In my previous life, I was nothing but a corporate drone—endless spreadsheets, soul-crushing meetings, and a dick that never saw action because I was too buried in overtime. Death came swiftly in a car crash on a rainy Tokyo night. But instead of oblivion, I woke up screaming in a lavish crib, surrounded by silk sheets and the scent of lavender incense.
This wasn't Earth. This was Eldoria, a medieval fantasy realm of magic, dragons, and feudal lords. And I? I was Lucius von Draven, the newborn heir to the powerful Duke Draven's estate. My new family ruled vast lands with iron fists and arcane spells. My mother, the Duchess, was a vision of mature beauty—curves that could make a saint sin, with breasts so full they strained against her gowns and an ass that swayed like a hypnotic pendulum. But I was just a baby then. It would be years before my reincarnated mind could act on the fire igniting in my veins.
Fast-forward eighteen years. I'd grown into a strapping young man, tall and muscled from sword training and magical duels. The duke's bloodline gifted me with enhanced stamina and a cock that never tired. But my true curse—or blessing—was my obsession. MILFs. Mature women with bodies ripe like forbidden fruit. Massive tits that begged to be sucked, asses so thick and juicy they jiggled with every step, and pussies... oh fuck, those dripping wet pussies. I craved them slick and soaking, lips swollen and glistening, ready to gush around my throbbing shaft.
My balls ached constantly, heavy and full, twitching at the mere thought. Thick ropes of white precum leaked from my tip all day, staining my trousers. I'd jerk off in secret, imagining plunging into a hot, mature cunt that squirted with every raw thrust. No games, no whips—just pure, animalistic fucking until she moaned my name.
Today, that hunger would be sated.
The duke's castle buzzed with preparations for the annual harvest feast. Servants scurried, but my eyes locked on her: Lady Elara, the widowed advisor to my father. She was forty-two, a true MILF goddess. Her husband had died in a border skirmish years ago, leaving her untouched and yearning. Her gowns hugged her hourglass figure—breasts like overripe melons, easily an H-cup, spilling over the corset. Her ass was a masterpiece, wide and plush, perfect for gripping during a deep pound. And between those thighs? I'd spied her once in the baths, her pussy shaved smooth, lips puffy and already dripping with arousal from the steam. She was always wet, her mature body betraying her constant need.
"Lucius, my lord," she purred as I cornered her in the dimly lit library, away from prying eyes. Her voice was honeyed, laced with the authority of her position. "The feast preparations—"
"Fuck the feast," I growled, my voice low and commanding. My cock was already rock-hard, tenting my breeches. A wet spot formed at the tip, my precum oozing freely. My balls twitched painfully, demanding release.
Her emerald eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her cheeks flushed, and I saw her thighs clench. "Young master... this is improper."
"Improper?" I stepped closer, pinning her against the oak bookshelf. My hand slid up her thigh, under her skirts. Gods, she was soaked. My fingers brushed her bare pussy—no undergarments, the slutty MILF. Her lips were slick, dripping with hot juices that coated my hand instantly. "Your cunt is weeping for me, Elara. Look at this mess."
She gasped, but her hips bucked involuntarily. "Lucius... I... it's been so long..."
I didn't wait. I hiked up her skirts, exposing that glorious ass. It jiggled as I spun her around, bending her over a reading table. Her massive tits spilled out as I yanked down her bodice, those pink nipples hard and begging. But my focus was lower. I freed my cock—nine inches of veiny thickness, the head glistening with strings of white precum that dripped onto the floor.
"Spread for me," I ordered, kicking her legs apart. Her pussy winked at me, folds parted and dripping, a trail of arousal running down her inner thigh.
"Yes... oh gods, yes," she moaned, arching her back. Her ass cheeks spread, revealing that perfect, mature hole—no, not there. Only pussy. Always pussy.
I gripped her hips, my fingers sinking into that soft, thick ass flesh. With one brutal thrust, I buried myself balls-deep. Her cunt was a furnace—tight despite her age, walls clenching like velvet vices. Juices squirted out around my shaft, splattering my balls.
"Fuuuck!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the library. "So big! You're splitting me!"
