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

The last period dragged worse than watching a three-hour documentary on dust. I kept checking my phone, caught somewhere between thinking about coffee with Valentina and spiraling over what Isabella's cryptic-ass message that actually meant; Need to see you in my office after school. I have a fuck surprise for you.

Simple. Innocent-looking. But I knew better.

When the final bell finally blessed us with freedom, I made my way to Isabella's AP Bio room. The science wing was already turning into a ghost town—students pouring out like inmates getting parole.

I knocked on the frame of her door. "Mrs. Rodriguez?"

"Come in. Close the door," her voice called back—low, steady, way too calm for how my heartbeat reacted.

I stepped inside—and nearly flatlined.

What the actual fuck…

She looked like every forbidden fantasy I'd ever buried under school stress and bad decisions. That usual teacher-professional thing she always had going on? Gone. Dead. Replaced by something straight outta a dream you're not supposed to have.

She was in this tight black dress, hugging her like it was scared to let go. Technically modest enough to survive a principal's glare—but it whispered sin. Like it knew exactly what it was doing and had no intention of apologizing.

The neckline dipped just enough to frame her cleavage in soft shadow, the kind of view that made gravity feel like a conspiracy. Her big breasts pushed against the fabric with quiet defiance, curves that could make a saint renegotiate his vows.

Below, the dress clung to her hips before spilling into thighs that were nothing short of decadent—smooth, toned, the kind of legs you imagine over your shoulders without meaning to.

Every shift of her weight was its own provocation, every step a calculated reminder that the body under that fabric could end conversations mid-sentence.

And yet, she carried it with that maddening balance—pure professional on the surface, but every line, every angle was a silent dare.

Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in those soft, dark waves that begged to be touched. Her eyes were darker too, smokier, and her lips glistened like she knew damn well I'd be staring.

But it wasn't the dress, or the hair, or even the dangerous gloss on her mouth that messed me up. It was the look.

The way she was staring at me—like I was dessert and she'd skipped dinner on purpose. Like she'd been waiting, plotting, craving.

"You look…" I started, then realized I had no clue how to finish that sentence. My brain shorted.

"Like I've been counting the minutes until I could see you again?" she offered, with a smile that was all heat and no mercy. "Because I have been."

She stepped closer, and the air between us practically lit on fire. This wasn't the woman I'd met days ago—nervous wife, teacher mother, flustered, still fighting it.

This was Isabella unchained!

She radiated confidence now. Power. Desire with zero filter.

"Isabella," I said, my voice raspier than I meant it to be.

"I missed you," she whispered, stepping into my space until there was barely a breath between us. "I've been thinking about your hands on me. All. Day."

Her fingers traced up my chest—slow, teasing, like she was reminding me who I was to her now. "I kept thinking about the way you touched me," she said, voice barely above a breath. "Like I was something rare… like I mattered."

Damn. She wasn't pretending. She wasn't hiding. She'd let go of every chain that had held her back. And from the look in her eyes?

She wasn't planning on stopping. I didn't move. Couldn't. My body was frozen, locked between wanting to tear her dress off and just look at her a little longer.

She was right there—close enough for me to feel her breath against my neck—but she wasn't touching me anymore. Not really. Just that ghost of contact on my chest where her fingers had been.

Just enough to drive me insane.

My eyes roamed over her, slower than they should've. Slower than I'd ever dare with anyone else. But she didn't flinch. She wanted me to see her.

And god… did I see her.

That dress clung to her like it was in love with her curves—tight around the waist, dipping low enough to make my throat go dry. The fabric pulled just enough across her chest to show off the swell of her breasts, soft and round, barely restrained.

Her skin was smooth, warm-toned, glowing under the late afternoon sun leaking through the blinds calling out to me to server it with my hungry mouth and drink each inch of her skin to her pussy that I knew for sure was wet for me with expectations and simulations she was running in her dirty mind of how I will lick and ravage her pussy with my cock with her wetness bathing my penis while that motherly pussy of hers clung no to me... tight like it was a virgin's.

Every inch of her body looked like temptation sculpted in flesh.

Her hips, full and powerful, rolled ever so slightly as she moved—like she didn't walk, she glided. And her legs? Long, strong, wrapped in those sheer stockings that caught the light when she shifted her stance.

She leaned one hand on the edge of the table, letting her hip pop to the side just enough to make it unfair. She knew what she was doing. Knew how she looked. And she loved that I couldn't take my eyes off her.

"You're staring," she whispered, head tilted slightly, lips tugging into something that wasn't quite a smirk—but close. Teasing. "You like what you see?"

I exhaled, slow. "That's not even a question."

Her eyes flicked down, then back up—dark, daring, devouring.

"I wanted to feel sexy again," she murmured. "Not for school. Not for someone's approval. For me. But… when I pictured doing this, I always imagined you being the one to look at me like this. Like I'm…" She paused, eyes softening slightly. "...more than a mistake."

I stepped closer. One step. That's all I gave myself. If I gave in more than that, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop.

"You're not a mistake, but my dirty teacher who like it when my lips lick her pussy until she comes, a hungry starved mother and wife only I can satisfy with my big cock wrapped around her tight pussy that has known no satisfaction until I appeared in her world..." I said, voice low, rough, dead serious.

She looked down at my chest, then her fingers brushed the fabric of my shirt—barely there.

"You always say the right things," she whispered, but her voice cracked just a little. Like there was still a flicker of doubt burning somewhere deep inside her.

So I leaned in—not all the way, just enough to let her feel my breath on her lips. My hand ghosted over her waist, not grabbing, not pulling. Just hovering.

"I don't say it because it's right," I murmured. "I say it because it's true. And define you and me... your and my hunger for each other that only we can sure for each other."

She let out the tiniest exhale. Like it had hit her somewhere deep.

And then she smiled again—but it was softer now. More vulnerable. Her hand curled gently around my wrist, guiding it—slowly—to her hip.