The faint jingle of leather harnesses and the rhythmic trot of horses slowly faded down the cobblestone avenue.
Mila remained standing at the threshold of the stone steps.
She wore a sumptuous olive-green satin dress. Its integrated corset, laced to its absolute limit, waged a futile and constant battle against her generous breasts, making them look as if they were barely contained.
At nearly forty years old—though she had firmly insisted she was thirty-six for more than four years now—time had done nothing to diminish her allure.
Her hazel eyes, framed by thick lashes, and her straight brunette hair falling in dense sheets over her shoulders gave her the striking presence of a perfect MILF.
She was voluptuous, mature, and dangerously alone.
Beside her, her youngest son, Luter, awaited the carriage.
At thirteen, the boy already displayed the traits of a noble lineage: carefully combed blonde hair, intense green eyes, and elegant attire made of fine thread that denoted the wealth of his birth.
The lad was bursting with excitement, eager to move to the grand campus of the magic academy.
— You don't have to worry about me, Mother. I am a man now — Luter said, puffing out his chest with pride.
Mila smiled tenderly and, yielding to her maternal instinct, placed a delicate hand on his cheek.
— Sweetheart... I am going to miss you so much, my little one.
The boy frowned immediately, brushing her hand away with haste.
— Mother! Not in front of my friends! — he hissed, thoroughly embarrassed.
Mila looked up toward the carriage.
There sat her son's companions, five high-born boys witnessing the entire scene.
One of them, looking to mock him, grabbed another by the shoulder, puckered his lips, and parodied a childish voice:
— Oh, Luter, Mommy loves you!
Mila furrowed her brow, annoyed by the young youngster's insolence.
But before she could say anything, Hernest—Luter's best friend, whom she knew well—planted a heavy smack on the back of the prankster's neck to shut him up.
Mila couldn't help but let out a low chuckle, thinking to herself that youth these days were truly foolish.
Without asking permission, she pulled Luter into a quick hug.
The boy, not very pleased, broke free from the embrace immediately and ran to board the transport with the others.
The carriage set off, and Mila waved her hand, saying goodbye with a face darkened by sadness.
«Such is the life of a mother», she thought bitterly as the dust from the stone road began to settle.
«One day they are small and need you for everything, and the next, they want nothing to do with you and leave... Just like his older sister».
She let out a long sigh, more dejected than tired, and turned around to look at the mansion behind her.
It was a luxurious property, but now it felt far too large and frigid for a woman whose last child was leaving for a boarding school from which he wouldn't return for another two years.
She began her walk back inside through the garden, following the stone path she knew by heart.
It was the very same path where her children had run and scraped their knees a multitude of times.
But that belonged irrevocably to the past.
She crossed the threshold of the doorway where a home with a father and a mother had once existed.
Now, only she remained.
She left her keys on a side table by the entrance, right next to a swan-shaped vase with gold trim along its feathers.
With a snap of her pale hands, the chandeliers in the living room flickered to life with magical energy, illuminating the wide, empty spaces.
— How empty this feels... — she murmured.
Her beautiful voice echoed slightly as the only response.
— I need a drink.
With another sigh, she headed to a shelf near the kitchen where she kept a bottle specially reserved for the occasion.
Originally, that wine was meant to be opened to celebrate this year's wedding anniversary.
Now, it would serve to drown the grief of watching her home grow empty.
«In two days, I will be formally single», she thought ironically.
«Though I've lived like one for the past six years anyway, going to parties alone, making excuses to my friends and family just because I was too ashamed to admit I couldn't bring my noble husband... It's over!».
She popped the bottle open in one swift motion.
The red wine began to pour with a rhythmic gurgle, filling the crystal glass until it nearly overflowed.
Her dainty fingers held the glass securely, raising it with an easy grace while a half-smile graced her lips.
She paused for a second and made a mental toast in the air.
«To... loneliness», she told herself, scanning the room.
So many years of memories, so many promises from her husband to live a thousand adventures together, only to end up raising the kids in absolute abandonment.
Now that had truly been an adventure.
«After Thursday... you're on your own, Mila. No more married woman, no more scraped knees».
Her eyes grew misty.
«Just the settlement money for abandoning me, and an empty house».
She walked into the adjoining dining room, feeling that her bare feet—finally free from the painful heels she had tossed aside at the entrance—carried more and more weight.
She sat in an elegant chair at the grand table, a surface where she recognized every dent and scratch left by the children.
There, in the dim light, she cried a little.
