Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 378

Chapter 378: Sex on the Drive
Emma was crazy. Let me repeat that for clarity: Emma is fucking crazy. And she’d been like this long before I took her virginity in a storm of sweat and confessions. Why call her crazy? Simple. Simple, and utterly terrifying.

After she’d fully impaled herself on me, stretched impossibly wide around the thick ridge anchoring her deep inside, after the shuddering gasps and overwhelmed tears had subsided into heavy breathing, she’d whispered it.

Right against my ear, my hands still cupping her full breasts, my fingers feeling the taut muscles of her ass flexing as she adjusted to the impossible intrusion. Her inner walls pulsed, a frantic, welcoming rhythm around my length.

“One of my fantasies…” she’d murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction and something else. A secret thrill. “…was you fucking me in a car…”

I’d nodded, stroking her back, misunderstanding completely. Sweet. Innocent, almost. “Yeah, we kind of just did that, Em.”

“You sitting like this,” she clarified, shifting slightly, sending jolt through both of us, “with me wrapped around you, in a car… it’s been my dream.” I nodded again. Okay, deep connection, intimacy while driving… got it.

Before the nod even finished registering, it happened. I don’t know how the hell she’d done it—maybe the adrenaline, maybe some hidden flexibility honed by years of gymnastics I’d forgotten about—but her body twisted violently.

One hand, lightning-fast, slammed into the ‘Start’ button. The Audi’s engine roared to life with a sudden, gut-deep flare of power that vibrated through the frame, through us, a shocking counterpoint to our intimate stillness. She hadn’t just started the car; she’d ignited it.

That wasn’t the crazy part. That was merely the opening act.

“Fucking ARIA!” she barked, her voice sharp as shattered glass, eyes blazing not at me but at the unseen AI. “Don’t you dare drive! Hands off! Honey, drive while you fuck me. Now!” A fraction of a second pause, then the indicator light on the dash shifted from blue to a neutral white.

The car remained idling, utterly responsive to human touch. ARIA, it seemed, recognized the raw, chaotic authority in Emma’s command and relented.

She snapped her head back to me, a grin splitting her face, feral, utterly devoid of sanity. It was the look of someone who’d just unlocked her ultimate, forbidden playground. “Now,” she breathed, the words dripping with command and lust, “fucking drive me, Peter. While I drive you!”

It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. A declaration of war against sanity, physics, and basic traffic laws. And before I could process the sheer suicidal idiocy of it, before I could shout ‘NO!’ or demand she stop, she did.

She slammed the gearshift into ‘Drive’ with her free hand, planted her feet flat on the floor around my hips, and using her legs braced against the seat and console, she lifted herself up my cock and slammed back down. Hard. Again.

The car lurched forward with a squeal of tires as my foot, jerked by pure shock and the overwhelming physical assault, mashed the accelerator. We shot out of the overlook onto the road, a silver bullet propelled by lust and madness. There was no going back. Only forward. Into chaos.

My hands flew to the wheel, white-knuckled, fighting to maintain control as the Audi surged into the late-afternoon traffic. Horns blared. A minivan swerved violently. And through it all, through the blurring scenery and the sickening lurch of momentum, Emma rode me. She rode me like a woman possessed, like a force of nature unleashed.

She slammed herself up and down my cock, using the car’s movement, the vibration of the engine, the sheer adrenaline, as fuel. Her tight, stretched walls gripped me like a velvet fist, dragging along every ridge and vein with vicious, wet suction.

Each downward slam was a collision, a meeting of bodies that jarred my teeth and sent shockwaves through my spine. Her ass slapped against my thighs with loud, wet smacks that cut through the roar of the engine. She wasn’t just fucking me; she was using the car to fuck me harder, faster, the danger amplifying every sensation.

Her moans were drowned out by the wind and engine, but I felt them – vibrations against my chest, the frantic fluttering of her internal muscles around me.

“Fuck! Peter! YES!” she screamed, head thrown back, nails raking down my chest under my shirt.

She ground her clit against my cock on each downstroke, seeking her release amidst the hurtling metal. It was terrifying. It was insane. I should have stopped her. Slammed the brakes, pulled over, torn her off me… except… except the raw, illicit thrill of it was intoxicating.

ARIA’s unseen influence smoothed our path like a guardian angel – gaps appeared in traffic, lights stayed green a fraction longer, other cars seemed to instinctively give the speeding Audi a wider berth.

She was our silent co-conspirator in this insanity. We were both riding – her on my cock, me on the edge of oblivion, steering a speeding missile through Lincoln Heights while my supernaturally flexible sister-girlfriend fucked my brains out.

When she came, it was violent. A silent scream tore at her throat, her body arching back like a drawn bowstring before collapsing forward onto the steering wheel. The horn blared, a long, angry wail that merged with her guttural cry.

For a split second, I thought disaster had struck. But Emma didn’t stop. Her body convulsed around me, a wave of liquid heat flooding over my cock as she came – one normal orgasm blurring instantly into a squirt.

I felt the gush, a warm splash against my groin, soaking my jeans and the leather seat beneath us. Ten times she’d squirt like that today? A dam, indeed. Before the aftershocks even subsided, she was lifting herself again, weakly, desperately, slamming back down. Again. Her pussy was a drenched, clenching furnace.

The sheer, relentless stimulation, the danger, the sight of her lost in ecstasy on my lap, the feeling of her milking me through her orgasm… it shattered my control. With a guttural roar that matched the engine, I came inside her. Hard. Pulse after thick pulse of my release flooding her depths as her own climax peaked again.

Fifteen times in less than twenty-four hours. My balls ached, my cock throbbed with raw overuse, but the release was blinding. She milked me dry, her inner walls contracting in perfect, greedy rhythm.

By the time Tommy’s chosen Torres Developments branch came into view – a sprawling, modern complex of glass and steel – Emma was done. Utterly. Spent.

She slumped forward, flushed, sweaty, and bonelessly limp, her cheek pressed against my chest, soft snores escaping her lips. My cock was still semi-hard inside her, a lingering connection in the sticky, drenched aftermath.

The Audi purred to a stop. The silence after the engine cut off was deafening. Tommy stood outside, grinning, waving. I carefully eased Emma’s limp form off me, wincing at the over-sensitivity and the mess.

Her soft whimper was the only protest. I laid her gently across the back seat, covering her with my jacket. Grabbing some exchange clothes from the back (thank you, Vic for putting them in), then I cleaned myself up as best I could, the scent of sex and Emma overpowering in the confined space.

My phone buzzed – Sarah. ‘Come pick me up when ur done, pls!’

Stepping out into the crisp air felt like emerging from a fever dream. Tommy bounded over. “Took you long enough! You get lost?” He joked, clapping me on the shoulder. I

nside the pristine showroom, reality felt… thin. The memory of Emma’s wild eyes, the blurring scenery, the screams and squirts trapped within hurtling steel… it clung to me. Emma was crazy. And terrifyingly, gloriously, she’d dragged me right over the edge with her.