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

Her moans spilled out more freely now—raw and uneven, no longer polite, no longer restrained. Her thighs began to shake, and her hand on the counter slid as her body arched with need. The sounds of her wet pussy and her finger filled the stall and his phone two as he watched her pussy twitch in pleasure.

He enjoyed her like this...

Peter's voice turned dangerous. A purr that stroked down her spine. "Tell me what you're thinking about."

She didn't answer right away. She was gasping now, chest rising in frantic rhythm, mouth opening like she was trying to form words but kept losing them.

"You," she finally breathed, voice cracking. "Your mouth… your hands… the way you grabbed my throat in this exact bathroom and told me I was yours."

Her eyes fluttered shut like the memory itself could make her come apart.

Peter leaned in so close to the camera, his voice was practically in her bloodstream.

"Say it again."

"I'm yours," she whispered, breathless, broken, beautiful.

And just like that, he owned her all over again.

His jaw flexed.

"I meant every word," he said, rougher now. "You are mine."

"Then say it again," she begged. "Please—tell me again."

"You're mine, Isabella. No matter where you sleep. No matter whose name you fake-love. When I say come, you do. When I say beg, you crawl."

She cried out softly, the sound echoing in the tiled room.

"Peter—please—"

"Two fingers. Now. You don't stop until I say."

She obeyed like she'd been waiting for that order her whole life.

He watched her fall apart, every command tightening her body closer to the edge.

Her breath was a mess—shaky, high-pitched, like each inhale had to fight through waves of pleasure she wasn't ready for.

Peter stayed still, back pressed to the cool marble wall of the bathroom stall, eyes glued to the screen.

Her face was everything.

Red cheeks. Wet lips. That desperate gaze that flicked between his eyes and somewhere above the camera, like she couldn't focus anymore. Her body was trembling so hard the camera kept shaking, and he loved it. God, he loved it.

"Slower," he said, and her head jerked like the word hit something deep in her spine.

"You're going too fast, cariño. I said slow. Let it build. Let it burn."

Her lips quivered. "It's... it's too much already. I—"

He cut her off, voice like velvet and smoke. "No. Don't rush it. Don't ruin it. You don't get to fall over the edge unless I say."

She whimpered. Actually whimpered.

The sound made his own control snap just a little. He adjusted his stance, one hand gripping the phone tight, the other curling into a fist by his side. No one was looking. No one knew what was happening right here—this slow, drawn-out destruction he was causing with nothing but his voice.

"Tell me what your fingers are doing," he said, breathless now. "I want to hear you say it."

Her voice broke into gasps as she tried to speak. "I—I'm tracing circles no my clit and inside my motherly wet pussy. Small ones. Like you taught me. Just around it... not—not too deep in it yet."

"Good," he growled. "Stay there. Tease yourself for me."

She nodded, chest rising fast, voice cracking between shaky breaths. "It's like torture. I'm so wet. I can't—"

"You can," he cut in, sharp and low. "You will. You'll do every damn thing I say, because you love this. You love the way I break you with nothing but words."

She let out a sound that wasn't even human—more like a sob trapped in a moan.

Her hand shook again, but she never pulled away. She followed. She obeyed. Because deep down, that's what she wanted more than anything—to be owned like this. Commanded. Undone.

"Now," he whispered, voice thick, "I want you to press down. Just once. Feel it. Let your hips twitch. And then pull away again."

She did. He saw it in her eyes, in the way her mouth dropped open like she couldn't breathe.

"God—" she choked out. "It's so—it hurts."

"No," he murmured, staring into her soul. "That's need, princesa. That ache? That burn? It's mine. I built that in you. And I'll decide when it explodes."

Her thighs trembled. She was falling apart right there, sitting in a locked bathroom stall, and Peter was feeding her every ounce of pleasure with a voice low enough to make the walls sweat.

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his tone until it was all hunger and heat.

"Now I want you to do it again. And again. Keep circling. Keep building. But never—never—go over the edge without me."