I pounded her raw, no mercy. Each slam made her tits bounce wildly, slapping against the table. Her pussy gushed with every withdrawal, coating my length in creamy wetness. My balls slapped against her clit, twitching and leaking more precum inside her.
"Moan for me, you dripping whore," I grunted, reaching around to pinch her swollen nub. She exploded in seconds, her mature body convulsing.
"Lucius! I'm cumming... ahhh, fill me!" Her pussy spasmed, squirting a flood that soaked my thighs.
I didn't stop. Thrust after thrust, raw and deep, her moans turning to desperate wails. My obsession fueled me— that dripping wet pussy milking me, begging for my seed.
Finally, my balls tightened. With a roar, I unleashed, pumping rope after thick rope of hot cum deep into her womb. She milked every drop, her cunt overflowing, a creamy mess dripping down her legs.
Panting, I pulled out, watching my seed leak from her abused, still-dripping pussy. "This is just the beginning, Elara. Your body is mine now."
She turned, eyes glazed with lust, tits heaving. "Anytime, my lord... anytime."
But I was already hard again, precum twitching from my tip. The castle was full of MILFs—maids, nobles, even my step-aunt visiting from the elven borders. My reincarnation had given me power, but this obsession? It would conquer them all.
The great hall thrummed with life. Crystal chandeliers floated by levitation spells, casting golden light over long tables laden with roasted wyvern, honeyed fruits, and flagons of spiced mead. Nobles laughed, bards strummed lutes, and servants darted between silk-clad guests. But Lucius von Draven saw none of it. His eyes—predatory, hungry—were locked on **her**.
Lady Sylvara Thornwhisper, the elven envoy from the Silverwood Glades. Forty-five summers by human count, but elves aged like fine wine: skin flawless and glowing, silver hair cascading in waves down to the small of her back. Her diplomatic gown was a scandal in emerald silk, slit high on both thighs and cut so low that her **colossal J-cup breasts** strained the fabric to near-tearing. Each breath made them wobble, nipples stiff and poking like diamonds through the thin material. Her ass? A shelf of plush, heart-shaped perfection that jiggled with every graceful step, the gown hugging it like a second skin.
And the scent. Lucius's enhanced senses caught it even across the hall: **musky, sweet, and wet**. Her pussy was already dripping. He could see the dark stain spreading at the apex of her thighs, a glistening trail snaking down one toned leg. Elves were notorious for their heightened libidos after widowhood, and Sylvara's mate had fallen to a dragon's fire a decade ago. She was **starved**.
His balls twitched violently, a fresh bead of thick white precum oozing from his slit and soaking into his ceremonial trousers. He adjusted himself discreetly, the ache unbearable. *I need that elven cunt. Now.*
"Lady Sylvara," he purred, appearing at her side as if conjured by shadow magic. His voice was velvet over steel. "The duke's son welcomes you properly."
Her violet eyes flicked down—lingering on the obscene bulge pulsing against his thigh—then back up. A slow, knowing smile curved her full lips. "Young Lord Lucius. I'd heard human men were... **gifted**. The rumors do you justice."
The feast blurred. He guided her through a side door, down a torch-lit corridor, and into a private alcove draped in velvet curtains. The moment the latch clicked, she was on him.
"Gods, I've been wet since I saw you on the dais," she hissed, yanking his tunic open. Her long nails raked his chest as she dropped to her knees. "Let me taste that human precum you're leaking."
She freed his cock with practiced grace. It sprang out—angry, veiny, the head slick with a continuous stream of pearly fluid. Sylvara moaned like a bitch in heat and **swallowed him to the root**. Her throat bulged, elven muscles rippling as she slurped greedily, drinking his precum like nectar. Her free hand hiked up her gown, fingers plunging into her **dripping elven pussy** with obscene squelches. Three digits disappeared easily, her juices gushing down her wrist.
Lucius growled, fisting her silver hair. "Up. Bend over the chaise. I want that elven hole **gushing** around my cock."
She obeyed instantly, draping herself over the velvet chaise like an offering. Her gown was peeled up to her waist, revealing an ass so thick and round it defied gravity. Between those cheeks, her pussy **pulsed visibly**—swollen lips parted, inner folds pink and glistening, a steady stream of clear nectar dripping onto the floor in a growing puddle.
