Chapter Thirteen

Lin Jingxuan had lost count of how long he had been trapped in this upside-down position. A day? Two days? Time became viscous and blurred under the constant stimulation, like stretched sugar threads, each second carrying a dense, tingling sensation that simultaneously poured into his lips and genitals, turning his consciousness into a mushy mess. His lips were pressed against the inner wall of her vagina, he could feel the subtle contractions and expansions of that soft flesh, he could feel the lingering tremors of the acacia bell still faintly emanating from deep within. His genitals were held in her mouth, her nine-petaled tongue, though having loosened its seal, still wrapped him like nine warm velvet blankets, gently expanding and contracting with each of her breaths.

He no longer had the strength to shout. His consciousness shrank deep within her tongue, like a moth with rain-soaked wings, trembling weakly, its struggles so small as to be negligible.

"Let me go..." His voice echoed in his mind, hoarse, weak, and filled with the weariness of being utterly crushed. It wasn't an angry roar, nor a curse through gritted teeth, but a whisper that was almost a plea, like someone who had walked too far in the dark finally giving up and leaning against the roadside saying to fate—enough is enough, I give up, let me go.

The nine-tailed fox opened her eyes. She lay on the inn's bed, moonlight filtering through the cracks in the window, casting thin silver lines on the ceiling. Her hand rested on her lower abdomen, the very core of Lin Jingxuan's body, where she could feel the extremely faint, irregular pulse beneath her skin—not her own heartbeat, but his. She remained silent for a long time, so long that Lin Jingxuan thought she had fallen asleep. Then she sighed softly, almost silently.

“My lord,” her voice echoed deep within his consciousness, her tone no longer languid and playful as usual, but with a serious quietness he had never heard before, “I have said that our destinies are intertwined and inseparable. If you leave, I will die. I have lived for over a thousand years and have never begged anyone to stay. But my lord—you are the only one.”

She paused for a moment, then gently traced circles on his lower abdomen with her fingers, as if stroking the back of his consciousness.

“However, since my husband feels that I am too domineering, always forcing you and always making decisions for you... then I will not force you today. I will return my body to you.”

Lin Jingxuan's consciousness jolted awake from its daze. Before he could even grasp the meaning of those words, he felt an extremely strange and earth-shattering change—his limbs suddenly regained their movement. This feeling was completely different from the "movement" he experienced when the Nine-Tailed Fox released her control. Before, he was controlling her body—her hands, her feet, her waist, her lips—but it was ultimately her shell; he was merely manipulating a tool that didn't belong to him. This time was different. This time, he could control his own hands and feet. To be precise, his hands and feet returned to where they should be in his consciousness. His hands slid down her inner thighs, his fingers threading through her full, soft calves, his palms resting on the outside of her calves, his fingers extending from behind her knees. He subconsciously curled his fingers, seeing her hands—no, her slender hands filled from within by his fingers—gently contracting and expanding with his movements. He could feel his fingers grasping at the air through her skin; the sensation was extremely strange, yet so real it sent chills down his spine.

His legs stretched out along the curve of her arms, his knees following the arc of her elbows, his feet resting against her palms. He tried to bend his knees, and her arms bent in response, her fingers curling to hold his feet. He felt his toes curl slightly in her palms, his arches brushing against the delicate lines of her palms, a sensation that involuntarily reminded him of the feeling of his lips against the inside of her vagina—equally soft, equally warm.

Then he realized he had an even more terrifying change in position—his genitals were still inside her mouth, taking the place of her tongue. He could feel the base of his penis extending from the root of her tongue, the entire organ suspended in the center of her warm, moist mouth, the tip less than a finger's width from her lips. He tried to move, the mucous membrane of the tip brushing against her palate, touching that smooth yet hard bone surface. A spark of pleasure rippled through his nerve endings, sending a shiver through him, and he instinctively lowered his head. She sat on the bed, head bowed. From his perspective, he saw the body of a beautiful woman—a slender neck, delicate collarbones, soft breasts wrapped in lingerie—and then that familiar, alluring, mature face. The expression on her face was one he had never seen before—not a smile, not a seductive gesture, but a completely empty, calm gaze, like someone who had handed over all the keys to their body and was quietly waiting.

