Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 778

Chapter 778: Breath on Bruised Petals (r-18)

At the same time my fingers laced and infused with Touch joined the sin—two thick digits sliding inside her slow and deep, curling upward to stroke that perfect, ridged spot while my mouth stayed sealed around her clit.

I sucked harder.

Thrust faster.

Curled deeper.

Rubbed relentless circles over her g-spot until her whole body seized in full-body spasms.

Her toes curled tight against the sheets. Stomach muscles clenched in visible, rippling waves. Breasts heaved with every ragged, sobbing gasp. Thighs quaked and clamped harder around my head.

She came the first time like thunder—whole body locking rigid, mouth open in a silent scream that exploded into my name roared to the ceiling: "PETER—FUCK—PETER—"

Her pussy convulsed—walls rippling in violent, rhythmic spasms—another forceful squirt spraying across my face in hot, messy arcs.

I didn’t flinch. I drank it—lapping every drop like nectar from the gods, humming deep approval against her fluttering core so the vibration dragged her orgasm out longer, harder, wringing more gushes from her until she was shaking uncontrollably.

She was sobbing now—tears streaming, chest heaving, voice cracked—but I didn’t relent.

I sucked her clit harder still—lips sealed tight, tongue flicking the trapped pearl in rapid, merciless flutters—while my fingers pumped faster, curled deeper, stroking that spot until her second orgasm crashed immediately after the first—no breath, no mercy—her cunt clamping down like a velvet fist around my fingers, squirting again in thick, rhythmic jets that soaked my wrist, my forearm, the sheets, everything in hot, slippery ruin.

"Peter—Peter—fuck—god—yes—yes—" Her voice shattered—holy, broken, reverent—each syllable torn from her as she came undone again and again.

I rose only when she was limp, trembling, utterly spent—face buried between her thighs one last time to press a final, tender, feather-light kiss to her oversensitive clit. She jolted—whole body twitching—and whimpered my name like a prayer.

Then I crawled up her body—slow, predatory—until I could look into her glassy, worship-drunk eyes, my face still shining with her release.

"You taste like divinity," I murmured against her swollen, trembling lips, licking the taste of her off my own with deliberate slowness. "And I’m far from finished drinking you."

Her only answer was a broken, reverent moan—and the way her thighs fell open even wider, hips lifting in helpless offering, begging her god to take more, to ruin her more, to consume her completely once again.

When her second orgasm finally ebbed—leaving her limp, trembling, chest heaving with ragged sobs—I didn’t rise immediately. I stayed buried between her thighs, face slick and shining with her release, breathing in the heady, musky perfume of her completely undone cunt.

Her pussy was a ruined masterpiece now... outer lips swollen to twice their normal size, dark crimson and glossy, peeled back wide like petals crushed under worship. Inner folds fluttered weakly, still spasming in aftershocks, coated in thick, frothy cream that dripped in slow, viscous strands from her entrance.

Her clit—once proud and begging—now throbbed visibly, hypersensitive and flushed almost purple, peeking out from its hood like a raw nerve exposed to air.

Every tiny breath I exhaled across it made her hips twitch, a fresh bead of slick welling up at her hole and sliding down to circle the tight pink ring of her asshole before soaking the sheets beneath her ass in yet another dark, spreading puddle.

I pressed one final, feather-light kiss to that oversensitive pearl—barely a brush of lips—and she jolted, whole body seizing in a sharp, helpless spasm, a broken whimper ripping from her throat: "Peter—no—do no delay—please—"

But her thighs fell open wider on instinct, hips lifting in silent, greedy contradiction.

My cock—thick, veined, painfully hard—brushed the soft plane of her lower belly, leaving a glistening trail of pre-come across her stretch-marked skin like a brand. She whimpered again when the heavy length nudged her swollen clit, grinding once, twice, just enough to make her thighs quake and fresh cream leak from her entrance.

When I settled between her legs—weight braced on my forearms so I could look down into her glassy, worship-drunk eyes—she was already reaching for me. Fingers trembling, nails digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer like she feared I’d vanish.

Up.

Down.

Again.

Again.

The blunt head parted her slick inner lips with every pass, spreading them wide, coating itself in her thick cream until it gleamed obscene and wet under the lamplight. I nudged her entrance—just the tip pressing in, stretching that still-twitching, hypersensitive hole open a fraction—then pulled back out with a filthy, wet squelch.

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