"Look at this mess," Lucius rasped, dragging his cockhead through her folds. The contact made her **squirt**—a hot jet that soaked his balls. "You're flooding for me already."
"**Fuck me raw, human**," she begged, voice breaking. "I need it deep—*breed me like your human whores can't.*"
He **slammed in**.
One thrust, balls-deep. Her elven cunt was a furnace of slick heat, walls fluttering and sucking him in deeper. She screamed, the sound muffled as she bit the chaise cushion. Her massive tits spilled free, swinging like pendulums with each brutal pump.
*SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.* His hips crashed into her ass, the flesh rippling in waves. Each withdrawal dragged out strings of her creamy juices, only to be pounded back in with a wet **squelch**. Her pussy **gushed** in rhythmic spurts, soaking his thighs, the chaise, the marble floor.
"Harder! **Break me!**" she wailed, pushing back to meet him. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing frantically. "I'm—*oh gods*—I'm **squirting**!"
A violent geyser erupted around his cock, drenching them both. Lucius roared, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. He angled deeper, battering her cervix with every thrust. Her pussy clenched like a vice, milking him in desperate pulses.
"Take it—**all of it**," he snarled, and **unloaded**.
Thick ropes of cum flooded her womb, overflowing instantly. The mixture of his seed and her squirt poured out in creamy rivers, pooling beneath them. She came again, body convulsing, pussy **clamping so hard** he couldn't pull out until the spasms subsided.
When he finally did, a torrent followed—his cum and her juices cascading from her gaping, twitching hole. Sylvara collapsed, trembling, her ass still raised in invitation.
"More," she whispered hoarsely. "The feast can wait. **Use me all night.**"
Lucius's cock twitched, already hardening again, precum dripping anew. His balls ached with endless need. Somewhere in the hall, his step-aunt—a human MILF with tits even larger than Sylvara's—was waiting. And beyond the castle walls? A whole world of dripping, mature pussies begging to be claimed.
The feast raged on inside the castle, but Lucius had vanished into the night. The moon hung full and silver, bathing the ducal gardens in ethereal light. Roses bloomed in riotous crimson and ivory, their petals heavy with dew. The air was thick with floral perfume—and something far more intoxicating.
**Lady Isolde von Draven**, his step-aunt by marriage to the duke's late brother. Forty-eight, widowed twice, and a legend among the court for her insatiable appetites. Her gown tonight was scandalous midnight blue velvet, corseted so tight her **K-cup breasts** threatened to burst free with every breath. The neckline plunged to her navel, barely containing those pale, veiny orbs. Her hips flared dramatically, the gown clinging to an ass so massive it swayed like a pendulum, each cheek a perfect globe of jiggling softness.
Lucius had watched her all evening. Watched the way she crossed and uncrossed her thighs, the way her hand drifted between them when she thought no one saw. He'd **smelled** her from across the hall—ripe, musky, **dripping**. Now, as she wandered the moonlit paths alone, he stalked her like a predator.
"Isolde," he called, voice low and rough. She turned, startled, then smiled—a slow, wicked curve of crimson lips.
"Nephew," she purred, stepping closer. Moonlight glinted off the sweat beading between her cleavage. "Couldn't sleep? Or did the feast leave you... **unsated**?"
He didn't answer with words. In two strides, he had her pinned against a marble statue of some forgotten goddess. His hands tore at her bodice—fabric **ripped** with a satisfying sound. Her enormous tits spilled out, heavy and pendulous, nipples thick and dark, already leaking tiny beads of milk from sheer arousal.
"**Gods**," she gasped, but didn't resist. Her thighs parted instinctively, and Lucius's hand plunged beneath her skirts.
**Wet.** Not just wet—**flooding**. His fingers sank into her bare pussy like it was molten honey. No undergarments, of course. Her lips were swollen, inner folds slick and pulsing, a **river** of arousal coating his hand to the wrist. When he pulled back, a thick strand of her juices stretched between his fingers and her cunt, snapping only when he brought them to his mouth and **sucked them clean**.
"You've been dripping all night," he growled, freeing his cock. It slapped against her thigh—hard, veiny, the head oozing a continuous stream of white precum that left glistening trails on her skin. "Look at this mess you're making."
