Chapter 124: Janet’s Liberation (R-18) "Well," he said, voice deep, rich, a kind of sound that made the room feel too small. "Look at you." Janet’s chest stuttered. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. "Still dripping," he murmured, stepping in closer. Each footfall was deliberate, and she watched in disbelief as he shut the door behind him—locking it—with one flick of his hand. Her breath hitched. Her back pressed harder into the cold stall wall. She tried to close her legs, tried to regain something, but— "Don’t." The word stopped her cold. Her thighs fell open again... wider. Just like that. She didn’t even question it. Eros stepped closer until his shadow fell over her completely. He towered above her now, one hand resting on the side of the stall, the other lifting her chin with two fingers that smelled faintly of cologne and power. Her lips trembled beneath his touch. "You’re perfect like this," he said. "My ruined, begging little goddess. And all mine." This was the same hot woman he saw as Charlotte’s attendant, hot as fuck that he didn’t stop looking at her then... yet now here she was... Janet whimpered. His gaze dropped again—slowly—to her pulsing, glistening sex, stretched and throbbing, a single droplet slipping from her slit and dripping down to the seat below with a soft, sinful plip. He watched it fall. Then looked back at her face with a hunger so sharp it cut the breath from her lungs. "Even if i temples built with less devotion," he whispered. "And they didn’t shine half as bright as this pussy." Her head fell back with a shudder. She didn’t know if it was worship or humiliation. Didn’t care. She just needed more. Needed him. He leaned down, mouth close to her ear, and she swore she could feel the heat of his breath ripple across her core. "You said I could come in," he murmured, voice silk and fire. Janet nodded frantically, eyes wide, lips parted. "Now..." he continued, eyes never leaving hers, "do I take the seat... or do I get on my knees for you first?" Eros didn’t rush. He watched her—really watched—like he had all the time in the world and nothing else existed except the fucking hot woman wrecked on the toilet, legs spread like a prayer, cunt leaking like it was crying out for him. "Can you... eat my pussy, Eros~~" It wasn’t a question but a promise laced with a slight order. Oh, gods he liked women who knew the power they held. And she knew how to get what she wanted, at least... And then he dropped. One knee hit the tile with a deep, solid thump that made Janet flinch. She gasped—because somehow, that felt more intimate than if he’d just rushed and fucked her like any greedy amateur would’ve. The man who looked like a god, dropping to his knees like she was holy. Like her ruined wet pussy was a throne he wanted to bow to. She whimpered. And he smiled. "Good," Eros said, voice dark and husky. "Don’t hold back now." His hands gripped the sides of her thighs—firm, claiming—and she felt the way her whole body answered him, hips twitching, heels digging into the edges of the seat. She was soaked. Still twitching from the high he’d already given her with nothing but words. And now his mouth was so close. She could feel the heat of his breath on her inner thighs. Feel the way his breath fanned across the slick folds of her cunt as he inhaled the fucking scent of her leaking pussy. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her chest arched. He didn’t touch her yet. Didn’t taste. He just hovered. Like a storm about to break. "You’re soaked," he whispered. "Look at this mess." His thumbs pressed into her inner thighs, spreading her even wider. Janet cried out—soft and desperate—her arms trembling as she gripped the wall behind her. "Say it," Eros said, tongue just barely brushing her lips down there, not licking yet—just teasing her nerves like a feather drawn over live wire. "Say you need my mouth." Janet gasped. "I—I need it," she breathed. "No," he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. "Say it like you mean it. Tell me you need me to eat you out right here. In this filthy little stall. While you drip and shake and beg." Her thighs trembled violently. "I need your mouth," she gasped. "I need you to lick my pussy, please—please just fucking taste me—" And that was all it took. His mouth devoured her. Tongue sliding up her slit with one slow, deliberate lick—collecting her slick like honey off a spoon. She cried out, body arching hard enough to make the seat groan beneath her. Eros didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He feasted like a man starved. Licking up every drop she gave, tongue flicking over her clit in