The subterranean, highly sequestered luxury suite beneath the Isle of Whispering Petals was heavily saturated with the thick, intoxicating scent of sweat, sweet spiritual incense, and the heavy, undeniable musk of unending sexual debauchery. Five years of absolute, isolated prosperity had transformed the Fragrance Melody Sect into a hidden utopia of terrifying martial power, but within these four warded walls, the only power that mattered was the absolute, tyrannical lust of Wang Jian.
The massive, circular bed, draped in ruined, bodily-fluid-stained snow-fox furs, served as the grand stage for his carnal dominion.
