I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Without waiting for his response, she stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her. She walked down the hall, her breath unsteady as she struggled to calm herself. Augustus’s cough echoed again, weaker this time, drawing her attention to his room.

She needed to see him. It was the only way to rid herself of the shadow of Julian’s twisted love.

Back in the bedroom, Julian remained on the bed, staring at the closed door. A smirk returned to his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “Not done,” he murmured.

He stood, adjusting his robe before walking toward the door. She could run to Augustus all she wanted, but in the end, he was the one who controlled everything.

**

As Gregoria moved, a warm, slick sensation ran between her thighs. Julian’s cum leaked out of her, dripping slow and relentless.

She froze mid-step, her breath faltering as the reality hit her. He’s still inside me.

Her hand shot down instinctively, gripping the fabric of her nightgown as if she could somehow hide it. But the wetness soaked through, staining her fingers.

“God…” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible in the empty hall.

Her legs wobbled, forcing her to lean against the cold Easvil wall for support. The heat of him lingered, trailing down her inner thighs with every movement. Her face burned, a deep flush spreading as she squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the sensation away.

He filled me… marked me… The thought ate at her mind, a treacherous mix of shame and unwanted arousal. Her hand clenched into a fist. “Bastard,” she cursed, her voice sharp and bitter.

She could still feel him—his thrusts, his groans, the way he had spilled into her without hesitation. And now this—his cum dripping down her legs like a cruel reminder.

Her eyes flicked downward, widening in horror at the faint wet trail she had left behind. “No—no, no…” she muttered, panic surging as she tugged her gown tighter around her thighs.

She wiped at the mess, but it was useless. Every step made it worse.

Her mind raced. Do I go to Augustus? or wash it away? What if someone sees? What if they know? Pressing her thighs together, she stumbled forward, one hand still bracing against the wall.

“Julian…” she breathed, his name both a curse and a plea. She hated him—hated herself—for the way her body still buzzed with the memory of him, even as his cum dripped down her legs, marking her as his.

Augustus’s cough sounded again, weaker now, snapping her back to reality. She straightened, forcing her legs to move, her jaw tightening with resolve.

“This ends,” she murmured, her voice calmer now, though her heart still pounded. She had to face Augustus, tend to him, and bury Julian and his hold on her.

The hallway stretched endlessly before her, but she forced her legs to carry her forward. Her nightgown clung to her skin, the fabric failing to hide the mess Julian left behind. Gritting her teeth, she focused—Augustus. Just get to Augustus.

The faint, weak cough sounded again, closer now. She quickened her pace, the wet trail she left behind growing fainter but no less humiliating.

Her hand hovered near her thigh, twitching with the urge to wipe at the stickiness again, but she stopped herself. No more. Let it dry. Let it be nothing. She couldn’t afford to linger on it—not now, not when her husband needed her.

She reached the door to their chamber, and she paused. Her mind momentarily wandered to Julian, but she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image of him and his smirk out of her mind.

Enough.

She shoved the door open, the click sound heavy as she stepped inside.

**

The room was dim, lit only by a single candle flickering on the table. Meanwhile, Augustus lay on the bed, his frail body lying weak and unconscious.

Gregoria’s heart twisted at the sight, and a wave of guilt crashed over her. She moved to his side, her trembling hands reaching to pull a chair close. With a deep breath, she sat beside him, her nightgown sticking uncomfortably to her thighs.

“Augustus…” she whispered, her voice soft, almost pleading.

She reached out, brushing a strand of gray hair from his forehead. He didn’t show any reaction, his face worn and pale.

Her eyes softened, tears threatening to spill as she stared at him—this man she had loved for decades, now helpless while she had been… with Julian.

Her composure wavered, but she steeled herself. She couldn’t break—not here, not now.

Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands still stuck together in a futile attempt to clean herself. The scent of Julian was still fresh, and a new wave of shame washed over her as she felt him still dripping.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, unsure whether she spoke to Augustus or herself.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the chair, fighting the flood of memories—Julian’s hands on her, his cock filling her, his cum marking her inside and out. Her body refused to forget, and she hated how it stirred her even now, sitting at her husband’s bedside.

Just then, Augustus groaned, his head shifting slightly on the pillow. Gregoria snapped to attention, leaning closer.

“Augustus? Can you hear me?” she asked, her voice trembling. His eyes fluttered half-open, and they vaguely settled on her for a fleeting moment.

“Gre… goria…” he whispered, the words barely audible.

“I’m here,” she said quickly, forcing a smile as she took his hand in hers. She squeezed gently, desperate to calm her racing mind. “I’m right here.”

His gaze lingered on her, and for a terrifying second, she wondered if he could see through her. Could he smell it? Sense the sin she carried? Her breath raced, panic rising, but his eyes closed shut again, his breathing returning to that same weak rhythm.

Relief flooded her. He didn’t know. He couldn’t.

She leaned back, exhaling sharply. Her free hand brushed her thigh where the dampness had finally started to dry. She needed to wash—to scrub every trace of Julian from her body—but not yet. Not until she was sure Augustus was stable.

Suddenly, the door creaked behind her, and goosebumps washed over her. She didn’t turn, didn’t need to. She knew that presence, that quiet confidence that filled the room like a storm. Julian.

“I thought I would check on grandpa too,” he said, his voice casual but filled with that familiar, taunting edge.

She could hear the smirk in it, feel his eyes boring into her back. “How’s he holding up, Grandma?”

Gregoria’s jaw clenched, her hand tightening around Augustus’s as she fought the urge to spin around and lash out. “Leave,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “You’ve done enough.”

Julian chuckled, the sound soft but piercing, and she heard his footsteps draw closer. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he murmured, stopping just behind her chair. “We’re just getting started.”