Isolde whimpered, hiking her skirts higher. "**Fuck me**, Lucius. Right here. I don't care who sees."
He spun her around, bending her over a stone bench surrounded by thorned roses. Her massive ass jutted out, cheeks spreading to reveal her **gaping, dripping hole**. A steady trickle of her juices ran down her legs, pooling on the gravel path and soaking into the soil. The roses nearby **glistened**—not with dew, but with her arousal, droplets clinging to petals like obscene jewels.
Lucius gripped her hips and **thrust**.
One brutal stroke, buried to the hilt. Her pussy **sucked him in** with a wet *schlorp*, walls rippling and clenching like a living thing. She screamed, the sound echoing through the gardens, her tits swinging wildly beneath her.
"**YES!** Deeper—*ruin me!*" she wailed, pushing back to meet him. Each slam of his hips sent ripples through her ass flesh, her pussy **gushing** in rhythmic squirts that splattered the bench, the roses, the ground. A **trail of slick** followed her as he dragged her along the path, fucking her from bench to fountain to trellis.
*SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.* His balls—aching, twitching—slapped her clit with every thrust, coated in her creamy juices. Her cunt was a fountain, **squirting** in arcs that soaked his trousers, the flowers, even the statue's stone face.
"**I'm cumming—oh gods, I'm flooding!**" Isolde shrieked, her body convulsing. A **torrent** erupted around his cock, drenching them both. Her pussy clenched so hard he saw stars, milking him with desperate pulses.
Lucius roared, slamming deep one final time. His balls tightened, and he **exploded**—rope after thick rope of hot cum flooding her womb. It overflowed instantly, mixing with her squirt to create a creamy deluge that poured down her thighs, leaving a **glistening trail** through the roses as he pulled her along for a few final thrusts.
When he finally withdrew, her pussy **gaped**, twitching and leaking a steady stream of their combined fluids. The path behind them was a slick, obscene testament—roses dripping, gravel shining, the air thick with the scent of sex.
Isolde collapsed to her knees in the wet grass, tits heaving, face flushed. "**More**," she begged, crawling toward him. "I want it in my mouth next—feed me that leaking cock."
Lucius's shaft twitched, already hardening again, precum dripping in thick ropes. His obsession burned hotter than ever. The castle was full of MILFs—maids, cooks, even the high priestess visiting from the capital. And beyond? A kingdom of mature, dripping pussies waiting to be claimed.
The cathedral's spires stabbed the pre-dawn sky, stained glass glowing with the first blush of sunrise. Inside, the air was thick with incense and hushed reverence. Lucius slipped through a side door, his boots silent on the marble. The feast had ended hours ago, but his cock **throbbed**—still slick from Isolde's garden deluge, still leaking thick white precum in endless ropes.
He was here for **her**.
**High Priestess Seraphina Lumina**, fifty-one, the living embodiment of the Goddess of Fertility. Her robes were pristine white, but they did nothing to hide her **sinful body**. Breasts so massive—**L-cups**, easily—they strained the sacred cloth, the golden sunburst emblem stretched taut over nipples that poked like cathedral spires. Her hips were childbearing wide, ass a plush, jiggling throne of flesh that swayed with every solemn step. And beneath those robes? Lucius had spied her once during a purification rite—her pussy **shaved smooth**, lips perpetually swollen and **dripping** with holy nectar. The Goddess blessed her chosen with eternal arousal.
He found her in the confessional booth, kneeling in prayer. The wooden partition between sinner and priestess was thin—perfect.
"Forgive me, Goddess," he whispered through the lattice, voice dripping with mock piety. "I have **sinned**."
Seraphina's breath hitched. She knew that voice. "Lord Lucius," she murmured, shifting on her knees. The movement made her robes ride up, revealing thick thighs already glistening. "Confession is sacred—"
"**Sacred?**" He yanked open the booth door, stepping inside the cramped space. The scent hit him like a drug—**musky, sweet, divine**. Her pussy was **flooding**, a dark stain spreading across the velvet kneeler. "Your cunt is weeping through your holy robes, Seraphina. That's the only sin here."
