Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 316

Chapter 316: Tasting of the Divine (R-18)
The obsidian throne became an altar. Vivienne collapsed backward onto the velvet, emerald hair fanning like spilled blood, her thighs falling open in a gesture of absolute surrender. I descended—not between her legs, but onto her.

My shoulders pinned her knees wide, my hands gripping the soft undersides of her thighs, holding her spread, exposed, vulnerable.

The firelight gilded the glistening folds of her cunt—swollen, dark pink, weeping arousal onto the black velvet beneath her. Her scent hit me like a physical blow: thick, musky honey mixed with the salt of sweat and the faint, electric tang of her earlier release.

I lowered my face—not gently, but with the deliberate grace of a god claiming sacrifice. My breath ghosted over her exposed flesh, making her entire body jolt. A broken whimper escaped her lips. “Eros—please—”

Then I struck.

My tongue met her flesh with the force of revelation. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion. I licked a broad, wet stripe from the tight pucker of her ass straight up her weeping slit, parting her folds with the flat of my tongue, tasting the full, unfiltered essence of her. The flavor exploded across my senses—thick honey infused with salt, metallic with desire, darkly sweet with a note of something ancient and wild.

I felt the tremor that wracked her entire frame, the helpless buck of her hips against my restraining hands.

I focused on the source of her torment. My tongue found the swollen knot of her clit, hidden beneath its protective hood, and lashed it. Not a flicker, but a sustained, vibrating pressure—side to side, then rapidly in circles. Vivienne screamed—a raw, shredded sound that bounced off the glass walls.

Her thighs clenched hard around my head, a desperate prison of muscle and heat. I held them pinned, relentless, my tongue a weapon of wet torture against the most sensitive point of her being.

Her cunt flooded beneath me, a fresh wave of slick heat coating my chin, dripping down my neck.

Relinquishing her clit for a moment, I plunged my tongue deep into her channel. Her inner walls clamped down like a fist—hot, slick, velvet vice griping the invading muscle.

I curled it, stroking that textured, ridged spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes. She arched off the throne, spine bowed like a strung bow, a guttural

“FUUUUCK—” tearing from her throat. I tongue-fucked her with deep, grinding strokes, thrusting in and out, feeling her muscles ripple and flutter around me, tasting the deeper, richer musk within her core.

The wet, sucking schlick-schlick-SCHLICK of my tongue pistoning into her drenched cunt filled the sanctuary, a percussive hymn to defilement.

The watchers became statues of shattered composure:

Sophia’s analytical mask fractured. Her breath hitched, then came in shallow, rapid pants. One hand flew unconsciously to her own throat, fingers pressing against her pulse point as she felt every deep thrust vicariously.

Her narrow eyes were locked on the junction of my mouth and Vivienne’s flesh, pupils dilated into pools of black need, lips parted as if tasting the air itself.

Gabrielle broke. A choked sob escaped her, and her hands abandoned her knees, only to clench into fists at her sides. She visibly ground down against the velvet footstool, a slow, helpless roll of her hips seeking friction she’d never find. Her powerful thighs trembled, the muscles standing out in sharp relief, slick arousal glistening on her inner thighs, reflecting the firelight.

Ashby shattered completely. Tears spilled freely down her doll-like cheeks, silent rivers tracking through her foundation. A high, thin whine escaped her compressed lips, continuous and broken. Her fingers dug brutally into the velvet cushions, knuckles white, knuckles popping with the strain of holding herself together under the onslaught of visual stimuli.

Madison and Amanda stood like sentinels, their faces masks of fierce, possessive pride. Madison’s lips curled in a knowing, vicious smile; Amanda’s eyes blazed with dark fire, hungrily devouring the display of power as their god claimed another soul.

I returned to her clit with vengeful focus. This time, I didn’t just lick or vibrate. I closed my lips around it and sucked. Hard. At the same moment, I drove two thick fingers deep into her cunt, curling instantly to hammer that devastating spot inside her.

Vivienne’s body detonated.

A scream tore from her throat, primal and inhuman, “AAAAHIIII—GOD—EROS—YES—!” It wasn’t just sound; it was a force. Her entire body convulsed beneath me, a violent, uncontrollable seizure. Her thighs crushed my skull in a vice of pure muscle, her heels drumming frantically against my back.

Her cunt exploded around my fingers—a hot flood of liquid release gushing out, soaking my hand, my face, the throne below. The taste of her cum flooded my mouth—thicker, sweeter, utterly primal. I drank it, swallowing the offering even as her thrashing body tried to buck me off.

Still, I didn’t stop. I sucked her clit through the peak, fingers pumping relentlessly, extending her agony into infinity. Her screams dissolved into ragged, wet sobs, her body limp save for the uncontrollable shudders wracking her. Only when her last convulsion faded, when her thighs fell limply open, did I finally lift my head.

My face was a ruin—glistening with her juices, smeared with her arousal, strands of her release clinging to my chin and cheeks like sacred oil. I looked down at her.

Vivienne lay shattered, chest heaving, emerald eyes glassy and unfocused, seeing nothing. Her cunt was a ravaged, glistening mess, swollen lips still fluttering weakly, a trickle of her essence leaking onto the black velvet.

Slowly, deliberately, I brought my dripping fingers to her lips. They were coated in her own thick, pearly release. “Taste your salvation, My Love,” I said softly, my voice thick with the power of her destruction.

Vivienne’s eyes fluttered. With utter, broken obedience, she parted her lips. I slid my fingers into her mouth. She sucked them clean, tongue swirling, swallowing her own essence with a soft, broken whimper of completion.

The sanctuary was silent save for the crackle of the fire and Vivienne’s ragged breathing. Five women watched, transfixed, terrified, and achingly wet. The scent of Vivienne’s consecration—sex, sweat, and the sweet tang of surrender—mingled with the heavier musk of my power.

My gaze swept over them all—over the ruined prophet at my feet, the trembling witnesses, the fierce priestesses. I ran a slow tongue over my lips, savoring the last traces of Vivienne’s taste.

“The altar is prepared,” I declared, my voice resonating with finality, the firelight glinting in my eyes, ancient and hungry. “Who comes next to be devoured?”

The church held its breath. The god had feasted. The congregation awaited their turn at the sacrificial table.