Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 610

Chapter 610: Taboo Line: Half-Naked Linda (r-18)
The door shut behind me with a soft, final thud, sealing the world outside. The living room was a cocoon of shadow and heat, the dim glow from recessed LEDs and that single candle on the coffee table painting everything in molten gold and velvet black.

The invisible speakers throbbed with a slow, filthy R&B track—something with a bassline that crawled under the skin, a woman’s voice moaning low and needy, the sound weaving through the air like smoke.

Vanilla and jasmine hung heavy, laced with the raw, musky edge of her arousal, a scent that hit me like a drug, flooding my lungs, tightening my cock to the point of pain.

And there she stood.

Linda Carter, my mother, my everything, bathed in candlelight, dressed in black lace that was more sin than fabric. The lace bralette was a cruel tease—sheer, barely there, stretched so tight over her full, heavy breasts that the dark areolas bled through, her nipples hard as fucking diamonds, jutting against the delicate weave like they were begging to be sucked.

The swell of her tits rose and fell with each shallow breath, the lace straining, threatening to snap, the soft undercurve glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.

Her waist was a perfect hourglass dip, the kind of curve that made my hands itch to bruise, to grip, to own.

The high-waisted lace skirt was a goddamn crime—slit to the hip on one side, parting with every subtle shift to reveal the smooth, creamy expanse of her thigh, the taut muscle flexing under skin that looked like it was made to be bitten.

The skirt was sheer, utterly fucking transparent, and beneath it—nothing.

No panties.

No barrier.

Just the shadowed promise of her pussy, the faint outline of her lips visible through the lace, a glint of wetness catching the light when she moved.

I just stood there like I was in a vegetative state… I was lookin at a pussy…

I have seen countless of them, each different and magnificent than the last, beautiful and tempting but this was different…

I wasn’t looking at any pussy but my mom’s!

And she just stood still, barefoot on the plush rug, letting me feast.

My eyes were ravenous, dragging over every inch of her like I was starving.

Her collarbones—delicate, sharp, begging for my tongue to trace the hollows, to taste the salt of her skin. Her neck, long and elegant, pulsing with her heartbeat, a vein throbbing under the surface that I wanted to suck until it bloomed purple.

Her breasts—fuck, those tits, heavy and round, spilling against the lace, the weight of them making my mouth water, my teeth ache to bite, to leave marks that would last for days. Her nipples, so hard they cast tiny shadows through the fabric, screaming to be pinched, twisted, sucked until she screamed.

Her stomach, soft but firm, the faint lines of stretch marks from carrying me now a map I wanted to worship with my tongue.

Her hips, flared and fertile, the kind of curves that promised ruin, the lace clinging to the swell of her ass like it was painted on, the cleft between her cheeks a shadow that made my cock throb.

Her pussy—Christ, the way the lace hugged her mound, the faint outline of her slit, the glisten of her arousal soaking through, a dark patch that told me she was already dripping for me. Her thighs, thick and powerful, the muscle shifting under silk-smooth skin, the inner softness begging to be spread, to be bruised by my grip.

Her calves, toned and graceful, leading to feet so delicate, arches high, toes painted blood-red, curling slightly as if she could feel my gaze like a touch.

She let me look. Let me burn.

My cock was a steel rod in my pants, pulsing with every heartbeat, pre-cum already leaking, soaking the denim. My hands clenched, knuckles white, nails digging into my palms to keep from lunging, from ripping that lace to shreds and burying myself inside her until neither of us could breathe.

Her eyes—dark, heavy, knowing—locked on mine, a faint smile curling her lips, not the smile of a mother but of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing to me.

“Hi, baby,” she purred, voice low and rough, the word baby dripping with lust, a promise of everything we were about to destroy. “Close the door.”

I already had.

The latch’s click was drowned by the music, by the roar in my ears.

She took a step forward, slow, deliberate, the slit in her skirt parting wider, flashing the full length of her thigh, the curve of her hip, the shadow of her pussy lips glistening through the lace.

Her breasts bounced softly with the movement, the bralette doing nothing to contain them, nipples straining harder, begging for my mouth.

“I’ve been waiting,” she whispered, voice a blade of velvet, cutting through the haze. “Thinking about you. About this.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was ash, my tongue thick, my mind a furnace of need. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt, the seam of my jeans rubbing against the head, sending sparks up my spine. I wanted to tear her apart. Wanted to worship her. Wanted to fuck her until the world ended.

She smiled—slow, wicked—and turned, giving me her back. The lace dipped low, exposing the dimples at the base of her spine, the perfect swell of her ass, round and firm, the fabric stretched so tight I could see the shadow of her crack, the way her cheeks flexed as she shifted her weight.

Her hair spilled down her back in dark waves, brushing the tops of her shoulders, begging to be fisted, to be yanked as I fucked her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You like what you see?”

I growled, low and guttural, the sound ripping from my chest. “Fuck, Mom.”

Her smile faltered, just for a second, then sharpened. “Don’t call me that tonight.”