Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 315

Chapter 315: The Witnesses’ Vigil (R-18)

They complied instantly, each woman folding into her appointed role with the trembling discipline of acolytes before a mystery too vast for comprehension.

Sophia pressed her lips into a bloodless line, her analytical gaze no longer merely observant but devouring—tracking the metronome precision of my hands buried in Celeste’s slick cunt and Anastasia’s fluttering flesh.

Her sharp intellect mapped the geometry of possession: the curl of my fingers, the rotation of my wrist, the exact pressure points that made each woman’s spine bow. She observed like a scholar dissecting scripture, even as her own thighs clenched beneath the velvet, betraying the academic detachment she coveted.

Her breath came in controlled, shallow draws, but the flush creeping up her neck bespoke the fever beneath.

Beside her, Gabrielle’s knuckles shone bone-white where they gripped her knees, the strain of stillness writ in every tendon. Her powerful thighs—those sculpted limbs that could command a boardroom—quaked with the effort of resisting the primal urge to grind against the plush footstool.

A slow, involuntary tremor ran through her, a suppressed earthquake of desire centered deep in her core. She watched the rhythmic plunge of my fingers into Celeste’s heat, imagining the stretch, the fullness, the slick drag of skin on skin.

Her own cunt, visible between her parted legs, glistened with renewed arousal, lips swollen and dark, clenching visibly around nothing—a silent testament to the ache coiling in her belly.

Ashby had transformed into a study in constrained agony. Her doll-like features, usually a mask of icy perfection, now contorted with the effort of swallowing her whimpers. Tears welled in the corners of her wide, gray-green eyes—not of sorrow, but of sheer, unbearable tension.

Her fingers, long and delicate, clawed at the velvet cushions beneath her, knuckles straining, fingertips digging deep as if seeking anchor in a storm.

The faintest keening sound escaped her compressed lips, a thread-thin whimper she couldn’t quite stifle, each breath a ragged battle against the urge to touch herself, to ease the throbbing emptiness between her legs that pulsed in time with the wet sounds echoing through the sanctuary.

They were mirrors, reflecting the raw, brutal power of the ritual, their stillness a form of participation more profound than touch.

Vivienne’s mouth became a vessel of holy desperation. Her lips, swollen and red, slid down the thick shaft of my cock with the reverence owed to a relic. Her tongue, wet and agile, swirled around the flared crown, tracing the sensitive ridge, probing the weeping slit, gathering the salt-bitter essence of my lingering release mixed with the primal musk of my arousal. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

She took me deeper, gradually, inch by thick, veined inch, until her nose pressed flush against the sweat-slicked skin of my abdomen, buried in the crisp hair at my base.

Her throat constricted then—a deliberate, reflexive gag that sent shockwaves of vibration rippling through the entire length of me.

The sound was wet, guttural, a strangled "GLUCK—!" that vibrated from my cockhead to my core, a physical conduit of her submission.

The sensation was electric. My cock, already formidable from the earlier orgy, hardened with supernatural speed and density. It swelled against her tongue, thickening until her jaw stretched to accommodate its impossible girth.

The intricate network of veins mapped along its surface—thick, blue-black cords of power—throbbed visibly against her straining lips, pulsing with the furious hammering of my blood. Every ridge and contour was etched in stark relief under the firelight, a monument to divine masculinity sheathed in the wet heat of her worshipful mouth.

A guttural groan tore from my throat, a sound more beast than man, resonating through the stone like distant thunder. "YES—TAKE IT! —DRINK!" The words were ripped from me, raw and primal, vibrating in the charged air.

My hands, extensions of my will, drove deeper into the women flanking me.

Celeste bucked violently off the footstool, a silent scream contorting her features as my fingers curled inside her, finding the spongy, electrified node deep within her channel.

Schlick-SCHLICK-Schlick... The obscene, liquid sound of my fingers plunging relentlessly into Celeste’s drenched cunt, joining the wet grip of her release around me.

GLUCK—GLUCK—GLUCK... The relentless, choking percussion of Vivienne’s throat working my cock, a visceral counterpoint to the guttural sounds tearing from my own chest. Sharp, ragged intakes of breath from the others watching—Sophia’s controlled hisses.

The deep, resonant CRACKLE-HISS of the fire in the great hearth, its light painting the scene in flickering gold and shadow, reflecting wildly off the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, turning the city beyond into a blurred, unaware audience.

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