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

Chapter 757: "You’re not Human..." (r-18)

Fourth Movement: The Impossible

I guided her into the preparation. She knew what was coming—could feel it in how my hands positioned, how my body aligned and in the thick, leaking cock now pressed against her ass after I’d torn the crotch of her leotard open.

A star lift. One of the most dramatic in ballet. The ballerina horizontal, arms and legs extended like a four-pointed star, suspended eight feet in the air, spinning.

She’d done this lift before. With partners who struggled, who made it look like work, who held her rigid and tight because they didn’t trust themselves to control her body in flight.

I was about to show her what it felt like when your partner was perfect and wanted to fuck her senseless mid-air.

"Jump," I said quietly. "And when you’re in the air, don’t hold position. Just extend. I’ll handle the rest and I’ll handle this dripping little cunt while I’m at it."

She looked uncertain but so close to coming her eyes were glassy.

"Trust me."

She did.

She jumped.

I caught her—hands at her hips—and lifted in one smooth, powerful motion. Up, up, continuing past where other partners stopped, past where she’d ever been held before, until she was fully extended above my head at ten feet off the ground.

Then I rotated.

Not just spinning her. But moving with her. Walking in a wide circle while she rotated above my head, creating a double helix of motion—her body spinning horizontally, me circling vertically and finger-fucking up into her dripping pussy with every step.

One full rotation. Two.

She wasn’t tense. Wasn’t rigid. She’d surrendered completely to the lift, trusting me to hold her, trusting me to control her body in the air trusting me to finger-pound her cunt while she flew.

Three rotations. Four.

I could feel her breathing. Could sense the moment she stopped thinking and just existed in the movement. Became the art instead of performing it and started coming hard, walls clamping rhythmically around my cock as she screamed silently into the empty studio.

Five rotations. Six.

And then I did something no partner had ever done for her.

I threw her up another three feet and caught her in a different position—switching from star lift to a one-armed overhead press, her entire body supported by my right hand at her hip while my left guided her into an arabesque position in the air and my finger slammed deep into her spasming cunt one final time, filling her completely.

She screamed—surprise, exhilaration, pure joy, and shattering orgasm—as I held her there, one-armed, twelve feet off the ground, in perfect arabesque drinking her cum.

Three counts. Four.

Then I brought her down—slowly, carefully, transitioning her through multiple positions on the descent—star lift to overhead press to shoulder sit to finally standing, her feet touching the floor so gently she barely felt the impact.

We stood in the center of the sanctuary, both breathing hard, both covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the silence after the music somehow louder than the music itself.

Lila stared at me.

Her face was wet with tears. Her body was trembling. Her eyes held something I’d never seen before in another person and her ruined, cunt still fluttered with aftershocks against my thigh.

Awe. Pure, unfiltered awe.

"What..." She had to stop, catch her breath, wipe her eyes, try again. "What the fuck are you?"

I smiled. "I’m someone who respects the art."

"You just gave me the best partnering I’ve ever experienced." Her voice was shaking, breaking on every word. "Better than professionals I’ve worked with for years. Better than principal dancers from major companies. Better than anyone I’ve ever seen in my entire life."

She stepped closer, hands reaching out to touch my arms like she needed to confirm I was real.

"You didn’t just dance with me. You taught me things my own teachers never caught. You corrected technique flaws I didn’t even know I had. You showed me I’m capable of things I thought were impossible. You lifted me higher than I’ve ever been lifted, controlled me in ways that shouldn’t be physically possible, and made it all look effortless while you finger-fucked me until I came."

Her hands were shaking against my arms.

"You did a one-armed overhead press. Twelve feet off the ground. Supporting my entire body weight with one hand. While maintaining perfect balance. That’s not just skill. That’s not even just strength. That’s superhuman."

"I’m very human—"

"No." She cut me off, voice fierce now. "No human is this perfect at this many things and mix it with pleasure. This is better than we did at the mansion. You can’t be this good at dance and business and technology and combat and apparently every other fucking thing you touch. It’s not possible. So, what are you?"

I could have explained the system. The downloaded skills. The master-level knowledge in every discipline. The fact that I’d literally been given expertise that took others decades to acquire.

"I’m someone who pays attention," I said instead. "Who studies. Who practices. Who respects the art form enough to do it justice. Who understands that dance is sacred and deserves to be treated that way."

She laughed—slightly hysterical, mostly amazed, still crying.

"You’re not human. You’re not. No human could do what you just did."

"Then I’m a human who works really fucking hard to honor the things I love. Is that enough?"

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then nodded, smiling through the tears.

"Thank you. For that. For showing me what’s possible. For treating my art like it matters. For making me better than I thought I could be."

"It does matter. Art always matters. And you were always capable of this. You just needed someone to show you."

She stepped forward and hugged me. Tight. Desperate. Grateful.

"I want to dance with you again," she whispered against my chest. "Every day. For as long as you’ll teach me. I want to learn everything you can show me. I want to be as good as you just proved I can be. But with less fingers in my cunt and more cock in my pussy after the practice"

"What fool will say no to that... we’ll dance again. As often as you want. This is your sanctuary now too."

She pulled back, wiping her eyes, smiling properly now despite the tears still falling.

"I’m the luckiest person in the world."

"No. You’re someone who survived hell and found home. That’s not luck. That’s strength. And you’re going to build something incredible here."

She nodded, still processing everything that had just happened.

And I realized something... apart from the fingers in her cunt, of course...

Teaching Lila to dance—showing her what she was truly capable of, correcting her technique with precision she’d never experienced, elevating her art beyond what she thought possible—was more satisfying than destroying enemies or building empires.

Maybe more satisfying.

Because this was creation instead of destruction.

Building something beautiful instead of tearing something rotten down.

Helping someone discover their full potential instead of crushing people who stood in my way.

This was what power should be used for.

"Come on," I said, taking her hand. "Let’s get you cleaned up. Tomorrow we’ll start planning your career. Real career. Not agency bullshit. You’re going to build something that’s actually yours."

She squeezed my hand.

"With your help?"

"With my help. And Madison’s. And everyone else in this family. We build things together."

"I’d like that."

We walked out of the sanctuary together, leaving the space in silence, the ghost of music and the scent of her cum and arousal still hanging in the air.