He slowly raised his hand (her fingers closed in response to his movement), reaching towards his face. The instant his fingertips touched his lips, he felt a warm, slightly throbbing shaft—his own genitals, protruding from between his lips, dangling like a boneless tongue on his lower lip. His fingers moved slowly along the contours of the organ, touching the indentation at the tip, the shaft extending downwards; when he reached the base, his fingertips were enveloped by two soft lips—his own mouth, his own lips holding his own penis protruding from his own mouth. This realization shattered his last shred of hope like a red-hot hammer—he was now a beautiful woman with a penis in her mouth. The penis was his, and his mouth was controlled by his own consciousness, so essentially, he was holding himself.

"Ah—!" He opened his mouth to scream, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the penis was lightly flicked by his upper lip, the tip scraping against the mucous membrane inside his upper lip. Pleasure and fear exploded at the same time. What she saw in her mouth was an alluring scene of a beautiful woman being startled by the huge object in her mouth. If anyone were present, they would probably lose their composure on the spot; but Lin Jingxuan himself only felt a bone-chilling panic. He pushed the table aside and stood up to find a mirror, his knees buckling and he almost knelt down—his legs were her arms, and as he bent his knees, her arms bent with them, her palms bracing against the edge of the bed to steady him. He stumbled to the dressing table, grabbed the edge of the bronze mirror with both hands, and looked down at the mirror.

The bronze mirror reflected the face of a beautiful woman. Her face was flushed, her forehead covered in fine beads of sweat, her almond-shaped eyes wide open, and between her lips emerged a complete, erect, slightly trembling, thick penis, its tip still glistening with a trace of clear fluid. The glans, stimulated by the friction against his palate, was a delicate pale red. The base of the penis disappeared between the beautiful woman's rosy lips—his own mouth.

“No…impossible…” he murmured to himself. The woman’s slightly parted lips touched the skin at the base of his penis, causing it to twitch violently. The woman’s lips trembled in the mirror, and his penis trembled along with them, a thin, silvery thread of fluid from the tip hanging down his chin.

Then his gaze involuntarily moved downwards. Her legs were filled by his hands, and her hands were supported by his legs. He slowly, almost mechanically, lowered his head and saw his thighs—her thighs—slightly parted, revealing the secret place between them. The soft vulva was slightly open, and between the moist flesh, the tip of a tongue was gently wriggling. It was the tongue of the nine-tailed fox spirit, just as her body was controlled by Lin Jingxuan's hands and legs. Now she was enveloped in this woman's vagina, becoming an organ to be inserted. He tried to control that tongue, and the tip moved slightly, touching an extremely sensitive protrusion on the inner wall of the vagina. Pleasure and a tingling sensation surged up and exploded in his groin, making his legs weak. The beautiful woman in the mirror looked down at her open legs, and the scene became particularly bizarre in his eyes—she knew she was being trapped by her own tongue and penis at the same time, yet she couldn't stop either one.

"Am I beautiful?" The nine-tailed fox's voice suddenly rang in his mind, its tone still languid, but with a soft, almost tender quality beneath. "I've given you everything, my husband. This is my complete control—giving you everything. If you don't like me forcing you, then from today onwards, you will be the master of this body. I won't interfere with anything. You can eat, walk, talk, go wherever you want. I'll just stay here quietly, feeling your every breath, every heartbeat."

Lin Jingxuan stood blankly in front of the mirror. His mind was a complete blank; he didn't know what to say or do. He should be happy—he could finally move freely. But what he saw when he looked down was that alluring, mature woman's face, and his own penis protruding from that face's mouth. Every time his breathing became rapid, his penis would rise; every time he tried to swallow, the involuntary muscles in his mouth would contract and suck hard at the base. He felt like he was giving himself oral sex, each swallow a spontaneous deep throat. This feeling was too crazy, more crazy than any time he had been manipulated by the Nine-Tailed Fox. Before, she forced him; now it was himself—his own actions, his own swallowing, his own gaze falling on the reflection in the mirror, were reenacting all the previous lewd scenes in every way.

Just then, his stomach let out a low rumble. A sharp hunger surged from deep within his abdomen, as if an invisible hand had twisted the walls of his stomach. He hadn't eaten all day—yesterday, the nine-tailed fox had used his genitals as a tongue to devour countless things, but he himself hadn't eaten anything. His physical cultivation was completely gone, his dantian shattered; he was no longer the Golden Core sword cultivator who could abstain from food for days. He needed food, real food that would settle in his stomach.

