Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 999: Saved from the Corner (r-18)

Her pussy began fluttering madly, its walls undulating around my shaft as though desperate to draw me further inside.

"I’m—again—Peter, I’m gonna—fuck—"

She climaxed on my cock like a bursting dam.

Her whole body locked up—breasts jiggling fiercely, nipples stiff as diamonds, slender body arching off the bed as her pussy spasmed in fierce, squeezing pulses. Fresh, scorching wetness surged around my length, drenching my balls and trickling down her ass in glistening streams.

She let out a scream—raw, shattered, exquisite—nails clawing my back while her walls gripped and rippled, attempting to drain me completely.

I kept going. I pounded her right through the orgasm—powerful, unyielding thrusts, my cock swelling thicker within her twitching warmth, expanding her further during the peak so each spasm hit harder, more powerfully. I made her nipples and clit throb, transforming the echoes into fresh surges that left her weeping and quivering.

Once she slumped down, boneless and panting, with tears of bliss streaking her face, I eased into long, grinding rolls—still fully sheathed, still rigid as iron, still perfectly shaped to hit the places that drew whimpers from her.

"More," she murmured, voice hoarse, eyes dazed with wonder. "Don’t stop. I’ve never... God, I’ve never experienced anything like this..."

I pressed a kiss to her sweat-slick forehead, grinned against her flesh, and resumed thrusting—slow, profound, unending—since this ravenous, tender, maternal form was now mine to adore throughout the night.

I withdrew gradually—intentionally—observing how her pussy gripped every bit of me during the pullout, those slick inner folds trailing along my shaft like they refused to let go.

Thick, gleaming slick covered me from root to tip, strands of it stretching and breaking as I vacated her once more. She whined at the emptiness, hips rising on reflex, pursuing me.

I toyed with her instead.

The engorged tip of my cock separated her plump outer lips anew—deliberate glides along her drenched slit, nudging her pulsing clit with each pass until her thighs twitched and her breaths came in sharp hitches.

"Peter—please—"

I positioned myself once more.

Thrust ahead.

The fat head eased past her swollen lips—encountering that exquisite barrier, that silken blaze, that grip shouting two years of deprivation.

Her opening quivered around me, struggling to yield, struggling to accept.

"Oh God—" Her nails bit into my shoulders, deep enough to leave marks. "Slow—please—slow—"

I made it slow. Inch after thick inch. Allowing her to savor the stretch, the sting, the exquisite pang of being filled after endless emptiness. Her mouth gaped in a prolonged, soundless inhale.

Her walls squeezed so fiercely I paused midway, jaw clenched, forcing steady breaths.

"You okay?" I rasped, tone gravelly.

"Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. It’s just—it’s a lot—you’re—" She shivered, drew a shaky breath. "More. Please. More."

I plunged further. Another inch. Then another. Her legs encircled my waist—ankles crossing at my lower back—hauling me deeper, insisting. Her inner walls fluttered wildly around me, adapting, clenching, inviting me in fully.

When I finally hilted—balls pressed tight, completely embedded—she uttered a sound etched in my memory: a deep, quaking moan rising from her core, surging up her throat, bursting free like the first gasp after years submerged.

As if she’d been hollowed out and I’d just refilled her with vitality.

"Oh," she sighed. Eyes glazed. Moist. Brimming with me. "Oh."

I remained there. Buried deep. Motionless. Joined. I kissed the trail of tears on her cheek. Her brow. Let her sense my fullness within, the warmth, the throb.

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

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

Then I began moving anew.

Gently first. Profound, undulating drives that nearly withdrew fully—her walls clutching hungrily at my shaft, fighting the retreat—before gliding back to the base.

Each thrust purposeful.

Each shift aimed to scrape that spongy front wall of her pussy, to press the zones that fluttered her eyes and snagged her breath.

She attempted silence initially—soft moans stifled behind gnawed lips, still the prudent, rational lady who fretted over stretch marks and childish panties.

I refused to allow it.

I adjusted my hips. Hit that ideal spot again. Slammed firmer—once, twice—and her restraint crumbled.

"FUCK—"

Her hand darted to her mouth, stunned by her own cry.

I seized her wrist. Drew it aside. Secured it softly overhead.

"Don’t you dare hide those sounds from me," I growled deeply.

And she unleashed them.