She nodded, barely. "Yes. Yes, Peter."

Her fingers moved faster now. He could see it in her face—tight with focus, lip caught between her teeth, body twitching like she was fighting her own instincts.

"Good girl," he breathed. "You're so close, aren't you?"

"Yes—oh my God, yes—"

"Beg me."

She froze. Her eyes wide, desperate. "What?"

"You want to come? Beg me for it. Say please like it's the only word you know."

Her voice came out wrecked. "Please... please, Peter, let me—I need it, I need it so bad—"

"Again," he snapped. "Louder."

"PLEASE, PETER. I'M BEGGING YOU—"

He waited just a second longer. Just to watch her eyes flicker, her lips tremble.

Then, softly, cruelly:

"Come for me, Isabella."

The sound she made hit him straight in the gut. Her whole body jolted—legs shaking, chest heaving, face twisted in beautiful, messy release that stole every breath from her lungs.

She was still slumped against the wall of the bathroom stall, legs half-spread, skirt wrinkled around her hips like she'd just survived a war.

Her chest was heaving, skin flushed, hair clinging to her forehead. Her phone had slipped from her hand and landed on her lap, screen tilted just enough for Peter to see the damage.

He let the silence hang—let her feel the weight of what she'd just done in her bathroom because he told her to.

Then, low and wicked: "Pick it up."

Her breath hitched.

"Wha—"

"You heard me, baby. Pick it up. Look at me."

She obeyed. Slowly. Like her body was still remembering how to move. Fingers trembling, she lifted the phone, her eyes glossy with the aftershocks of pleasure still dancing through her.

Peter was calm on the screen. Too calm. The kind of calm that made your stomach twist in anticipation.

"I want to see it," he said, eyes dark with hunger. "The mess you made. Show me the chaos."

Her breath stuttered, but she didn't hesitate. That part of her—the obedient part, the ruined part—was in full control now.

She tilted the camera. Lower. Lower. Until he saw it.

Her soaked thighs. The ruined lace between them. The blush that spread all the way down her chest.

"Look at you," he said, voice a low growl. "Absolutely wrecked. You didn't even touch yourself properly. You just listened. And you came like I'd carved my name into your skin."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Just a soft whimper.

"Spread your legs wider," he commanded, voice low and unshakable. "I want to see what's mine."

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed—slow, deliberate. Her thighs trembled as they peeled apart like petals hesitant to bloom, vulnerable but unstoppable. It was like even her body was shy, caught between shame and craving, but she gave him everything anyway.

Every inch revealed—soft skin flushed with heat, glistening with need. Every subtle quiver a silent confession. The raw, undeniable proof that she was his, down to the very core of her.

He saw the subtle sheen of moisture glistening of her pussy, catching the light like tiny droplets of juice leaking out of the pink lips as she spread them with her two finger. The way her pussy muscles tensed with every breath, every heartbeat, her body betraying her need even if her eyes were still shy.

Her inner thighs flushed and warmed, barely hiding the heat pooling at the center, the place where she was utterly his—exposed, vulnerable, and aching.

Every inch laid bare, a silent surrender that throbbed through the screen and into him.

Peter's jaw flexed. "That's it. That's the chaos I cause. And you love it, don't you?"

She nodded. "I do," she whispered. "I love it, Peter."

"Say it louder."

"I love it!" she gasped, body twitching again. "I love what you do to me. I love being yours. I love being ruined by you—"

He smirked, but it wasn't sweet. It was sharp. Possessive.

"I haven't even touched you yet, and look what you've become," he said. "You're going to remember this every time you sit down for the next three days."

She whimpered again, biting her bottom lip like she didn't know what to do with herself.

Then his voice softened—deadlier that way.

"Clean yourself up. But don't change those ruined panties. I want you wearing them all day. Dripping. Remembering."

She blinked, dazed. "But I— I'll make a mess—"

He leaned in, eyes devouring her through the screen.

"Exactly."