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

He let his voice drop just a touch.

"Now I want you to imagine this: we're not in a stall. You're not alone. You're in my lap, turned toward me, straddling my thigh."

A soft, startled breath. Then slower breathing. Controlled.

"Good," he said.

His own chest rose a little heavier now, his imagination syncing to hers.

"One of my hands is on your waist, holding you still. The other's between your legs, but not where you need it yet.

"Just resting. Warm~ Teasing~"

His voice got softer, more coaxing.

"You feel how wet you are, don't you? I know you do. You didn't even need to check. I could smell it the second you moaned. Sweet~ Sticky~ Like your whole body's begging."

He gave her a pause, let the tension throb between them.

"You want to touch, right?" he whispered. "Of course you do. But don't. Not there. Not yet."

She exhaled again—this time shaky as hell. Her thighs were probably clenched. Her fingers twitching. Her body torn between listening and needing.

"Lift your skirt higher. Higher Janet this is a safe space."

Another soft shift from her stall. The swish of fabric. She was doing it.

"Good girl." He let that praise sit for a second. "Now… don't shove your hand down. Not yet. I want you to press your fingers against the outside. Just the outer lower lips. No pressure. Barely a brush~"

He slowed his voice, dragging syllables like fingers over skin.

"Just enough to let your body know you're there. Like you're tracing my name into yourself."

Another shaky breath. Quicker this time. And then a tiny gasp—barely audible.

"There it is," he whispered. "That right there. That's how you start."

His own breathing had deepened by now, slow and rough.

"You feel it, don't you? That need. That ache. Like your whole body's crying out for something real."

He didn't even need to see her.

He knew what she looked like right now.

Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Eyes fluttering shut. One hand between her thighs, skirt bunched up. Other bracing her on the wall, trying to stay upright while her brain melted around the edges.

"You're doing so well, Janet. And we're only just beginning."

She was trembling. Not visibly—Eros couldn't see her—but he could hear it. The slight catch in her breath. The way it held in her chest like she was afraid to exhale too loud. That kind of silence? It was thick.

Alive.

Eros didn't move. Didn't speak. Just leaned his weight back into the stall, let his breathing settle like a predator waiting for the moment to strike—not with claws, but with truth.

"Janet…" he finally said, and her name landed like a secret on his tongue.

Her gasp was quiet, but he heard it.

"I told you," he said, voice smooth, deep, unwavering, "you're doing it wrong."

She didn't answer.

But she didn't leave either.

"You're rushing. Chasing release like it's something you earn instead of something you let crawl up your spine. I can hear your fingers, baby. Too fast. Too sharp. That's not pleasure—it's desperation."

He smiled to himself.

"And desperation doesn't get you what you want. Not with me."

Her breath shuddered again. He could practically see her now—knees parted, skirt hiked up, lips trembling, one hand slick and clumsy with need.

"You want to come," he said simply. "But your body? She's not ready. Because you're not speaking her language."

His voice dropped lower.

"Let me translate."

A long pause. Then, the faintest shift. A small, wet sound. Breath dragged in through clenched teeth.

She was listening.

Good.

"Start by slowing down," he said. "Pull your hand back. Just rest it there. Feel how warm it is between your thighs. That heat? That's not just arousal. That's blood flow. Swelling. It's your body begging for attention in the right places~"

He closed his eyes, tilted his head like he could see through the wall.

"Most women go straight for the clit. It's instinct. But did you know that it has over 8,000 nerve endings? And almost all of them light up when you tease, not when you attack."

Her breath skipped again this time louder like she'd found a holy grail to self-pleasure with a guiding voice of a god of sex.

He chuckled quietly. "Yeah. You feel that, don't you? That little pulse down there? That's your body reacting to anticipation."

His words turned to silk.

"Now, start with two fingers—middle and ring. Don't press in. Not yet. Just slide them down your fucking wet pussy lips. Outer first. One slow stroke. Let your fingertips collect the wetness, paint it back up."

He waited. Listened.

"Ahhh~"

There it was.

The softest moan and the slick sound. A low moan buried in the back of her throat.

"Good girl."

He didn't say it for praise.

He said it to own the moment.

"Now again," he whispered. "Up. Down. Gentle. I want your fingers to barely touch the edges of your opening. That spot right before you dip inside—that's where the inner labia swell. They're sensitive, Janet. And you never gave them attention before, did you?"

Another moan. Quieter this time. Dragged out like it surprised even her.

"That's it," he murmured. "Now press. Not hard. Just enough for your fingertips to sink between the folds. You'll feel it—a little ridge just above your opening? That's where your clitoral legs sit. Most people don't even know they're there."

His own breath was starting to deepen now, but he kept himself steady.

"You stimulate that? It sends shockwaves through the core of your clit. That's how you build an orgasm, not rip one out."

The air between them was electric now. Tension humming like a live wire stretched too tight.

"Let me guess," he continued, voice lower, darker, "you've never really taken your time with yourself. You chase release. Quick fingers, quick ending, roll over and forget."

He clicked his tongue.

"Mm-mm. Not tonight."

Eros exhaled like a man stretching before a performance.

"Alright then," he murmured. "Close your eyes. Block everything out. Not the walls. Not the lights. Just you. Me. And the way your body feels right now."