Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 962: Married Body... Stranger’s Cock (r-18)

I drew her away from my cock once more—slowly, with agonizing deliberation, allowing her puffy lips to glide over each ridged length, drawing out the final viscous strands of silvery saliva until they broke and dropped in thick strands onto her rising and falling breasts.

She drew in a breath—harsh, choked sob—, her nipples shadowed and rigidly peaked, coated in spit and shining beneath the harsh fluorescent light.

Her gaze was wild—pupils dilated to inky voids. The ripped dress hung in ragged black strips around her waist, attempting to hide the devastation: reddened skin, quivering legs, her pussy openly leaking in languid, lewd paths along the inner sides.

I turned her about—firm yet careful—until her torso was pressed tightly against the chilly metal divider of the stall.

Her hands smacked against it; she curved immediately—back bending into a profound, needy arc, ass presented toward me as if her form had already yielded while her thoughts resisted, prepared to take me in.

A complete tremor coursed through her from shoulders to ankles the instant my palms gripped her hips.

I sank to my knees in her rear, hands gliding along the rear of her thighs—silky, heated, shaking flesh—lifting the tattered silk upward until it gathered pointlessly at her midsection. No panties, no obstacle.

Simply exposed, heated skin: deep rose, gleaming lewdly, inner lips moist and separated, clit emerging pulsing, a slender silvery line of desire linking her opening to the tiled floor underneath.

I began at her neck—mouth first, then tongue—gradual, damp stroke along the middle of her back. She quaked fiercely at the touch—gooseflesh rising in surges over her shoulders, along her arms, a soft, illicit moan of a wedded woman escaping.

"Ohhh... fuck..." —her tone fracturing, quivering, as if the transgression hadn't been intended to slip free.

I continued—pressing kisses, lapping, nipping gently at every bone—her back tendons leaping and spasming beneath my tongue as I lavished attention on her, spine bowing further, ass pressing back eagerly.

Upon arriving at the base of her back, I nipped firmly—possessively, with command—and she yelped sharply and raggedly, pelvis snapping rearward, legs shuddering, pussy contracting visibly on emptiness.

Further down.

I parted her ass cheeks broadly—strong, owning hold—revealing all: puckered ring twitching, moist pussy seeping, inner legs already glossy. With tongue wide and flat, I swept from the root of her pussy directly to its end—savoring saltiness, perspiration, the intoxicating, banned scent of her illicit excitement.

She wept—

—Her sound destroyed, knees folding inward. I supported her via the hips, lips now consuming her globes—drawing one side firmly to stretch the skin, then the next, teeth scraping, imprinting swelling crimson circles that would turn to vivid bruises come morning.

Each imprint intensified her quakes—whole-body shakes, cries evolving into urgent, mewling breaths whenever my tongue brushed new welts.

"These cheeks belong to me now," I rumbled into her flesh, words dampened by yielding skin. "Tomorrow at breakfast, with every movement and twinge of soreness, you'll recall who marked this wedded ass this evening."

She let out a prolonged, quaking groan—resounding, unashamed, bouncing off the stone—form trembling so fiercely her digits clenched bone-white on the surface.

"Please—more—mark me—fuck—claim it—" —tone splintering on each syllable, prohibited passion flooding forth in surges.

She believed this was solely for the evening, so why hold back before resuming her routine? As if she could.

I delivered precisely what she pleaded for—drawing more intensely, nipping more profoundly into the sensitive join of thigh and cheek, creating dark, furious circles that would swell into striking bruises.

She was quaking without cease at this point—fierce, unrestrainable shudders traveling from ankles to shoulders, cries breaking into shrill, shattered whimpers each time I trailed my tongue up the divide, orbiting her clenched opening without penetrating, tormenting until her hips jerked wildly.

I rose gradually—cock pressing warm and heavy between her parted cheeks, settling profoundly in the groove. She felt so heated. My cock nestled in her cleft while I rubbed felt incredibly warm.

She inhaled sharply at the touch—ass tightening instinctively around the length, pussy seeping more profusely along my shaft.

I pulled her rearward against my torso—forcefully—her nude, perspiration-damp back aligned with mine, shredded dress fragments rasping my shirt.

One limb wrapped rigidly around her midriff; the other descended amid her shaking legs.

Digits located her clit—engorged, pulsing, slippery as lubricant—and I commenced gentle, merciless loops. At the same time, I swayed my pelvis, dragging my cock along her groove in extended, purposeful glides—not penetrating, merely permitting her to sense every robust, veined segment sliding across her tight ring, bearing down firmly on each upward motion.

She became untamed.

Cries grew hoarse, beastly—"Oh god—fuck—yes—right there—please—"—pitch ascending, breaking, form quaking so intensely I needed to firm my hold to prevent her collapse.

Her pussy surged—scalding, fluid torrents drenching my fingers, streaming in heavy streams down her legs, gathering on the ground.

Her clit throbbed erratically beneath my caress—beating like an extra pulse—and I accelerated—quicker, more vigorously, squeezing, twisting, pulling as my cock persisted in rubbing, now slick from her own oozing desire.

Her head lolled onto my shoulder—lips parted broadly, cries flowing freely—resounding, brazen, reverberating through the enclosure like an admission.

"I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—" she gasped, pelvis grinding rearward desperately, pursuing all friction, form spasming in abrupt, uncontrollable surges.

I folded her ahead—swift, forceful—until her palms supported the toilet reservoir, ass elevated, back curved profoundly, spine flexed, breasts swinging weightily underneath. The shift in pose provoked another fierce quiver—legs trembling, pussy contracting steadily on void, a new flow tracing her inner leg.

I positioned myself—rounded tip prodding her opening, spreading moist lips sufficiently to sense her searing heat, her soaked readiness, her urgent preparedness. I lingered there—without thrusting forward—allowing her to experience the solid pressure, the teasing expansion of her outer folds, the vow of devastation.

She quaked once more—entire form seizing—"Please—" hardly audible, tone demolished, shaking.

I extended around, located her clit anew, and squeezed—keen, solid, twisting it harshly between thumb and forefinger.

She shrieked—piercing, fractured, frantic—back bowing so severely her spine seemed poised to break, ass thrusting back as if aiming to skewer herself, tears flowing anew over cheeks smeared with mascara, form contracting in acute, involuntary fits of bliss-agony.

Each fiber tensed and relaxed—legs quivering, pussy fluttering madly, cries disintegrating into these coarse, wedded-woman sobs that resounded like transgression embodied.

I kept her positioned—cock brushing her entrance, my digits continuing to torment her clit,, her whole being vibrating like a charged cable ensnared in the forbidden vibe’s rhythm.

And I paused.

Permitting her to endure every instant of the precipice she teetered upon—quaking, seeping, groaning, possessed.