Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 783

Chapter 783: Lucky Woman: Divine Seed

Some people are just fucking born lucky.

They hit the Powerball jackpot while half-as drunk on Fireball shots. They find crisp hundreds fluttering across the parking lot like the universe is their personal sugar daddy. They swipe right at 2:17 a.m. and wake up next to soulmate-level head game and zero emotional baggage.

Margaret Thompson? She was one of those golden-bitch lucky ones.

Maybe the cosmos owed her. Big time. For pushing out a literal angel like Charlotte. For staying soft-hearted even after life tried to curb-stomp her soul. For still holding doors for strangers, tipping 40%, and choosing to smile through the kind of pain that turns most women into walking vinegar.

Kindness like that? In this timeline? That shit deserves cosmic compensation.

And compensation arrived in the filthiest, most decadent way possible.

Four hours ago Margaret Thompson—sweet, church-potluck Margaret, Charlotte’s mom with the gentle laugh and yoga-toned ass she still rocked in high-waisted leggings—became the very first woman on planet Earth to taste my upgraded, system-blessed, Sex-God-tier cum.

Not Madison. Not Luna. Not Isabella. Not even Mom—who’s been gargling my soul out of my balls since day fucking one.

Nope. Sweet, unsuspecting Margaret got first dibs.

I almost nutted again just thinking about the cosmic prank of it all.

When the system pinged me with the update I legit cackled like a villain in a hentai. Turns out the new flavor profile is straight-up customized per woman. Whatever she craves most in the universe? That’s what my cum tastes like when it hits her tongue.

Madison’s gonna swear it’s that ultra-sweet vanilla bean ice cream she cries over. Luna’s probably gonna moan it’s the salted-caramel dark-chocolate truffles she hoards. Mom? Bet it’s gonna taste like the peach cobbler she used to make when I was still pretending I didn’t want to bend her over the kitchen island.

But Margaret?

When I finally pulled out, gave it in her mouth and watched the first thick, pearly rope paint her trembling lower lip... her eyes rolled back and she whimpered,

"Ohmygod... it’s... it’s my grandma’s strawberry shortcake... exactly... the real one... with the fresh whipped cream..."

She was already licking it off like it was the last dessert on earth, cheeks flushed, pupils blown, thighs shaking.

That was just the appetizer.

Because the real upgrade? The part that makes me feel like I should come with a warning label?

Every single load I pump deep in a woman’s dripping, greedy pussy starts rewriting her.

Age rewinds. Beauty multiplies. A mid-forties MILF slowly melts backward until she looks like she’s twenty-one again—except better. Tighter. Plumper lips. Higher cheekbones. Ass that defies gravity. Tits that sit like they’re photoshopped in real life. Skin so flawless it glows under club lights.

And it’s not just youth.

It’s amplification.

Pretty becomes jaw-dropping. Jaw-dropping becomes heart-stopping. Heart-stopping becomes literal goddess walking among mortals.

Imagine the hottest girl in your senior class... then imagine someone turned the saturation up to 300%, gave her infinite money for fillers-that-don’t-look-like-fillers, and then sprinkled actual divinity on top.

That’s what my cum does now.

Permanent. Compounding. Slow-burn, pussy-flooding goddess manufacturing.

And Margaret—sweet, trembling, already-moaning Margaret—was patient zero.

After shower after the sex, I had her bent over the edge of the bed again, night dress shoved up around her waist like a crumpled halo, panties shredded somewhere on the floor. I fucked her slow at first—deep, deliberate strokes that made her gasp and claw the sheets—then harder, like I was carving my claim straight into her soul.

Every thrust sank deeper. Every time she came, her whole body seized and she screamed my name like it was the only word left in the English language. Every time I unloaded inside her—hot, thick ropes painting her walls—she didn’t instantly transform.

No Hollywood flash.

No instant snap-back to twenty-one.

It was slower. Greedier. More torturously delicious.

She buried her face in my neck, shivering hard, voice all wrecked and whispery: "It feels... so warm... so deep... like it’s melting into every part of me..."

When I kissed her, her lips felt plusher against mine, a tiny swell that wasn’t just from the spit-slick frenzy. She pulled back gasping, eyes wide and hazy: "I feel... something shifting... already... inside..."

Just... perkier.

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