Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 572

Chapter 572: Eating Reyna (r-18)
She shoved me back so hard the door rattled in its frame like it was trying to escape, and the black lace still crammed in my mouth muffled the guttural, animal groan that tore out of me as her scent was raw, dripping, pure fucking Reyna, detonated behind my eyes and short-circuited every rational thought until all that existed was the taste of her panties and the promise of her cunt.

Reyna’s eyes blazed with the same feral, predatory command she’d worn behind the bar, but now it was stripped bare, no mask, no mercy, just a woman who had decided she was going to break me open and drink whatever spilled out.

She wanted to own me, to ruin me, to consume me until my name was nothing but a prayer on her lips, and every cell in my body screamed yes, fucking take it, it’s been yours since the moment you looked at me.

Let her have this. Let win. Her pleasure now was the single greatest investment I would make in my life.

She ripped the bodysuit down in one violent, savage yank.

The soaked latex fought her, clinging to sweat-drenched skin with a wet, sucking SCHLIIIIIIIIIICK that sounded like flesh tearing.

Her massive tits exploded free, heavy, pendulous, swaying with violent momentum, dark areolas the size of silver dollars stretched tight over nipples so thick and stiff they looked painful, jutting like spears that had been aching for teeth, for tongue, for punishment all night long.

A river of sweat ran down the deep valley between them, the little silver cross pendant now swinging wildly, slapping wetly against her sternum with every ragged breath.

Her ribs flared, waist cinched so narrow I could have snapped it with my hands, then detonated into hips built for breeding and sin.

The bodysuit bunched at her thighs like a second skin refusing to die, revealing the trembling plane of her stomach, the faint silver lightning bolt of a stretch mark that ran from navel to mound like a brand I wanted to trace with my tongue until she sobbed my name.

And then her pussy.

Jesus fucking Christ, her pussy.

Bare, swollen beyond reason, lips obscene and parted, glistening with thick, creamy slick that poured from her in slow, viscous rivers, dripping in long, obscene threads that stretched and snapped against her inner thighs. Her clit was a fat, angry pearl, hood peeled back, throbbing visibly, begging, weeping.

She kicked the ruined suit away; it hit the wall with a wet slap. Jeans followed, zipper screaming as she tore them down legs carved from muscle and lust, thighs dusted with bar smoke and the raw, heady stench of a woman who had been wet for hours.

Her ass, fuck, her ass, was a perfect, heart-shaped weapon, two high, firm globes marked with angry red where the latex had bitten into her flesh, the cleft already slick with sweat and her own juices.

When she turned, the dimples at the base of her spine flexed like a threat, and a single bead of sweat rolled down the crack of her ass, disappearing into the shadowed promise between her cheeks.

Reyna stepped out of the puddle of ruined clothes, naked except for the cross glinting between her heaving tits and the sweat cooling in rivulets down her skin. Every inch of her was a declaration of total war, a living weapon forged from pure, unfiltered sex, and she was aiming it straight at my soul.

The scent of her cunt hit me like a drug, thick, humid, suffocating: hot tangy musk, copper sweat, stale beer, and the sharp, sweet edge of a woman who had spent the entire night edging herself to the thought of breaking me.

She prowled forward, tits swaying like wrecking balls, nipples scraping my chest through my shirt, sending lightning bolts straight to my cock. Her fingers fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so hard my throat was completely exposed, veins popping, Adam’s apple bobbing like an offering.

“Look at me,” she hissed, voice a razor dipped in honey. “Look at what you’ve been starving for, pretty boy. Look at the body that’s about to ruin you.”

I looked. I drowned. Her body was a landscape of raw, violent desire, curves sharp enough to kill, skin flushed crimson and shining, pussy lips parted obscenely, dripping, the pink, soaked core inside pulsing visibly, begging to be destroyed.

My cock throbbed so violently it felt like it would split my jeans, a thick, urgent ache that leaked a dark, spreading wet spot through the denim. I let her see it. Let her see the surrender in my eyes. Let her believe she had already broken me.

A slow, vicious, triumphant smile spread across her lips, fangs flashing.

“Good boy.”

Then she climbed me.

Thighs like steel cables clamped around my head, her dripping, swollen cunt sealing over my mouth with a wet, sucking SCHLORP that was the filthiest, most perfect sound in existence.

The first scalding flood of her cream exploded across my tongue, thick, salty-sweet, the taste of a woman who had spent hours edging herself raw thinking about riding my face until I drowned in her. Her fat clit dragged across the bridge of my nose, smearing slick, marking me, branding me with her scent like a bitch in heat.

Her heavy tits bounced above me, nipples grazing my forehead, sweat dripping from them onto my skin in hot, salty drops.

“Tongue out, baby,” she snarled, fingers tightening in my hair until my scalp burned white-hot. “Time to drink me straight from the tap. Every drop I saved just for you.”

She started grinding.

Slow at first, cruel, rolling her hips so her swollen lips dragged over my mouth, her clit grinding against my tongue, coating me in her cream like she was painting me with ownership.

Then faster. Harder. Possessive. Violent. Her ass flexed above me, cheeks clenching, the little silver cross swinging wildly between her tits like a blasphemous pendulum while she fucked my face with single-minded, animal need.

Every roll of her hips forced more of her into my mouth, her juices running down my chin, my neck, soaking my shirt, pooling in the hollow of my throat, dripping off my jaw in thick, shameless ropes.

I swallowed greedily, moaning into her cunt like a starving man, letting her use my face, letting her think she was in control, letting her drown me in her scent, her taste, her power.

Because every shudder, every broken curse, every time she angled her clit harder to the left and screamed, every time she shoved her hole against my tongue and begged for deeper, was data. I was mapping her. Memorizing her. Learning exactly how to destroy her later.

This was her pleasure. Her dominance. Her victory.

And I was going to let her drown in it, until the second I flipped the script and made her beg for a mercy that would never, ever come.