I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Her breath came in gasps, lips parted in moans as her body twisted in sync with her companions.

The boy—barely eighteen, was the reason for the helpless cry of the both woman. He bore the Marquis’s fierce stare and the elder woman’s soft features. A life born of both bloodlines, now shared between them.

Together, they moved like a single creature caught in the trap of pleasure—beautiful, obscene, and entirely without shame.

The Marquis took a sip of his wine, slow and unhurried. He wasn’t aroused in the typical sense. No, what stirred behind those eyes was darker.

“Come on, Shayla,” the Marquis murmured, his tone heavy with expectation and unspoken command. “Our son Vigg doesn’t seem pleasured enough.”

His fingers tightened around his wine glass, swirling the liquid with slow movements as if savoring every drop. His eyes remained locked on the bed where Shayla and Vigg were locked in a tense embrace.

Shayla’s brown hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, damp with sweat that glistened under the flickering torchlight. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, nipples hard with desire.

Her slender fingers circled over Vigg’s smooth chest, before sliding lower.

“My sweet boy,” she whispered, her voice a haunting blend of maternal warmth and forbidden hunger, “you don’t need to fight this. Let your mother take care of you.” Her lips hovered near his ear, her breath warm and teasing.

Vigg’s naked skin was cool under her touch, contrasting with the burning heat radiating from his flushed face. His dark hair clung to his forehead, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Mother… this isn’t right,” he murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of shame and need. “Why… why must we do this?”

His cock stood half-hard, twitching slightly with each motion of Shayla’s hand, as if aching for something more.

Shayla’s lips parted in a slow, breathless moan, her tongue flicking out to wet her lower lip before she bent closer.

“Because it’s what we are, Vigg,” she said softly. “You’re part of us. This is how we bind you to our blood.”

Her hand slid down, fingers trailing over his hardening cock. She wrapped it around the thick base and began stroking.

Vigg gasped, his hips lifting slightly in response, desperate for more, yet still hesitant—as if craving permission from the dark figure seated so silently nearby.

“I… I don’t want to disappoint you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Shayla’s lips curved into a tender yet predatory smile, her free hand traveling upward to cup one of her breasts, fingers squeezing the soft flesh.

“You could never disappoint me, my love,” she purred, leaning closer until her lips kissed his jaw, her touch both comforting and unrelenting. “Let go, Vigg. Give yourself to me. To us.”

Her strokes grew firmer, more insistent, guiding him toward surrender.

The Marquis leaned forward, eyes burning like coals in the dim chamber. His voice was low, dripping with approval. “Good. Make him feel how much he belongs. How deeply he is loved.”

Shayla’s eyes flicked briefly to the Marquis, before returning to her son. “You feel it, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice a soft, seductive lullaby “Show your mother how much you love her.”

Vigg’s breath hitched again, body trembling as he found himself on the edge of madness. His cock throbbed in her palm, slick with his own growing arousal, while his fingers clutched the sheets beneath him.

The sight of her worshipping Vigg’s body, her devotion twisted into lust and power, made the Marquis’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile.

Shayla’s thumb grazed the sensitive tip of Vigg’s cock, circling slowly, spreading the bead of cum. Her touch was deliberate, teasing, each movement pulling a shaky gasp from his lips.

“Feel that, my sweet boy?” she purred. “Your mother’s hands know you better than anyone. So soft, so warm, guiding you just like I always have.”

Her fingers tightened briefly around his cock, her thumb pressing harder against the tip, drawing a desperate whimper from him.

Vigg’s body shuddered, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him until his knuckles whitened.

“Mother… your hands,” he gasped, his voice thick with shame and need, “they’re… too much. So hot, like they’re burning me.” His hips twitched upward, chasing her touch despite the guilt flickering in his dark eyes. “I shouldn’t… but I can’t stop.”

Shayla leaned closer, her lips brushing his chest, leaving a trail of heat as she kissed her way up to his collarbone. Her brown hair fell like a curtain, shielding them from the Marquis’s gaze for a fleeting moment.

“That’s right, Vigg,” she whispered. “You’ve always been mine to hold, to shape. Now, go on, my love—suck.” She lifted her breast, offering it to him, her nipple grazing his lips. “I fed you when you were young. Take me again. Show me you’re still my boy.”

Vigg’s breath caught, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and hunger. His lips parted, hesitant, before he gave in, his mouth closing around her nipple with a soft, broken moan.

His tongue flicked, tentative at first, then desperate, as if seeking something more.

“Mmh…” Shayla’s head tilted back, a low moan escaping her as her hand continued its relentless rhythm on his cock.

“Yes, Vigg,” she murmured, her voice dripping with twisted pride. “Just like that. You’ll always belong to me.”

“Finally, something interesting,” the Marquis murmured, his dark eyes glintiing with growing interest.

His gaze shifted from Shayla and Vigg, to the younger woman seated beside them on the black velvet bed.

“Aryl,” he said, his tone sharp with command yet laced with a twisted amusement, “join your mother and brother. Are you not going to please your brother?”

Aryl, barely twenty, froze under the weight of her father’s stare. Her sharp features mirrored his, but her eyes held a flicker of uncertainty, her breath quickening as she glanced at Vigg’s trembling form.

“Father… I—” she started, her voice soft, almost pleading, but the Marquis raised his hand and silenced her.