Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 939: The Cuckolding Thrill

At this point, I no longer obsessively checked my SP after every encounter, and the system had stopped bombarding me with sex missions lately.

Not because I’d outgrown them—fuck no, I could never outgrow missions involving something as .

Instead, as Taboo explained during one of our mental conversations while sounding suspiciously like a disappointed life coach who’d just realized his client had taken way too literally, I was mostly surrounded by my own women now.

I wasn’t moving through different social circles enough to encounter the kind of morally challenging situations that triggered new missions.

As in... you know what? Whatever.

The point was, my daily life had become less and more

Taboo said missions would resume properly when we hit Paris—social circles, elite gatherings, plenty of opportunities for cuckolding wealthy European husbands who thought their money gave them an absolute hold on these unliberated beauties, right up until their wives discovered what a teenager with divine-level game could do to a G-spot and a suppressed libido.

But the humble missions would keep flowing regardless—little side quests to remind me I was still the .

The interesting thing was what happened after the Eziel situation. That whole milestone of being caught by her husband, Dominic watching his world collapse when I destroyed his wife on her own desk—that didn’t give me the usual SP rewards.

Instead, it gave me something else entirely.

An urge.

A fucking need.

I first felt it on the airplane we were currently on, heading back to Lincoln Heights. We’d taken a commercial flight instead of a private jet because Lila, Eziel, and especially Rory preferred the experience.

They weren’t quite ready for the full billionaire lifestyle yet—Rory still got excited about , and Lila had quietly confessed she liked the little safety demo video because

Which meant we weren’t alone in first class.

That’s when it happened.

I’d locked eyes with a woman sitting two rows ahead—mid-thirties, designer outfit that screamed wedding ring catching the cabin lights like a fucking beacon broadcasting

She was sitting next to a man who was clearly her husband, some corporate type buried in his laptop reviewing quarterly reports or whatever spreadsheet justified his existence and probably his Viagra prescription.

And the moment our eyes met, I felt it.

The thrill.

My blood pumping at the thought of taking her to the bathroom, her while her husband sat fifteen feet away crunching numbers and being completely oblivious to his wife getting destroyed by a teenager who could actually make her come—loudly, repeatedly, and with enough enthusiasm to set off the smoke detectors.

It wasn’t even about the sex at this point. It was the principle. The poetic justice of it. Here’s this guy, probably making six figures, flying first class, thinking his money and status made him important—while his wife was a across the aisle because her husband hadn’t made her wet in probably five years, and even then it was probably scheduled like a quarterly performance review.

I did not even need to hear her thoughts.

And without consciously deciding to, my abilities had activated on their own.

Pheromones flooded the cabin like an invisible gas leak nobody had reported to the FAA. Taboo Aura spread like radiation from a sexy nuclear reactor that had just gone critical. Lust Presence wrapped around her and every other woman in first class who wasn’t already mine, whispering subliminal suggestions their conscious minds couldn’t hear but their bodies absolutely understood—mostly variations on

My natural charm kicked into overdrive, amplifying everything until the air itself felt charged with sexual tension thick enough to choke on, or possibly come from.

The woman’s breath hitched audibly. Her pupils dilated so fast I could see it from two rows back. Her thighs shifted restlessly under her blanket, pressing together like she was trying to contain the sudden wetness between them and failing spectacularly.

Three other women in the cabin reacted similarly—one adjusting her position in her seat with a soft gasp that sounded suspiciously like foreplay, another suddenly finding reasons to glance back at me every thirty seconds like I was the only interesting thing on this flight, a third biting her lip hard enough to leave marks while pretending to read her SkyMall magazine but clearly imagining the fold-out bed section being used for non-approved purposes.

I was already planning logistics. Which bathroom

Whether I should take the wife first or collect all four and see if the first-class bathroom could fit an orgy—

Taboo’s voice cut through my increasingly deranged planning like a splash of cold water from a fire hose.

The mental intervention snapped me back to reality. I consciously pulled my abilities back, reining in the pheromones and aura that had been working without permission like interns who’d been told

The women in the cabin visibly relaxed, though they still looked deeply confused about why they’d suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to join the mile-high club with a teenager they’d never met and probably wouldn’t remember tomorrow without therapy.

Reyna was absolutely dying beside me.

Like, full-body shaking, tears streaming down her face, trying desperately to muffle her laughter with both hands while her shoulders convulsed like she’d been possessed by the ghost of a stand-up comedian who’d died mid-set.

"Are you—" she gasped between silent laughs, another wave of giggles, "—that fucking horny right now?"

"It’s not about being horny," I hissed quietly.

"BULLSHIT!" Reyna wheezed, losing the battle to stay quiet. A few people glanced back, but she waved them off like

"You just—you just accidentally seduced half of first class because you saw one married woman and your brain went

"That’s not—"

"You have a problem, Peter," Reyna continued, wiping tears from her eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie she’d stolen. "A legitimate addiction. There should be a support group for this.

"It hasn’t been forty-seven—"

Reyna went on, doing a terrible impression of my voice that somehow still sounded exactly like me.

Lila leaned over from across the aisle, smirking. "She’s not wrong. You just pheromoned the entire cabin into a low-grade orgy trance because one woman looked at you funny."

"It was a very specific look."