maddening circles before dipping back down, fucking into her with slow, deep strokes that made her hips jerk and her moans echo off the tile walls. Slurp~ Flick~ Suck~ Tongue. Repeat. It was obscenely hot scene she’d ever scene and it was right between her legs. An art of a male god eating her pussy with such passion like it was a holy honey clove. And perfect. His hands held her open like he was presenting her to some altar—and maybe he was. Maybe this was the altar. Her pussy, her mess, her trembling little sounds, her broken voice trying not to cry as he pulled her higher and higher with nothing but his mouth. "God—oh my God~," she sobbed, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. Eros growled into her cunt. The vibration made her scream. And then he sucked her clit, just once—hard enough to make her eyes roll back. She shattered. Her legs clamped around his head so hard as her orgasm slammed into her full-force, crying out so loud she didn’t care who heard. Her whole body convulsed—hips grinding against his mouth as she gave him everything in his mouth and face, soaked him in her release, sobbing his name through gritted teeth. He didn’t stop. He kept licking, slower now, softer—like he was savoring the aftershocks. Lapping at her like a reward. Like a prize. Janet collapsed backward against the stall, vision white, breath gone. And still... he didn’t rise. Eros kissed her inner thigh. Once. Twice. Then dragged his tongue up again—slow, filthy, adoring. When he finally looked up at her, his lips were wet. So was his jaw. His eyes were fucking wild. "You taste like a holy surrender," he murmured, licking his bottom lip. "And I haven’t even started yet." Janet froze—mouth slightly parted, chest rising in sharp little gasps. Her thighs were still trembling from his voice alone, from the filth he’d whispered on the other side of that stall. She’d thought she was ready for anything. But not him. Not the sight of this man. He’d stepped inside like the air belonged to him. Every slow inch of movement stole her breath. Her gaze had dropped the moment the door clicked behind him, and there it was—him, fully revealed. Now he just devoured her pussy like it was... Her lips parted in a soft, soundless moan. It wasn’t just his body—it was the way he carried it. The kind of grace that made him seem carved from intention. Skin kissed with just the right godly tone; muscles firm but smooth under that unbothered confidence. And below... God. She blinked once, twice, trying to convince herself she was seeing him right. The thick, pulsing length of him stood proud, ready—and bigger than anything her imagination could’ve dreamt up during her messier moments alone. Her fingers twitched, helplessly aching to wrap around it. But more than that, she felt something stir deeper. Something raw. Primitive. She wanted to taste sin. And when her eyes met his, she nearly folded. There was no mercy there. No hesitation. Only a slow, knowing smirk that said: I know exactly what you want—and how you want it. I am your... Liberation. She was still half-clothed— her suit jacket clinging to her sweaty, flushed skin, her lower half bare and soaked with need, thighs glistening under the bathroom’s dim lighting. Her hair was a tousled mess, but somehow, the way he looked at her made her feel like she was art. Like every inch of her wrecked state had been meant for him to see. Janet swallowed hard, lips trembling. "I-I wanted to..."She didn’t finish the sentence. She forgot what she was even trying to say. Because nothing made sense anymore—not with him standing there like that. Not with her body clenching and pulsing and screaming please. She dropped to her knees before she even realized it. Her voice was breathy, broken—her pride forgotten in the puddle of arousal between her legs. "Please..." she whispered. "Please let me serve you. Let me... worship it." She couldn’t even say the words right. Not when the need was burning her from the inside out. But when she looked at him again, eyes wide and soaked in desire, what she meant was clear: I need you inside me. Right now. I don’t care what happens after. Just let me have you. All of you. Her legs were trembling like she’d just run a marathon, but when he pulled back from her heat, it wasn’t to leave. No. It was to rise—slow, deliberate, like a king reclaiming his throne. His eyes locked onto hers—dark, burning, impossible to resist. Every inch of him was glistening with need, lips still wet from tasting her, his breath ragged but controlled. Janet’s heart thundered so loud she swore he could hear it. "I’m yours," she whispered, voice raw and desperate. "I’m yours—fuck me."