Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 999

Chapter 999: Saved from the Corner (r-18)

Her pussy started fluttering wildly, walls rippling along my length like she was trying to pull me even deeper.

"I’m—again—Peter I’m gonna—fuck—"

She came on my cock like a dam breaking.

Her entire body seized—breasts bouncing wildly, nipples diamond-hard, slim frame bowing off the mattress as her pussy convulsed in powerful, milking waves. Hot, fresh slick gushed around my shaft, soaking my balls, running down her ass in shiny rivulets.

She screamed—raw, broken, beautiful—nails raking down my back while her walls clamped and fluttered and tried to milk me dry.

I didn’t stop. I fucked her through it—deep, relentless strokes, my cock thickening even more inside her spasming heat, stretching her wider mid-orgasm so every contraction felt fuller, more intense. I kept her nipples and clit singing, turning the aftershocks into new little peaks that made her sob and shake.

When she finally collapsed, limp and gasping, tears of pure pleasure on her cheeks, I slowed to long, grinding rolls—still buried to the hilt, still hard as steel, still perfectly sized for the exact spots that made her whimper.

"More," she whispered, voice wrecked, eyes glassy with awe. "Don’t stop. I’ve never... God, I’ve never felt anything like this..."

I kissed her sweat-damp forehead, smiled against her skin, and started fucking her again—slow and deep and endless—because this starving, sweet, motherly body was finally mine to worship all night long.

I pulled out slowly—deliberately—watching the way her pussy clung to every inch of me on the withdrawal, those glossy inner lips dragging along my shaft like they were trying to keep me inside forever.

Slick coated me from base to tip, thick and shining, strings of it stretching and snapping between us as I left her empty again. She whimpered at the loss, hips lifting instinctively, chasing me.

I teased her instead.

The swollen head of my cock parted her puffy outer lips once more—slow, back-and-forth glides through her soaked folds, bumping her still-throbbing clit on every upstroke until her thighs jerked and her breath hitched in sharp little gasps.

"Peter—please—"

I lined up again.

Pressed forward.

The fat head slipped between her swollen lips—met that delicious resistance, that velvet heat, that tightness that screamed two years of neglect.

Her entrance fluttered around me, trying to open, trying to take.

"Oh God—" Her nails dug into my shoulders, hard enough to mark. "Slow—please—slow—"

I gave her slow. Inch by thick inch. Letting her feel the stretch, the burn, the beautiful ache of being filled after so long empty. Her mouth fell open in a long, silent gasp.

Her walls clamped down so tight I had to stop halfway, teeth gritted, breathing through it.

"You okay?" I asked, voice rough.

"Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. It’s just—it’s a lot—you’re—" She shuddered, took a ragged breath. "More. Please. More."

I sank deeper. Another inch. Another. Her legs wrapped around my waist—ankles locking at the small of my back—pulling me in, demanding. Her inner walls rippled around me in frantic little flutters, adjusting, gripping, welcoming me home.

When I finally bottomed out—balls-deep, every inch buried to the hilt—she made a sound I’ll carry forever: a low, trembling moan that started deep in her chest, climbed her throat, and spilled out like the first real breath after years underwater.

Like she’d been hollowed out and I’d just poured life back into her.

"Oh," she breathed. Eyes glassy. Wet. Full of me. "Oh."

I stayed there. Deep. Still. Connected. Kissed the tear track on her cheek. Her forehead. Let her feel the weight of me inside her, the heat, the pulse.

"Do you still feel me?" I murmured against her skin.

"I feel everything," she whispered. "Everything."

Then I started to move again.

Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that pulled almost all the way out—her walls dragging greedily along my shaft, resisting every inch of withdrawal—before sliding back in to the root.

Every stroke deliberate.

Every angle chosen to drag along that spongy front wall of her pussy, to grind against the spots that made her eyes flutter and her breath catch.

She tried to stay quiet at first—those breathy little moans trapped behind bitten lips, still the careful, sensible woman who apologized for stretch marks and cartoon underwear.

I wasn’t having it.

I shifted my hips. Found that perfect angle again. Thrust harder—once, twice—and her composure shattered.

"FUCK—"

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock at her own volume.

I caught her wrist. Pulled it away. Pinned it gently above her head.

"Don’t you dare hide those sounds from me," I growled low. "I want every fucking one."

And she gave them.

As I picked up the pace—deeper, firmer, the rhythm shifting from worship to raw need—she stopped filtering.

Stopped being polite. Stopped being anything but a woman finally getting railed the way she’d been starving for.

She moaned—loud, broken, shameless. Gasped my name like a chant.

Begged—"harder, deeper, don’t stop, Peter God what are you doing to me"—voice climbing higher, cracking wider with every punishing stroke.

Her nails raked down my back—long, stinging trails that made me hiss and drive into her even harder.

"More—I want—I need—" Her arms locked around my neck. Legs squeezed tighter. Everything pulling me deeper, closer, like she could fuse us together if she just held on hard enough.

"Harder—I can take it—please—"

The bed slammed against the wall. Headboard cracking rhythm against plaster. Wet, obscene slaps of skin on skin filled the room—her pussy taking me so deep, so hard, that every thrust forced fresh gushes of slick from her, coating my balls, dripping down her ass, soaking the sheets beneath us.

I activated Touch through my palms—one hand sliding down to grip her hip, fingers digging into soft flesh, rewriting every nerve so the pressure there sent lightning straight to her clit.

I used Size Control again—thickening my cock mid-thrust just enough to stretch her fluttering walls wider, then lengthening another fraction so the head kissed her cervix on every brutal plunge. Her eyes rolled back.

"Peter—fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—"

"Let it happen," I growled against her ear. "Come on my cock. Let me feel it."

"I can’t—it’s too—too much—it’s—fuck—"

She came harder than anything before—back bowing like she’d been struck by lightning, breasts bouncing wildly, slim frame shaking violently beneath me. Her pussy clamped down in vicious, rhythmic spasms—milking me so tight I groaned from the base of my spine.

My touch kept her nipples singing, her clit throbbing even untouched—I could rail her for hours if she wanted.

"Again—" she gasped, voice wrecked, tears streaming. "Don’t stop—harder—I want everything—give me everything—"

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