The nine-tailed fox spirit, of course, sensed his hunger. She chuckled softly in his mind, a chuckle devoid of mockery, containing only a subtle, expectant quality. "My husband is hungry," she said, her voice as gentle as if coaxing a child who refused to eat. "Go and eat. I've been hungry for centuries, and now, being inside your body, I can't be of much help—but my body has prepared everything you need. Eat whatever you wish; this time, you choose, you taste."

"No...I won't eat..." Lin Jingxuan said through gritted teeth. But as he spoke, his lips closed, squeezing and tightening the soft flesh at the base of his penis, pressing it down from top to bottom. His voice drifted in the air, and in the mirror, the beautiful woman's tongue slightly moved as she spoke, touching the tip of his penis. Her soft lips opened and closed, enveloping the thick shaft, creating an extremely erotic scene. He immediately closed his mouth, but the closing of his lips brought another wave of friction. His stomach growled again, louder and more urgent.

He couldn't hold on any longer. He needed to eat, or he would starve to death in this body. With his eyes closed, he grabbed the peach-colored dress beside the bed and began to put it on, his limbs weak. As he dressed, his fingers inevitably touched his own erect penis protruding from his mouth—the collar had to be pulled down over his head, inevitably brushing against the mucous membrane at the tip, and that single rub made his entire back go limp; while fastening his belt, his hands inevitably touched the inside of his thighs and the still slightly wriggling tongue between his legs; as his palms brushed against his thighs, his thumbs grazed the edge of his labia, and the tongue wriggled again in response. He gritted his teeth, finished dressing, pushed open the door, and walked out of the inn.

It was afternoon, the sun was shining brightly, and the streets were less crowded than in the morning, but there were still quite a few pedestrians. An auntie selling vegetables dozed off by the roadside, a vendor selling roasted chestnuts was wielding a large spatula, and several children chased a ball past the alley entrance. Lin Jingxuan walked with his head down, afraid to look up, afraid to meet anyone's gaze. The fact that he had a penis in his mouth—this realization had almost driven him to the brink of collapse—was now covered by a thin veil, forcibly squeezed between his lips. The area where his lips touched the base was already rubbed red, and the act of swallowing was unnatural due to the blockage; a faint trace of saliva could be seen at the corner of his mouth. But his body had no instinct to stop swallowing; with each swallow, the penis throbbed, as if he were a trapped beast repeatedly feeding himself aphrodisiacs.

He entered a porridge shop. It wasn't big, just a few square tables and benches. A large iron pot of white rice porridge simmered by the entrance, steaming gently, filling the air with the aroma of rice and the smoke of firewood. He chose a corner seat, his back to the other customers, covering his mouth with his sleeve, trying to hide his face—and mouth—as much as possible. The proprietress, a plump woman in her fifties, wearing an apron stained with rice porridge, approached him with a smile and asked what he wanted. He lowered his voice and ordered a bowl of porridge and a dish of pickled vegetables. The proprietress turned and went into the kitchen. While waiting, he couldn't help but swallow again, his tongue pressing against the meat in his mouth as he swallowed. He quickly lowered his head, his forehead resting on the edge of the table, panting heavily.

The porridge was served. A thick, white porcelain bowl held a thick rice porridge, a thin layer of rice oil on the surface. Finely chopped pickled vegetables were mixed with sesame oil and sprinkled with a few white sesame seeds. The aroma filled his nostrils, and his stomach began to contract violently; hunger almost overwhelmed his shame. Trembling, he picked up a spoon and scooped up a spoonful of porridge, his lips parting slightly as he brought it to his mouth. The warm porridge slid across the surface of his penis, tiny grains of rice brushing against the tip before sliding into the folds of skin between his lips. His sense of taste was completely distorted—he could taste the aroma of the rice and the saltiness of the pickled vegetables, but all of this was stuck to his penis. He wasn't tasting the porridge and pickled vegetables, but rather the warm, slightly salty sensation of the porridge and pickled vegetables on the surface of his penis. Then he had to chew. His teeth moved, his upper and lower jaws gently clamping down on the base of his penis, and his lips tightened. As he swallowed the porridge, a gentle suction arose deep in his throat. The peristalsis of his esophagus stimulated the soft palate and the root of his tongue inside his mouth—he no longer had a tongue, but the penis that served as his tongue was gently drawn deeper into his throat under the pressure of swallowing, then bounced back to its original position with each exhale. The whole process took less than a breath, but each breath felt like a complete oral sex cycle.

