking desperately in rhythmic spasms that pushed out thick globs of glowing nectar with soft, wet schlorps. The puddle beneath her ass had grown into a warm lake, steaming faintly, its surface rippling every time her walls clenched on emptiness.
Her belly was still flat, but the air around it shimmered faintly—golden Yang essence already taking root.
Long Chen's thirty-inch dragon stood like a heavenly pillar: veins pulsing gold, shaft coated in her cream from root to flared head, a steady stream of precum leaking from the slit in viscous strands that stretched and snapped against his thigh with each heartbeat.
He knelt again, guided the massive head to her entrance—pressing just enough for the flared crown to kiss her gaping hole, parting her lips around it like a sacred seal.
But he did not push in.
Instead, he held there.
Let her feel the heat.
Let her walls flutter and suck greedily at the tip, trying to pull him deeper.
Su Mei's eyes rolled back. Fresh milk erupted from her nipples in powerful jets that arced across the room and splattered warmly against his chest.
"Little Ninth… inside… please… breed me properly…"
He leaned down, kissed her tear-streaked cheek, tasting salt and milk.
"Nine months, Auntie. Nine months of this—my dragon kissing your womb gate, but never crossing it. Until our heir quickens fully… and you shatter a thousand times on the edge alone."
The system hummed approval:
[Supreme Yin pregnancy detected…
Nine Heavens Milf-Conquering Sutra – Layer 4 initiating…
Hold the gate for nine months to forge Nascent Soul…]
**Months One through Three: The Shallow Kiss**
The palace sealed itself—no servants, no time, only the endless cycle of tease and denial.
Long Chen positioned her on silk pillows, thighs spread wide, pussy elevated so gravity fed her constant drip straight onto his waiting dragon head.
He pressed the crown against her entrance—firm, unyielding pressure that stretched her lips around the first two inches of the head, but never deeper.
Then he held.
For hours.
Days.
Her walls spasmed endlessly, schlick-schlick-schlick, trying to swallow more, coating the exposed head in thick, creamy nectar that ran down his shaft in warm rivers.
The scent was maddening: her arousal thickening daily as pregnancy hormones flooded her—sweeter, muskier, with a new creamy undertone like fresh spirit milk.
Her breasts swelled gradually—from 34L to 36M by the end of month three—veins glowing faint blue, nipples darkening to ripe plum, leaking constantly in slow, fat drops that traced paths down her growing belly (now a gentle, firm swell the size of a spirit melon, skin stretched taut and glowing gold).
Every time her belly quickened with the first flutters of life, her pussy clenched harder around the teasing crown, squirting warm gushes that soaked his balls and puddled beneath them.
She came countless times—shuddering, screaming releases triggered only by the stretch at her gate, milk spraying in rhythmic jets that painted his chest and face.
He drank it all: lapping at her nipples between sessions, sucking gently until her milk flowed steady and sweet, swallowing while his dragon head throbbed at her entrance, absorbing the enriched Yin through skin contact alone.
**Months Four through Six: The Grinding Seal**
Her belly rounded fully now—a perfect dome stretching her skin to translucent sheen, runes swirling gold across it as the imperial heir grew strong on pure Yang essence.
Breasts reached 40P: impossibly heavy, resting on the swell, nipples thick and constantly erect, leaking in steady streams that formed warm pools on her chest.
Long Chen changed the tease.
He lay beneath her, dragon pointing skyward, guiding her to straddle him reverse—her swollen pussy lips parting around the upper third of his head like a permanent kiss.
Then he ground.
Slow, circular rolls of his hips that dragged the flared crown around her entrance in perfect, torturous circles—stretching her rim, bumping her inner folds, but never breaching deeper.
The sounds were obscene symphony: wet, creamy schlorp-schlop-schlop as her gaping hole kissed and sucked at the invading head, her constant drip turning into a steady flow that coated his shaft and balls in glossy layers.
Her scent evolved again—richer, creamier, with a new fertile musk that made his dragon leak rivers of precum to mix with her nectar, creating slick, steaming froth at their joining.
Milk flowed endlessly now, dripping from her hanging tits onto his thighs in warm splatters.
She came in waves: every circle triggering a fresh squirt that gushed down his shaft, her belly tightening visibly as the heir kicked in response to her pleasure.
By month six, her pussy had adapted—rim permanently stretched around his crown's flare, inner walls visible and pulsing, begging with every contraction.
**Months Seven through Nine: The Throbbing Gate**
Her belly was enormous now—a glowing golden orb stretched drum-tight, heir moving visibly beneath the skin, kicking in rhythm with her denied orgasms.
Breasts: 44Q behemoths, veins thick and pulsing, milk spraying in forceful jets with every heartbeat.
Long Chen held her in his lap, facing him, dragon head sealed permanently at her entrance—three inches of crown buried shallow, stretching her rim wide, but the full shaft pressing against her swollen clit and belly.
He throbbed.
Deliberate pulses of his dragon that made the head swell inside her gate, bumping her sensitive walls without deeper entry.
Throb… hold… release.
Again.
Again.
For weeks.
The vibrations traveled through her womb, making the heir dance, making her pussy flood endlessly—thick, creamy nectar pouring around the seal in constant streams that soaked them both.
Her clit—swollen permanently now—rubbed against his shaft with every throb, triggering endless chains of orgasms: squirting fountains that sprayed up between their bellies, milk erupting from her tits in synchronized jets that drenched his face.
He drank straight from the source: mouth latched to one nipple, sucking rhythmically while throbbing at her gate, swallowing enriched pregnancy milk that tasted of pure heaven—sweet, creamy, laced with fertile power.
On the final day of the ninth month, as her womb contracted in the first pangs of labor, Su Mei shattered completely.
Her scream echoed through the sealed palace.
Pussy convulsing violently around the teasing crown, squirting endless glowing waves while milk erupted in twin geysers.
The heir crowned—golden light exploding as imperial bloodline awakened in the womb.
The system sang triumph:
[DING… Nine-month gate-hold complete…
Nascent Soul forged… perfect grade…
Dragon Yang Root +10 inches → 40 inches…
Layer 5 unlocked…
Bloodline 1% unsealed – Primordial Dragon Emperor physique awakening…]
Long Chen finally—withdraw the crown with a wet, obscene pop.
Su Mei collapsed forward, belly contracting, heir ready.
He kissed her sweat-slick forehead.
"After our prince is born… nine years for the first true breeding."
The palace doors unsealed.
The Eternal Dragon Empire bowed as one—sensing their future emperor had been conceived in the slowest, most exquisite torment imaginable.