As I accelerated—deeper, stronger, the tempo evolving from reverence to primal hunger—she quit holding back.

Quit being courteous. Quit being anything except a woman at last getting pounded as she’d craved.

She moaned—loud, fractured, unashamed. Gasped my name like a prayer.

Begged—"harder, deeper, don’t stop,"—voice rising, splintering with each savage thrust.

Her nails scored my back—long, burning lines that made me hiss and hammer harder.

Her hips bucked to meet mine—awkward initially, then syncing, then shattering when ecstasy overwhelmed and her form melted into quakes and surrender.

"More—I want—I need—" Her arms clamped my neck. Legs gripped firmer. All of her dragging me in, binding us, as if sheer force could merge us permanently.

"Harder—I can take it—please—"

I delivered harder.

No more caution. No more delicacy.

I ravaged her like she was indestructible—like she was mine to destroy and restore in one furious motion.

The bed thrashed against the wall. Headboard thudding against plaster. Lewd, sopping smacks of flesh echoed—her pussy devouring me so profoundly, so fiercely, that each drive squeezed out new floods of slick, drenching my balls, streaming down her ass, saturating the sheets below.

I triggered Touch via my palms—one hand gliding to seize her hip, fingers sinking into plush skin, reshaping every fiber so the grip fired bolts directly to her

The other hand claimed her full, swinging breast, cradling the heated mass, thumb and finger twisting that fat, dark nipple with merciless accuracy—converting each pull into a jolt echoing deep in her cunt.

She shrieked—piercing, splintered—back bowing sharply so her breasts mashed against my chest, nipples raking my flesh.

I invoked Size Control once more—expanding my cock during a thrust just enough to widen her pulsing walls, then extending a bit more so the tip tapped her cervix on every ferocious dive. Her eyes rolled.

Mouth agape in endless, wailing keen.

"Peter—fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—"

"Let it happen," I snarled at her ear. "Come on my cock. Let me feel it."

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

Her entire form seized.

She orgasmed fiercer than ever—spine curving like lightning-struck, breasts heaving madly, lithe body shuddering wildly under me. Her pussy

Scorching slick poured around my shaft, spurting in waves, flooding all between us.

Her hips jerked in wild, uncontrollable bucks. Nails gouged my shoulders. Thighs vise-gripped my sides. She sobbed my name against my neck—raw, wrecked, stunning.

I refused to halt.

I drove through it—profound, merciless plunges extending each spasm, each surge, each tremor.

My touch sustained her nipples alight, her clit pulsing sans contact—I could pound her endlessly if desired.

And she desired.

"Again—" she panted, voice ruined, tears flowing. "Don’t stop—harder—I want everything—give me everything—"

I turned her over.

Fluid roll—onto her belly, hips hoisted, knees parted broad. Her ass rose—plush, nurturing curves, stretch marks shimmering silver under the glow.

I aligned at her sopping gateway and rammed home—fierce, utter, possessive.

She wailed into the pillow.

I took her doggy-style—hands bruising her hips, yanking her back onto my cock per thrust.

The position allowed deeper, rougher hits, battering her g-spot and cervix in relentless alternation.

Her pussy frothed around me—creamy white bands at my base, juices trailing her thighs.

I snaked around... fingertips located her bloated clit—whirled rapid, pitiless loops as I hammered from rear. Her elbows buckled. Face mashed to sheets. Ass elevated. Frame trembling.

She exploded a third time—walls contracting so ferociously they almost ejected me. New torrent of slick.

Body wracked in convulsions. Sobbing into the bedding.

Only then—when she lay boneless, quaking, completely drained—did I release.

I sheathed fully one final time.

Groaned profoundly—raw, animalistic—and unleashed inside her. Dense, throbbing jets filling her gripping pussy, claiming her inwardly. Her walls drew every pulse, ravenous, urgent, as if to hoard it all.

We tumbled down.

Entwined. Drenched in sweat. Breaths heaving against each other’s flesh. Her pulse thundered at my chest—or mine at hers. Perhaps both.

After endless quiet moments, she murmured—voice rasped, demolished, flawless.

"Peter."

"Yeah?"

"I’m never waving from the corner again."

I chuckled—deep, winded. Kissed her damp temple. Drew her nearer, still lodged within.

"No," I replied. "You’re not."

And I lingered—erect, embedded—since we were far from finished.

Not by a long shot.