NTR MILF: I Was Summoned by Thirsty MILFs to Breed Them-Chapter 20: Two Maids in Heat

The morning after the throne room belonged to no one but them, Alex woke to soft hands and softer kisses. Isabella and Alicia refused to let him leave the royal bed until noon, taking turns riding him slow and lazy while the sun climbed higher outside the windows. By the time they finally let him breathe, both their bellies glowed brighter than ever and the sheets were ruined beyond saving.

But today there was no ledger. No nobles. No duty.

Isabella had declared it a day of rest for the entire palace.

A short ride beyond the city walls brought them to a hidden meadow Isabella loved: rolling green hills, wildflowers thick as carpet, a lazy brook singing over smooth stones, ancient oaks throwing cool shade. Servants had been sent ahead at dawn—blankets spread, picnic baskets waiting, chilled wine breathing in silver buckets.

They sprawled in the sun like cats.

Lilia lay on her back in a thin white sundress, silver hair fanned out like moonlight, massive tits barely contained, nipples dark against the fabric. Nyx lounged against a tree trunk in nothing but short leather shorts and a loose black shirt tied under her breasts, midnight-blue skin gleaming, tail flicking lazily. Serena sat cross-legged in a loose linen shirt and tight riding breeches, golden hair loose, armor traded for bare feet and a rare, peaceful smile. Alicia curled against Alex’s side in a tiny green dress, head on his chest, one possessive hand tracing idle patterns on his stomach. Alex himself wore only loose linen trousers, shirt discarded hours ago, skin warm from the sun.

For a long while no one spoke. Just the wind in the leaves, the brook, the soft sounds of wine being poured.

Then Lilia rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand, dress slipping off one creamy shoulder.

"Tell us about your world again," she said softly. "The one before you came here."

Alex smiled, fingers playing in Alicia’s hair.

"Cars that drive themselves. Lights with no fire. Pictures that move and talk. Tiny boxes everyone carries that hold the sum of all human knowledge... and most of it is cat videos."

Nyx snorted. "Cat videos?"

"Trust me, they’re addictive."

Serena laughed, low and warm. "Sounds like magic without the cost."

Alicia tilted her head up, green eyes curious. "Did you... miss it?"

He thought about it, really thought, then shook his head.

"Not anymore. Here I wake up to you four fighting over who gets to ride me first. Back there I woke up to an alarm clock and bad coffee."

Lilia’s smile turned wicked. "We do fight nicely."

Alicia nipped his chest. "I always win."

Serena leaned over, refilling his cup. "And what about women there? Were they... like us?"

Alex’s gaze drifted over miles of curves and soft skin in the sunlight.

"No," he said honestly. "Not even close."

The sun was heavy and golden, the wine heavier. One by one the others drifted off like cats in the heat.

Lilia curled on her side, white dress rucked high on her thighs, silver hair spilling across the blanket. Nyx sprawled flat on her back, shirt open, midnight breasts rising and falling slow. Serena had an arm thrown over her eyes, legs tangled with Lilia’s. Alicia was tucked against Alex’s side, breathing soft and even, her little green dress pushed up just enough to show the soft curve where thigh met ass.

Alex couldn’t sleep. He lay staring at the sky, mind lazy and filthy, replaying every moan, every slick grip of the women around him. Four perfect, impossible women who belonged to him now. He was half-hard again just thinking about it.

Soft footsteps on the grass.

A pair of palace maids approached through the wildflowers, silver tray balanced between them. The older one walked in front: early forties, warm caramel skin, thick hourglass figure poured into the palace’s scandalous "day-off" uniform. Black skirt so short it barely covered the lower curve of a truly fat, juicy ass; white apron knotted tight beneath breasts that looked ready to burst every button. Dark curls escaped her little cap in soft ringlets, full lips curved in a knowing smile. This was Sofia, head of the queen’s private household staff.

Behind her, almost a mirror image but twenty years younger, came her daughter Marisol: late twenties, same rich brown skin, same dangerous curves, same uniform clinging for dear life. Mother and daughter moved in perfect sync, hips rolling, trays steady, eyes flicking between the sleeping women and the half-naked hero sprawled on the blanket.

They stopped at the edge of the picnic cloth and dipped into matching low curtsies. The motion made four massive breasts threaten to escape at once. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"Fresh grapes and chilled wine for the lord and his ladies," Sofia murmured, voice low and velvet, that soft Earth-like accent curling around every word. Marisol set the second tray down, straightened, and let her gaze drag slow over Alex’s bare chest and the obvious bulge in his loose linen trousers.

Sofia’s smile turned wicked. "Will my lord... need anything else?" Marisol bit her plump lower lip, cheeks flushing darker. "We were told to make sure you want for nothing today."

Alex’s eyes moved from mother to daughter and back, taking in the way the soaked-apron fabric had already gone slightly transparent, the little strips of brown skin flashing between hem and stockings, the identical hunger in both sets of dark eyes.

He pushed up on one elbow, voice rough from sun and sleep. "Yeah. Muscles are real tight after yesterday." He let the silence hang just long enough. "Both of you. Massage. Now."

Sofia’s breath hitched; Marisol actually whimpered.

"There’s a guest cottage just through the trees," Sofia said quickly, already turning. "Completely private, my lord."

Alex stood, not bothering to fix the trousers riding low on his hips, cock half-hard and obvious. "Lead the way, ladies."

Mother and daughter turned together, hips swaying in perfect rhythm, skirts swishing against thick thighs. Four round, jiggling cheeks led him across the meadow like the world’s most dangerous parade.

Behind them, the sky rumbled once, low and hungry, as the first fat raindrop splashed onto the abandoned picnic blanket.

The storm was coming. And it wasn’t the only thing about to soak everything in sight.