NTR MILF: I Was Summoned by Thirsty MILFs to Breed Them-Chapter 21: Breaking the Maids

Alex never once glanced back toward the meadow. The sky had cracked open and was pissing cold rain like the world itself wanted to drown them, but he didn’t care. Alicia, Lilia, Nyx, Serena—they were clever women. They’d find cover. Right now the only thing in his universe was the two thick, soaked maids hurrying ahead of him, hips rolling, skirts plastered to fat asses that jiggled with every frantic step.

Lightning flashed. Thunder followed so close it rattled his teeth. Sofia shoved the cottage door open and yanked him inside by the wrist. Marisol slammed it shut behind them and threw the latch with shaking fingers.

The single oil lamp swung from its hook, throwing wild gold shadows over the small room. The tiny space smelled of old wood, fresh straw, and now the sharp, sweet scent of three drenched bodies in heat.

Sofia stood with her back pressed to the door, chest heaving. Water streamed from her dark curls, down her neck, between caramel breasts that had finally won their war with the apron—three buttons gone, heavy tits half-spilled, dark nipples stiff and shining. The ruined black skirt clung high on her wide hips like a second skin, the wet fabric outlining every roll and curve of an ass so fat it made Alex’s mouth go dry.

Marisol hovered beside her mother, arms crossed under breasts that looked even heavier than Sofia’s, younger and firmer, straining the last threads of her uniform. Her thighs trembled; the soaked skirt had ridden so high he could see the soft crease where thigh met ass. Both women were breathing through parted lips, eyes huge, cheeks flushed dark.

Alex let the silence stretch. He just looked at them, slow and deliberate, water dripping from his hair onto his bare chest. His linen trousers were plastered to his thighs, cock already thick and obvious against the wet fabric.

Sofia found her voice first, barely a whisper. "My lord... we only came to serve the grapes. This is... improper."

Marisol nodded fast, curls bouncing. "We’re just maids. You have the queen, the princess... ladies far above us."

Alex stepped closer. The lamp flame danced in his eyes.

"Improper?" he repeated, voice low and rough from the rain. "You’ve both been staring at my cock for weeks every time you bend over to pour wine. You think I didn’t notice the way your nipples get hard the second I walk into a room?"

Sofia’s breath caught. Marisol’s arms dropped, hands twisting in her soaked apron.

He reached out and brushed a wet curl from Sofia’s cheek. His thumb traced her full lower lip. "Tell me the truth. How long have you been wet for me?"

Sofia tried to look down, but his finger kept her chin up. Her voice cracked. "Since... since the first day you came to the palace, my lord."

Marisol’s whisper was even smaller. "Me too."

Alex let his hand slide lower, cupping the heavy weight of Sofia’s breast through the ruined apron. The fabric was so wet it was almost not there. He circled her nipple slow with his thumb.

"And your husbands?" he asked softly. "Do they know their wives dream about the hero’s cock every night?"

Sofia closed her eyes, shame and heat warring on her face. "My Tomas... hasn’t touched me in fifteen years. Not since the curse."

Marisol’s voice trembled. "My Carlo stopped trying after the first year. He says it’s pointless now."

Alex squeezed gently. Milk beaded at Sofia’s nipple and soaked through the cloth. He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear.

"Then they won’t mind if I give you what they can’t."

He turned to Marisol and traced the same path down her neck, over the swell of her breast, stopping just above where her heart hammered. "And you, little one? You want to stay a good wife... or you want to feel what a real man does to a woman?"

Marisol whimpered, thighs pressing together. "I... I want..."

Sofia reached out and took her daughter’s shaking hand. Mother and daughter looked at each other, then back at him, eyes glassy with need and fear and surrender.

Alex smiled, slow and dangerous.

"Start by getting those wet clothes off. Both of you. Slow. Let me see what I’m working with."

Their hands moved to the remaining buttons like they were dreaming.

Outside, the storm kept raging.

Inside, something much wilder was just beginning.

The oil lamp flickered again, throwing long shadows across the small room. Rain lashed the windows like claws.

Sofia’s fingers shook as she worked the last stubborn button of her apron. It finally gave. The soaked fabric peeled away from her chest with a soft, wet sound. Her heavy breasts spilled free, full and round, caramel skin glistening, dark areolas wide and puffy from years of aching need. Tiny beads of milk pearled at the tips and rolled down the heavy curves. Her belly was soft and slightly rounded from past children, but her waist still nipped in before flaring into hips so wide Alex’s hands would never meet around them. The torn skirt clung low, revealing the deep crease where her thick thighs met, and the faint shadow of trimmed curls beneath.

Marisol was next. She turned her back to him first, shy, letting the apron slide off her shoulders. When she faced him again her younger breasts bounced free, fuller than her mother’s, high and proud, nipples darker and tighter, already leaking the thinnest thread of milk. Her waist was narrower, hips just as wide, ass a perfect heart shape that made the ruined skirt look obscene. The wet fabric had gone transparent; he could see the plump lips of her pussy outlined beneath, swollen and shining.

Both women stood trembling, arms half-covering themselves, eyes down.

Alex stepped closer. Lightning flashed outside, bleaching the room white for an instant, painting every curve in stark silver. Thunder followed a heartbeat later.

"Hands down," he said quietly. They obeyed instantly, arms falling to their sides, breasts rising and falling with quick, nervous breaths.