Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 961: Bathroom Fidelity (r-18)

She remained kneeling, her mouth stretched wide and lewdly around me, her throat convulsing in furious, messy, choking motions when I sensed the change—her pace stumbling, hesitating, as if she'd reached her boundary and yearned to surpass it to access the innermost depths of her throat.

I clenched my fingers in her hair—not directing yet, merely securing—and she let out a prolonged, broken moan around my cock, the tremor shooting directly into my balls. We had long exceeded any pretense of civility.

I drew her away with a resounding, slick pop—dense silvery threads of saliva extending from her puffy, battered lips to the gleaming, saliva-coated tip like vulgar spider threads.

She inhaled sharply—harsh, frantic—her chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes glazed and bloodshot, mascara already tracing dark streaks down both cheeks in chaotic paths. Stunning chaos.

She appeared unsatisfied with her efforts so far.

"Up," I commanded, my voice rough like gravel.

She stood on unsteady heels. I turned her swiftly—her back crashing against my chest—then pushed her ahead until her hands smacked against the stall wall.

Her dress remained gathered at her hips, I tugged the thong to the side, the sight was exquisite... her wetness gleaming along her inner thighs from where she'd earlier ravaged her clit.

I assisted in spreading her stance broader, positioned myself between her spread legs, and rubbed every thick, veined length between her thighs—not penetrating, merely sliding the shaft along her drenched folds while my hands located the delicate neckline.

Thin

Costly silk. I slipped fingers beneath the material at her shoulders.

She seized my wrists. "Wait—keep it intact. How the hell am I supposed to walk back out there acting like nothing occurred?"

Acting innocent, as if we aren't aware of how you crave this.

I leaned my mouth to her ear, one hand descending to roughly cup her breast through the dress, thumb grating over the stiff nipple, the other still clutching the neckline as if poised to destroy it.

"We both know that’s bullshit," I whispered. "You’ve climaxed a hundred times imagining this—emerging from a bathroom stall appearing as though you’ve been taken roughly, breasts exposed, unable to conceal it.

"You desire it inscribed across your features. You wish every individual who gazes at you this evening to realize you just had your throat pounded raw by a stranger while your husband chatted with servers."

She drew in a breath—acute, reflexive—her entire form shuddering against me, pussy clenching visibly around emptiness.

My cock pulsed fiercely between her thighs at the noise. She turned slightly to shoot a glare back over her shoulder, lips ajar, voice already raspy.

I offered no reply, words proved pointless now.

I yanked.

Straps broke with a crisp rip. The fabric split directly down the front in a single savage tear—breasts tumbling out into the chilly air, nipples dark and achingly erect. I continued without pause.

Seized the ragged edges and ripped wider—another resounding, reverberating tear—until the dress dangled in pointless black shreds from her waist, her upper body utterly exposed, skin rosy, glistening with perspiration and saliva flecks.

Her back bowed sharply, thrusting those full breasts ahead while her rear pressed back into my hips.

From the rear, she embodied utter vice: spine arched, waist concave, ass plump and curved, cheeks still marked with red fingerprints, destroyed dress adhering like war spoils—silk shredded open, revealing the sleek curve of her lower back, dimples, thong riding high between her cheeks and accentuating it all.

Her thighs trembled, slickness flowing in slender streams down the insides, pussy engorged, spread, dripping onto the marble in gentle strands. Hair disheveled, mascara smudged, wedding ring glinting like a mocking jest each time her hand steadied against the wall.

I molded my chest to her back, allowing her to sense my unrelenting hardness. One hand encircled her throat—not constricting, merely claiming—while the other trailed down her front, coarse palm abrading a nipple, then further, fingers locating her clit and

She mewled, hips jerking.

"Turn around."

She complied—unsteady, deliberate—until she confronted me once more. Breasts heaving rapidly, shredded dress hanging like banners of defeat, pussy juices clearly trickling down her thighs.

Eyes fixed on mine—feral, pupils dilated, beseeching and enraged.

I gripped my cock, delivered one languid, purposeful stroke—head slick and angry-red—then advanced and nudged it against her lips.

"Open."

She complied. Broadly.

I refrained from gentleness.

I thrust—profound, savage, directly to the rear of her throat in one ferocious motion.

She gagged hard—instant, damp, intense—eyes watering immediately, throat contracting around the head as if attempting to expel me and engulf me simultaneously. Her hands clutched my hips—not repelling, nails carving moons as she endeavored to push another inch beyond her threshold.

I granted her a brief moment—then commenced fucking her face with extended, relentless strokes. Initially, she managed only about half—lips taut and pale, cheeks caving in desperately, gagging damply each time I struck the back of her throat.

Dense silvery saliva foamed at the edges of her mouth, frothing, falling in thick cords onto her jiggling breasts, trailing down her belly, gathering on the floor between her knees.

Yet she wanted more.

Her head began accelerating—frantic, lunging onto me more forcefully, choking herself further with each eager nod.

She withdrew just sufficiently to inhale—"Harder"—voice demolished, then plunged back, sucking viciously, tongue pressing flat, throat dilating broader on sheer impulse.

She gagged more loudly, more moistly, retching noises bouncing off the marble, but she persisted—she drove her face ahead, nose rubbing against my pelvis, compelling the final resistant inches inside until her lips met the base and her throat quivered erratically around me.

Throat fully occupied now. Nothing spared. She maintained it—trembling, tears flowing, mascara streams merging with saliva on her chin—then gulped forcefully, rippling muscles squeezing me so firmly I groaned.

She withdrew—gradual, intentional—silvery threads breaking between her lips and my cock—only to plunge forward anew, swifter, fiercer, compelling me with every urgent surge of her head.

I understood the signal.

Both hands now tangled in her hair—keeping her fixed as I fucked her throat without mercy—profound, quick, balls slapping her chin with each motion. Her form jolted fiercely—breasts leaping erratically, shredded dress fluttering, spit and tears mixing into a shiny disorder on her chest.

She gazed upward through drenched lashes—eyes imploring, rebellious, possessed—gagging around me on every descent, choking moistly, moaning fracturedly when I reached bottom.

The forbidden vibe intensified with each gag, each gulp, each glimpse of that wedding ring as she pumped the base she couldn’t reach orally. Sin resonance caused her throat to loosen supernaturally—accepting me further, smoother, more avidly—until she was thrusting her face onto me as vigorously as I was exploiting her.

I extracted slowly—inch by glistening, saliva-soaked inch—until only the head rested on her tongue. She gasped—harsh, sobbing inhalations—thick silvery drool connecting from her devastated lips to my cock, falling in elongated, lewd threads.

"Look at you," I growled. "Married yet kneeling in a public bathroom stall, dress torn apart, tits exposed, throat sore and open, mascara destroyed, still sporting the ring while she gags herself senseless on cock that belongs to no husband."

She whimpered—tiny, fractured noise—then inclined forward and licked the underside, pursuing further, tongue circling through the blend of saliva and precum.

I grinned, shadowy.

Then I slid it back inside.

And began ruining her once more—faster, deeper, harder—