It was a silent weeping, without making a sound, letting the tears stream down just as she had done so many nights to keep her children from hearing her from their bedrooms.
— A-all I h-have l-left... is work... — she managed to articulate with difficulty.
The warm dew slid down her well-proportioned, pristinely pale features.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, took the last gulps from her glass, and decided she needed to eat something.
Rising from her chair, she walked quickly toward the kitchen, the skirt of her dress swishing against her shapely legs.
— I'm in no mood to cook anything — she declared with a look of annoyance. — At least something good has to come out of being completely alone.
She opened the pantry and pulled out a long loaf of bread left over from breakfast.
With her nails, she ripped it open down the middle with a careless tear and tossed a solitary sausage inside.
She returned to the dining room, where the wine bottle and the plate with her rudimentary lunch now rested.
She held the bread in front of her eyes before taking a bite.
— This bread is just like me... dry, simple, and a bit stale with age.
As she contemplated the elongated shape and thickness of the food she held in her hands, her mind played a wicked trick on her.
The memory of what she had weighed during the frisking in the dungeon assaulted her without warning.
That elf...
She couldn't prevent a small, libidinous smile from appearing on her face.
Just as she was about to bite into the bread, a deep, resonant, and masculine voice interrupted her from the shadows.
— Are you saying you're just like that bread?
Mila jumped, stifling a shriek.
Turning toward the living room sofa, she saw Alaster.
The elf was rising from the couch with a sarcastic, mocking smirk, beginning to walk slowly toward her.
— Because it has a sausage inside? Your analogies bewilder me — he added, widening his shameless grin.
Mila huffed, amused despite the scare, and dropped the bread onto the plate.
— Fool... — she murmured.
She rose from her chair, swaying her hips with deliberate sensuality, and walked toward the kitchen carrying the plate.
The skirt of her dress, which fell just below the knee, followed the rhythm of her steps.
She could feel the presence and footsteps of the elf right on her heels, which brought an involuntary smile to her lips.
She tossed the leftover sausage aside; she had no intention of abandoning her clean habits, as she had been a housewife for most of her life.
The Alaster of her mind seemed to vanish for a moment when she submerged the plate into the basin filled with water.
She took the creamy soap and the natural sponge, scrubbing the surface.
«A woman never stops cleaning, even without a husband», she told herself.
But she froze completely upon feeling a warm, direct breath against the bare skin of her neck.
— Come on, it was just a joke... — the elf's voice whispered to her, sending goosebumps down her arms. — Besides, I'm only like this because this is how you imagine me. My joke is your joke.
Alaster's large hands gently brushed aside the sheets of her straight brunette hair, clearing her neck while she held the soapy plate with trembling fingers.
— I... — Mila tried to speak, but the sound turned into a gasp as the elf's lips pressed against her neck, giving her a wet kiss.
She tilted her head to the side, surrendering to the contact.
The elf's hands descended rapidly, slipping underneath the green satin skirt.
He stopped kissing her for just a second while his palms traveled along the smoothness of her legs and anchored firmly at her waist.
— Don't do this, elf... I'm married... — Mila managed to protest in a thread of a voice.
Right then, she felt her lace panties slide down her thighs until they fell around her feet.
The slight pressure of her undergarment was immediately replaced by the proximity of something imposing, warm, and ridiculously hard right between her buttocks.
— No... I told you I'm married — she panted, squeezing the sponge tightly. — You're going to break me with that... My husband will know.
Her breathing was a chaotic mess, and her chest rose and fell erratically within the corset.
A wet, voracious kiss at the base of her neck cut off her words.
— Let him know... — Alaster whispered against her ear.
Mila didn't just hear the vibration of that voice; she felt it reverberate much lower, in her very core, which was already completely soaked.
She felt the elf's enormous virility pressing against the entrance of her slit, about to thrust into her from behind with savage force.
The desire accumulated over six years threatened to make her lose her senses.
SPLASH!
Mila snapped her eyes open.
The soap-covered plate had slipped from her hands, crashing noisily into the water of the basin and splashing her face with warm droplets.
She looked around.
The kitchen was in absolute silence, and there was no elf behind her.
She was alone, trembling, her heart hammering violently against her chest.
Passing a hand over her forehead to wipe away the water and the sweat of agitation, Mila let out a frustrated huff.
— I need to take a bath... — she told herself, her voice cracked with dissatisfaction. — I can't keep thinking about that damn elf.
Mila walked toward the main bathroom, dragging her feet. Her body vibrated with a frustration that put her in a foul mood, but at the same time, set her blood on fire.
