Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 997: Taste of a Mother (r-18)

I flicked the tip—and her thighs squeezed shut with ferocious force, hoisting her hips straight off the bed.

The scorching rush of her slick drenched right through onto my knee—she leaked so profusely that her thick, sweet, lewd scent now filled the air.

I moved to the right nipple, delivering identical merciless treatment—pulling with such intense suction her back curved into a flawless arch, teeth scraping lightly enough to wrench a cry from her, then calming it with wide, flat laps of my tongue.

Her fists tangled in my hair, hauling me nearer, her hips circling desperately against nothing.

me—fuck, I need—"

I unleashed the Taboo Aura in languid, unseen pulses.

Her pupils dilated massively.

Her breaths grew harsh and uneven.

The forbidden intensity of it all—of a younger man adoring the body she’d despised for years—struck her like an intoxicating rush.

Her inhibitions melted away.

Suppressed desires flooded up: getting seized, possessed, ravished by one who spotted every flaw yet craved her destruction.

I let her nipple slip free with a slick pop, the darkened tip shining with my saliva, now swollen larger than ever.

I planted kisses along her sternum, across the plush rise of her belly, licking each silvery stretch mark until tremors wracked her, whimpers spilling out.

Her fingers twisted in my hair, dragging me closer with ravenous need. I nipped the tender spot with my teeth—just a sharp bite—and she wailed, shrill and broken. I shifted to the right nipple—matching brutal focus: deep suction, whipping tongue, soft nips that had her sobbing my name like a plea to the divine.

Her pulse thundered beneath my lips. Famished. Neglected. A form rediscovering its true purpose at last.

I kissed lower—deliberate, worshipful.

Each rib.

Every silver stretch mark drawn gently between my lips. Her navel—a tender dip I swirled my tongue around until she mewled.

The soft, motherly curve of her lower abdomen—still luscious, still yielding, still ideal.

Now she panted fiercely—short, wild gasps. Her hands roamed wildly: clutching my hair, scratching the sheets, groping for me as if unsure whether to draw me near or steady herself.

I arrived at her jeans. Locked eyes with her.

Vanessa raised her hips without delay—no reluctance, no remnant of the shame that had bound her for years.

Together we yanked the jeans off, sharing breathless chuckles as the denim snagged on her wide hips, the material clinging stubbornly before peeling free with a damp, rasping sound.

Her legs flung the jeans aside, lost somewhere beyond the bed.

She remained clad only in those pale-blue cotton panties.

The crotch was devastated.

A vast, soaked oval from her pussy overwhelmed the front—clinging sheer to her mound like sodden tissue, the fabric rendered transparent by her overwhelming wetness.

Every puffy contour stood out starkly: the full outer lips bulging outward, dense and weighty, etched perfectly against the cloth.

A subtle shadow of her slit traced straight down the middle, a profound, darkened groove that had saturated the material completely, hugging every crease like another layer of skin. Her clit—already engorged—protruded boldly against the cotton, a clear, pulsing mound throbbing with each racing pulse.

Slender streams of slick had escaped the gusset, staining her inner thighs with shiny paths that gleamed in the dim bedroom glow like molten silver.

That silly little embroidered cat by the waistband—pink nose, delicate whiskers—made it all the more depraved. Childish image clashing with raw obscenity.

A wickedly tender reminder of maternal mortification.

Scarlet heat flooded her face as she saw me gaze—cheeks, neck, even her breast tops turning vivid red.

Her hands jerked toward the waistband, itching to hide.

"I didn’t—they’re not sexy—I wasn’t expecting—"

"Vanessa." I silenced her with a hungry kiss high on her inner thigh—precisely where slick had trailed down in hot, tacky lines. I savored her there—salty-sweet, dense with that potent mature musk—and she quaked so hard the bed groaned under us.

"I don’t care what underwear you have on, you’re still gorgeous and hot, it doesn’t take away from that at all."

"They have a tiny cat..." Her voice broke, caught between laughter and tears.

"The cat is cute," I murmured, grinning into her quivering flesh. "For irony."

I slid my fingers beneath the waistband—deliberately slow—and pulled down.

The sodden cotton resisted at first—adhering to her puffy mound, unwilling to abandon the drenched skin below.

I pulled firmer; the fabric surrendered with lewd, wet noises—sticky schlick-schlick—as it stripped from her outer lips.

