Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 885

Chapter 885: Sinful Big Sister 2 (r-18)

Every instinct screamed to close her legs, to hide, but his grip was iron wrapped in velvet and she was already too far gone to fight.

Her outer lips were flushed dark rose—puffy, parted slightly from arousal alone—revealing the slick, glistening inner folds beneath. Her clit stood fully engorged at the top—small, pearl-pink, throbbing visibly with each frantic heartbeat. Below it the narrow entrance wept steadily: clear, thick arousal dripping in slow, obscene strings that stretched and broke against the sheets, pooling beneath her ass in a shameful little lake.

Every tiny detail glowed in his vision—every quiver, every fresh bead of wetness, every involuntary flutter of her opening as though it was already trying to pull something inside.

He stared—long, ravenous, silent. The wet sound of her breathing filled the room; the slick, sticky noise of her pussy clenching on nothing was louder still.

Sarah’s hands flew back to her face—palms clamped so hard her knuckles blanched white. Tears leaked steadily from beneath her fingers.

A high, fractured "no... please don’t stare..." leaked out, muffled and broken. But her hips—traitorous, desperate—tilted upward another fraction, presenting herself more completely even as shame wracked her whole body.

Peter exhaled against her virgin cunt—hot breath washing directly over her swollen clit. The scent of virginity and her unbroken barrier flared into him. She jolted like she’d been shocked; a fresh gush of wetness slid out and down her perineum toward the tight pucker below.

He leaned in again, mouth hovering so close that each slow exhale felt like molten silk pouring directly over her raw, still-pulsing cunt.

Her thighs shook violently, muscles jumping under the skin, inner thighs glossy with a thick film of her own cum and his spit. The sheets beneath her ass were sodden — a dark, wet halo that clung to her skin and made obscene squelching noises every time she shifted even a millimeter.

She was wrecked — chest heaving, limbs heavy, clit still fat and dark from the first orgasm — yet the tiny entrance at the bottom of her slit kept fluttering open and closed like a hungry little mouth, leaking fresh, clear nectar in slow, syrupy threads that stretched and snapped against the soaked cotton below.

Peter’s gaze never wavered from hers. "Not done yet," he rasped, voice thick with dark hunger. "I’m going to make this little pussy come. Slow. Until you’re crying for it."

A high, broken whimper slipped from her. Her hands clawed weakly at the sheets; shame burned fresh across her chest.

She was still wide open — swollen outer lips parted and flushed deep rose, inner petals glistening like wet silk, clit standing proud and visibly throbbing, entrance winking and drooling with every heartbeat.

"Peter... it’s too much... too sensitive..." Her voice cracked into nothing.

He ignored her. Started with nothing but his breath — long, deliberate, scorching gusts fanning directly across her engorged clit.

Each exhale made the little knot jerk and swell harder; a fresh bead of slick welled up at her hole and slid obscenely down toward the crease of her ass. She gasped — sharp, mortified — hips twitching upward as if trying to chase the heat.

Then his mouth descended — but not where she ached most. Soft, wet kisses along the puffy outer lips.

He sucked one plush fold into his mouth — slow, deliberate — lips sealing around the tender flesh, tongue stroking the silky inner surface before releasing it with a loud, wet pop that echoed in the room.

He did the same to the other side — sucking, laving, letting the plump lip drag out of his mouth inch by glistening inch.

Her breaths turned ragged. A tiny, shattered "ohhh..." leaked out — needy, humiliated. She tried to close her legs; his hands clamped harder, thumbs digging into the soft meat of her inner thighs, forcing her cunt to stay spread wide, every dripping detail exposed to the cool air and his unrelenting stare.

He moved inward — tongue now painting long, flat strokes up the inner lips. The glossy petals trembled under the broad pressure — slick, swollen, coated in a thick sheen of her arousal.

He parted them wider with the tip of his tongue alone, sliding into the hot, slippery valley between, tasting the salty-sweet flood that coated every fold. The sounds were filthy: wet, slurping drags, the soft squish of tongue against drenched flesh.

Pleasure ripped through her in unnatural waves — every nerve ending suddenly hyper-alive, raw sensitivity twisting into unbearable heat, the taboo wrongness of being eaten so patiently making her clit pulse harder even untouched, making her hole clench and gush in rhythmic little spasms.

Tears pricked her eyes again. Hips rolled upward — helpless, pleading. "Please... more..."

Tongue circled her dripping entrance in endless, lazy loops — tracing the tight, spasming ring without ever pushing inside. He flicked just past the rim — shallow, teasing — then pulled back, letting her feel the ache of emptiness.

She cried out — sharp, broken — pleasure coiling so tight it hurt. He slid one finger in alongside his tongue — one finger, moving at glacial speed. Inch by torturous inch he pushed inside, twisting gently so she felt every ridge, every knuckle sliding past her spasming entrance.

Out — equally slow — letting her walls cling and flutter around the retreating digit. Then back in — curling harder now, stroking that sensitive ridge with feather-light precision, feeling it swell and pulse under his fingertip.

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