Entering the room, she turned on the taps of the large marble tub.
The hot water began to pour out fiercely, and she added a generous splash of essential oils and aromatic salts.
In a few minutes, a dense, high layer of white bubbles covered the surface, giving off a thick steam that completely fogged up the large mirrors in the room.
She discarded the green olive dress.
The corset fell to the floor with a creak of its boning. Released from the constraint of the fabric, her generous breasts regained their natural shape, heavy and with nipples already hardened by anticipation.
She stripped off the lace panties that had been left half-removed in the kitchen and, completely naked, submerged one of her shapely legs into the hot water.
A groan of pure pleasure escaped her lips as she slid entirely into the tub.
The water covered her shoulders, and the foam floated at the level of her chin.
Mila rested her head on the marble rim, closing her eyes as the heat began to relax her tense muscles.
But the relaxation lasted very little.
The steam of the bathroom, thick and humid, did nothing but fan the bonfire she carried between her legs.
She took the natural sponge, loaded it with creamy soap, and began to slide it down her neck, slowly lowering it over the curvature of her breasts.
As it brushed her nipples, an electric current shot through her entire body.
She closed her eyes, and the sound of water splashing against the marble transformed in her mind into the echo of confident footsteps on the floor tiles.
— Bathing all alone, Mila? What a waste of a woman... — Alaster's voice resonated, this time emerging from the dimness of the bathroom.
In her mind, the elf's silhouette appeared beside the tub.
He wore only dark trousers, leaving exposed that sculpted, perfect torso she had so desperately desired to touch.
Alaster knelt at the edge of the marble and plunged his large hands into the water, seeking her thighs beneath the foam.
— Y-you shouldn't be here... — Mila whispered in reality, arching her back in the water as her own hands replaced the fantasy, sliding down from her flat stomach.
— You called for me in that hallway — the imaginary elf shot back, his violet gaze seeming to devour her.
— You said I was going to break you... Let me show you that starting this Thursday, you will never be alone again, you beautiful mature woman.
Mila parted her legs beneath the hot water, letting the current circulate freely between her thighs.
Her slender fingers, lubricated by the soap suds, parted the lips of her slit, and two of them plunged suddenly inside her.
She was so incredibly soaked that her own fingers slid in with astonishing ease, causing a subtle splashing beneath the water.
— Ah... Alaster... — Mila gasped aloud, completely losing her decorum in the solemnity of the bathroom.
In her mind, the elf was no longer outside the tub.
He had gotten in, clothes and all, cornering her against the marble backrest.
She felt the weight of that young, vigorous body crushing her breasts, while Alaster's hands forced her legs open to their limit, propping them over the edges of the bathtub.
— Look at me, Mila — the Alaster in her head commanded, holding that thick, monstrous virility right at the entrance of her intimacy. — Look at what you've been missing these six years.
— Y-yes... put it in... put it in now! — Mila begged, completely losing her mind.
In the fantasy, the thrust was brutal, deep, and merciless.
The elf seized her by the hips with fingers that sank into her mature flesh, lifting her slightly to drive himself into her to the absolute hilt.
Mila felt a stretching so intense it made her gasp with pain and pleasure—a wet, rhythmic echo that caused the tub's water to overflow down the sides with every savage movement.
Her fingers moved inside herself at a frenetic pace, mimicking the rhythm of the copulation she imagined.
Her hips grew firm and lifted involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more of that frigid elf who was making her burn like never before in her thirty-six years.
The climax hit her with the force of a powerful magical curse.
Mila clenched her teeth, holding back a scream that would have echoed through the entire mansion, as her mature body tensed completely in a violent orgasm that stole her breath.
Her fingers froze inside her slit, feeling the spasmodic pulsations of her walls imprisoning them.
Slowly, Mila's breathing began to steady and stabilize.
She opened her eyes, her pupils dilated and her vision blurred by the steam.
There was no elf in the water.
The bath foam had dissipated a bit from the constant churning, and the silence of the house enveloped her once more.
Mila pulled her hand out of the water, observing her wet fingers before letting herself fall back, exhausted, floating in the water that was beginning to cool.
A triumphant smile, laced with a playfulness and malice she hadn't felt since her youth, drew across her full lips.
She ran her hand through her straight brunette hair, soaked with sweat and water, and stared fixedly at the ceiling of the luxurious, empty mansion.
— May the gods help me... — Mila whispered to herself, her voice completely broken and satisfied. — Because starting this Thursday, that elf is not getting away from me.