Delicate, gleaming strands of arousal bridged the cotton and her skin like filthy webs—elongated, syrupy strings that broke and draped onto her thighs. She arched her hips once more—legs trembling wildly—and then they vanished.

Vanessa sprawled exposed and wrecked by desire.

Just her naked pussy left.

Fuck...

Her outer lips were plump, hefty, blushed a fierce, neglected crimson from abrupt, savage need—puffed so much they gaped open on their own, exposing the glossy, deeper inner folds within.

As her knees splayed broader—shaking, thighs quaking wildly—the inner labia unfurled like rain-kissed petals: richly pink, slick-shined, quivering with each desperate beat.

Slender, viscous strands of her wetness linked and ruptured amid the folds, adhering in lustrous filaments.

Her clit rose proud at the apex—thick, swollen, hood retracted enough to bare the shining gem, throbbing openly, scarlet and aching, craving touch.

Crystal arousal seeped constantly from her snug opening—dense, heated, gathering on the sheets under her rear in a growing, dark damp patch that seeped into the mattress.

Her aroma saturated the room—dense, sharp, ripe mature musk—sweetly wild, intoxicating, two years of pent-up longing erupting in honest, gushing truth.

Her narrow hips bucked upward instinctively, hunting friction, hunting relief, hunting whatever. Thighs spasmed fiercely beside my face. Belly tightened in pulsing contractions. Every part of her shrieked of starvation—and I alone could satisfy it.

I drew close until my breath whispered over her sopping center. She jolted—entire pelvis rising from the bed with a keen inhale.

"Look at your gorgeous pussy, Vanessa," I whispered, tone hushed, adoring, nasty. "Swollen. So fucking wet.

Her groan rumbled from deep within—"Nnghhh... please..." —primal, exposed, resonating through her frame.

I dragged my tongue—broad, flat, unyielding—from the base of her dripping hole straight up.

That initial flavor exploded like a narcotic: briny-sweet, creamy, heated—her juices sheathing my tongue thickly, overwhelming my senses with her compelling mature essence.

I moaned right into her folds, the rumble pulsing into her clit. Her hips snapped upward—"Ahhh—fuck—!" —her thighs trapping my head as I delved further.

I lapped once more—broader now—pressing my tongue flat to divide her outer lips fully.

They parted effortlessly—lush flesh blooming around my mouth like silken warmth yielding to conquest.

I swept upward, splaying the shiny inner folds with the full stroke, sampling her entirety: the slippery outer rims, the tender inner petals fluttering on my tongue, the constant ooze from her core that I slurped eagerly.

Fine strands of her slick adhered to my lips, pulling taut and breaking as I surfaced for breath, then plunging back.

Her clit pulsed under my tongue’s base—scorching, bloated, beating like an extra heart.

I hooked the tip beneath it—snapping quick, fierce whips at the sensitive underside—then drew the whole nub into my mouth, cheeks hollowing for fierce suction as my tongue spun wild loops around the jewel.

She shrieked—spine lifting from the mattress, fingers plunging into my hair to force me in deeper.

I nudged two fingers to her entrance—easing them in gradually, parting her while my tongue stayed glued to her clit.

Her walls gripped immediately—fiery, drenched, rippling hungrily around them.

I thrust them rhythmically—hooking up to rub that spongy spot within—while my tongue battered her clit with ceaseless snaps, sucking fiercer, gulping each new surge that filled my mouth.

Her pussy stretched further with each finger plunge—inner folds gaping lewdly, slick slathering my knuckles, trickling down to her rear in heated streams.

I withdrew my fingers briefly—just to see her hole flutter empty—then drove them back, profounder, swifter, as my tongue flattened across her clit for vast, ravenous laps.

She was coming apart—cries melting into endless, fractured wails—"Nnghhh... ahhhh... don’t stop—fuck—Eros—please—" —hips twisting madly, smearing her sopping pussy over my face, pursuing climax with all her remaining strength.

I sucked her clit fiercer—tongue fluttering the tip in speedy vibrations—fingers hooking quicker inside—while my other hand clamped her thigh, forcing her open wider so I could ravage it all: licking the juices from her folds, drawing the puffy outer lips between my lips one by one, thrusting my tongue deep to fuck her with it—twisting, plunging, relishing every throb, every flood, every shudder of her long-deprived body awakening beneath my mouth.