She gasped, but didn't flee. Her hands clutched the prayer beads, knuckles white. "This is blasphemy—"
Lucius silenced her with a hand under her chin, tilting her face up. Her eyes—golden, luminous—were glazed with lust. "Then **blaspheme with me**."
He tore her robes open in one savage pull. Fabric **ripped** like thunder in the silent cathedral. Her colossal tits spilled free, heavy and veined, nipples leaking tiny droplets of milk—Goddess-blessed, they said. But Lucius's gaze dropped lower. He shoved her back against the confessional wall, hiking the remnants of her robes to her waist.
**Gods.** Her pussy was a **masterpiece**—plump outer lips parted to reveal inner folds flushed deep pink, **dripping** in a steady stream that pooled on the wooden floor. A puddle already formed beneath her, reflecting the candlelight.
"Look at this **holy mess**," he growled, dropping to his knees. He dragged his tongue through her folds in one long lick. She **screamed**, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Her taste—sweet ambrosia, thick with divine cream—made his cock **twitch violently**, precum splattering the confessional floor.
"**Lucius—oh Goddess, forgive me!**" she wailed, but her hips bucked against his face. He **devoured** her—sucking her clit, tongue-fucking her hole, lapping up every gush. Her pussy **squirted** in his mouth, hot jets that he swallowed greedily.
When he stood, his face glistened with her juices. He freed his cock—angrier than ever, veins pulsing, the head a slick mess of precum. "On the **altar**," he commanded, dragging her out of the booth by her silver hair.
The high altar loomed ahead—polished oak, draped in white silk, golden chalices gleaming. Seraphina stumbled after him, tits bouncing wildly, her pussy leaving a **glistening trail** across the marble aisle like a sacrilegious bridal train.
He bent her over the altar, her massive breasts flattening against the silk. Her ass jutted high, cheeks spreading to reveal that **dripping, twitching hole**. Juices poured from her in a steady stream, soaking the altar cloth instantly.
"**Fuck your Goddess**," she begged, voice breaking. "**Defile me!**"
Lucius **obliged**.
One thrust—**balls-deep**. Her pussy **engulfed** him, walls rippling with divine magic, clenching like a prayer. She screamed, the sound reverberating through the cathedral as stained-glass saints looked on.
*SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.* He pounded her raw, hips crashing into her ass with obscene **claps**. Each withdrawal dragged out thick strands of her cream, only to be **slammed back in** with a wet *schlorp*. Her pussy **gushed** in rhythmic floods, soaking the altar, the chalices, the marble steps. The silk cloth turned translucent, clinging to her tits as milk leaked from her nipples.
"**I'm cumming—blessed be, I'm SQUIRTING!**" Seraphina shrieked, her body convulsing. A **torrent** erupted around his cock—hot, endless, **soaking the entire altar** in a flood of holy juices. The chalices **overflowed**, wine mixing with her squirt in blasphemous communion.
Lucius roared, gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. His balls—twitching, aching—**unleashed**. Rope after thick rope of cum flooded her womb, overflowing in creamy rivers that cascaded down the altar steps. Her pussy **milked him dry**, still squirting in spasms that left the sacred space drenched.
When he pulled out, her hole **gaped**, twitching and leaking a steady stream of their mixed fluids. The altar was **ruined**—silk sodden, marble slick, the air thick with the scent of sex and incense.
Seraphina collapsed atop it, tits heaving, face flushed with rapture. "**Again**," she whispered hoarsely. "The Goddess... demands **more**."
Lucius's cock twitched, already hardening, precum dripping anew onto the altar. Dawn light filtered through the windows, illuminating the carnage. Somewhere in the castle, his mother—the Duchess—awaited her morning bath. And beyond the cathedral? A kingdom of dripping, mature pussies begging to be claimed.
The ducal bathhouse steamed like a dragon's lair, marble walls slick with condensation. Enchanted braziers glowed amber, their flames dancing across the vast sunken pool—white marble veined with gold, fed by hot springs that bubbled eternally. Rose petals floated on the surface, but they were no match for the **scent** that dominated: **ripe, royal, dripping**.