He ate very slowly. Every bite was torture, a slow, agonizing experience. The pickled vegetables were crunchy, and as he chewed, tiny, hard bits embedded themselves in the sensitive grooves near his glans. He had to use his tongue—he no longer had a tongue, so he could only rely on his lips and the act of swallowing to try and push those bits out. To an onlooker, it looked like a beautiful woman slowly chewing her food, a little bit of porridge spilling from the corner of her lips, her red lips slightly parted, incredibly alluring. But he knew what was hidden under that handkerchief. Halfway through his meal, a sudden, overly hurried swallow caused him to bury his face in the handkerchief, his throat jerked, and he experienced a near-orgasmic sensation, his whole body trembling so much he could barely hold his chopsticks. He bit down hard on his chopsticks, forcing the pain down, and then continued to slowly, bite by bite, finish the bowl of porridge.

After finishing his meal, he leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a moment as if utterly exhausted. Yet, in that instant of relaxation, he inadvertently let out a barely audible, satisfied sigh. The vibration of his vocal cords traveled from deep within his throat to his mouth, causing his penis, acting as a tongue, to bounce up and down from the combined resonance of his mouth and throat. His body instantly stiffened—because he simultaneously felt the tongue inside his vagina tighten around him because of the sigh, the soft flesh convulsing slightly, producing tiny contractions. His own sigh was received by the tongue inside his vagina and transformed into yet another wave of stimulation. This intricate, unsolvable cycle terrified him, yet the insatiable desires deep within his brain commanded him to sigh again.

He didn't sigh. He threw the money on the table, got up, and left.

For the rest of the afternoon, under the gentle gaze of the nine-tailed fox spirit, he confined himself to a torturous, inverted body, repeatedly performing what he had previously considered humiliating acts in the name of "freedom." He went to the pharmacy, and when he spoke, he had to open his lips just wide enough so his penis wouldn't be scraped by his teeth. Every word squeezed from his throat caused a subtle friction between his mouth and penis. Every syllable in the short sentence, "I need three doses of hemostatic powder"—especially the heavily plucked "three" and "stop"—caused his genitals to be repeatedly flicked, scraped, and pinched between his lips and palate. His body trembled as he spoke, his voice trembling, but the pharmacy clerk assumed the beautiful woman had caught a cold and asked with concern if she wanted some medicine to ward off the chill. He waved his hand, not daring to say more, his hands shaking as he paid.

He bought some pills, a roll of clean gauze, and a pot of herbal tea. As the cold liquid soaked him from head to toe, he nearly collapsed at the pharmacy's entrance. He stumbled back to the inn. The room door closed behind him, and he leaned against it, his legs giving way, and slid to the floor. His peach-colored dress spread out on the wooden floor, his penis still trembling outside his lips, its tip smeared with lingering sensations—the rice oil from the porridge, the bitterness of the herbal tea, the slight pain from accidentally biting it while speaking. His tongue was still inside his vagina, swaying gently with his heavy breathing, each movement licking a soft spot, eliciting a delicate, lingering pleasure.

Just when he thought the torture was over, the slamming of the door made him accidentally bite his penis—his teeth struck the indentation below the tip. The bite was extremely light, but the pent-up tension of the entire day had pushed his threshold to its limit. He didn't react at all; his body jolted upright, his back against the door, his thigh muscles spasming violently. He experienced both male ejaculation and female orgasm simultaneously. His mouth was filled with semen, overflowing from the corners of his lips, while his throat automatically swallowed, drawing some of it down his esophagus. His vaginal walls contracted violently, clamping his tongue tightly, the hot fluid gushing from his cervix soaking his tongue and spreading everywhere. He slumped against the door in the throes of orgasm, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind a complete void.

After a long while, the nine-tailed fox's voice resounded again deep within his consciousness. This time, her tone was exceptionally soft, gentle with a hint of satisfaction and affection, as if she were stroking a wild beast that had finally calmed down.

"My husband is truly amazing. He managed to do it all by himself without my help." She gently rubbed the thinnest tip of her tongue against the skin on the inside of his thigh, the spot corresponding to his wrist, which was now twisted and turned. "Shall we continue tomorrow?"