**Duchess Arabella von Draven**, Lucius's own mother. Fifty-three, widowed since the duke's mysterious death five years prior. Her body was a monument to noble excess—**M-cup breasts** that defied gravity despite their weight, capped with wide, dusky areolas that leaked milk when aroused (a family trait, they whispered). Her waist cinched dramatically before flaring into hips made for birthing heirs, and an ass so **plush and massive** it jiggled with every breath. She lounged in the pool now, reclining against the edge, silver-streaked auburn hair piled high, skin flushed from the heat.
Lucius had watched her bathe since childhood—first innocently, then with growing obsession. He knew every curve, every sigh. And now, at eighteen, his reincarnated hunger demanded **everything**.
He entered silently, shedding his robe. His cock—**perpetually hard**, veins throbbing—slapped against his thigh, the head oozing thick white precum in a steady stream that left glistening trails on the marble. His balls **twitched** painfully, aching with the need to claim **her**.
Arabella's eyes—emerald, regal—snapped open. Water lapped at her collarbones, but beneath the surface, her thighs were already parted. A **dark swirl** spread from between her legs: her pussy **flooding** the pool with royal nectar.
"Lucius," she breathed, voice trembling with forbidden lust. "You shouldn't—"
"**I should**," he growled, stepping into the water. It rose to his waist, but he didn't care. He waded toward her, cock bobbing like a battering ram. "You've been dripping for me since I came of age, Mother. I can **smell** it."
She didn't deny it. Her hand drifted beneath the water, fingers brushing her **swollen lips**. A soft moan escaped as she parted them, revealing inner folds flushed deep crimson, **gushing** in rhythmic pulses that clouded the pool.
Lucius reached her in three strides. He **yanked** her up by the arms, water cascading from her tits in rivers. They **slapped** against his chest—heavy, milk-slick, nipples hard as rubies. He crushed his mouth to hers, tongue invading like his cock soon would. She melted, whimpering, her hands clawing at his back.
"**On the edge**," he commanded, spinning her around. He bent her over the pool's marble lip, her massive ass **jutting** high, cheeks spreading to reveal her **royal pussy**—shaved smooth, lips parted and **dripping** in a steady stream that poured into the water like a faucet. The pool's surface **rippled** with her arousal, rose petals swirling in the current.
"**Gods, look at this mess**," Lucius rasped, dragging his cockhead through her folds. The contact made her **squirt**—a hot jet that arced into the pool, sending waves crashing against the sides. "Your cunt's begging for its heir."
"**Breed me**," Arabella begged, voice breaking. "**Fill your mother's womb—make me flood for you!**"
He **slammed in**.
One thrust—**balls-deep**. Her pussy **engulfed** him, walls rippling with noble magic, clenching like a crown of velvet. She screamed, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling, her tits swinging wildly beneath her, milk spraying in arcs.
*SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.* His hips crashed into her ass, the flesh **rippling** in waves. Each withdrawal dragged out thick strands of her cream, only to be **pounded back in** with a wet *schlorp*. Her pussy **gushed** in rhythmic floods, **flooding the marble pool**—waves sloshing over the edges, soaking the floors, the braziers hissing as droplets hit the flames.
"**Harder—ruin your mother's cunt!**" she wailed, pushing back to meet him. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing frantically. "I'm—*oh gods*—I'm **SQUIRTING!**"
A **torrent** erupted around his cock—hot, endless, **flooding the entire pool** until the water level rose visibly. The marble overflowed, cascading down the steps in creamy rivers. Her pussy **clamped** so hard he roared, vision blurring.
Lucius gripped her hips, slamming deep one final time. His balls **unleashed**—rope after thick rope of hot cum flooding her womb. It overflowed instantly, mixing with her squirt to create a **royal deluge** that turned the pool milky white. She came again, body convulsing, pussy **milking him dry** in desperate spasms.
When he pulled out, her hole **gaped**, twitching and leaking a steady stream of their fluids. The pool was **ruined**—water cloudy, marble slick, rose petals drowned in cum and squirt.
Arabella collapsed against the edge, tits heaving, face flushed with rapture. "**Again**," she whispered hoarsely. "The bloodline demands **more**."
Lucius's cock twitched, already hardening, precum dripping anew into the flooded pool. His conquest was complete—but the kingdom teemed with dripping MILFs: the queen dowager, the dragon-rider matriarch, the sorceress guildmistress. His obsession would **drown them all**.