Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 870: Julie’s Intrusion

Marina sounded angry and unbearably turned on at the same time.

Her tongue flicked out — one long, wet stripe from balls to tip, tasting everything she could reach.

"You’re going to let me clean you up properly," she said, voice muffled because half her face was pressed against my cock. "And then you’re going to fuck my throat until I can’t talk tomorrow. Understood?"

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Her lips wrapped around the head, sucking hard, tongue swirling, trying to draw out any trace of Lorena that might still be lingering there. At the same time, her hand wrapped around the base, stroking firmly while her other hand cupped and gently rolled my balls.

She pulled off with a wet pop just long enough to look up at me, lips shiny.

"I’m serious, Jack. I want you empty. I want to feel you throbbing and then going soft in my mouth because there’s literally nothing left."

She dove back down, taking me deeper this time, until her nose pressed against my pubic bone and she gagged softly — only to hold herself there, throat fluttering around me.

When she finally pulled back for air, a thick string of saliva connected her lower lip to my cock.

"Bed," she rasped. "Now. On your back. I’m riding your face first, then your cock, and I’m not stopping until you’ve filled at least two of my holes."

She stood up, already shimmying out of her dress, letting it pool at her feet. No bra. No panties. Just smooth skin, hard nipples, and the unmistakable glisten between her thighs that showed how wet she’d gotten just from smelling and tasting me.

Marina’s soaked pussy hovered just above my mouth, her thighs trembling with anticipation, her clit swollen and glistening. I could already taste her on the air—musky, sweet, desperate—when the sharp knock cracked through the room like a whip.

"Jack... Marina... open the door quickly!"

Julie’s voice. Urgent. Familiar. But laced with something playful underneath.

Marina froze, a frustrated whimper escaping her throat. "Sister Julie..."

She scrambled off me, naked body flushed and shining with sweat, and hurried to the door. The lock clicked. The door swung open.

Julie stepped inside without hesitation—wearing nothing but a thin silk nightie that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her eyes swept the scene in one hungry second: me on the bed, cock still glistening from Marina’s mouth, hard and leaking; Marina standing there bare, lips swollen, thighs slick.

Julie’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile.

"Did I disturb something?" she teased, voice dripping honey and sin.

Marina blushed crimson from chest to forehead, arms instinctively crossing over her breasts. "Nothing, Sister... we were just..."

Julie chuckled low in her throat and shut the door behind her with a soft click. She sauntered closer, hips rolling with deliberate seduction, eyes locked on me.

"Husband," she purred, the word filthy and possessive, "I want it. Look..."

She grabbed the hem of her nightie and dragged it up over her navel in one smooth motion. No panties. Just smooth, freshly shaved skin and a pussy already swollen, lips parted and dripping—clear strands of arousal clinging to her inner thighs. She reached down with two fingers, spreading herself open shamelessly, showing me the slick pink inside.

"It’s been aching since the last time you filled me," she said, voice husky. "Begging for your cock. Look how wet I am just thinking about it."

My cock jerked hard against my stomach at the sight—throbbing visibly, pre-cum beading at the tip.

Julie’s gaze dropped to it. She stepped right up to the bed, wrapped her hand around my shaft, and gave a slow, firm stroke.

"Looks like this guy’s hungry too," she murmured, thumb circling the head, smearing the pre-cum. Then she leaned down, nose brushing the length of me, and inhaled deeply—just like Marina had earlier.

Her brows lifted. She sniffed again, slower, more deliberate.

"Why does it smell like ass...?" she asked, voice curious and dangerously amused.

She straightened, eyes flicking to Marina with mock accusation. "Did you take him in your tight little ass while I was downstairs, Marina? Naughty girl."

Marina’s blush deepened, but she shook her head quickly, stepping closer, defensive and turned on in equal measure.

"No, Sister... It’s not me." She bit her lip, then blurted it out in a rush. "It’s Husband. He fucked that lawyer Lorena’s asshole earlier. Deep. Raw. She squirted and pissed all over him when he made her come."

Julie’s eyes widened for a split second—then narrowed with dark, delighted interest. She looked back down at my cock, still in her hand, and gave it another slow pump.

"So this is Lorena’s mess I’m smelling..." She leaned in again, nose almost touching the shaft, inhaling like she was savoring a fine wine. "Semen... sweat... that sharp tang of piss... and her tight asshole stretched around you." She licked her lips. "Filthy. I like it."

Marina made a small, jealous sound in her throat—half growl, half moan.

Julie laughed softly and glanced at her. "Don’t pout, darling. You’ve got to taste her first. Now it’s my turn to play."

She released my cock and climbed onto the bed, straddling my thighs. The nightie rode up higher, exposing everything. She reached down, guided my tip to her entrance, and sank down just enough that the head popped inside her—hot, slick, gripping.

Julie sank lower, taking another thick inch of me inside her velvet heat. Her walls fluttered greedily around the head, already trying to pull me deeper. A low, throaty moan slipped from her lips. "God... I’ve missed this stretch. Missed feeling you split me open like I’m yours to ruin."

She rolled her hips once—slow, deliberate—coating me in fresh slick. Marina watched from beside us, eyes dark with hunger and barely-contained jealousy, one hand already between her own thighs, fingers circling her clit in lazy, frustrated strokes.

Then I heard it.

A faint footstep—soft, deliberate, sneaky—approaching from down the hall. Too quiet for normal ears. Only my heightened senses caught it: the subtle creak of floorboard, the whisper of fabric against skin, the controlled rhythm of someone trying not to be heard.

I snapped my gaze toward the door.

Activating my AI Lens—vision sharpening, walls turning translucent in layers of ghostly blue overlay—I peered straight through the wood and plaster.

Yuko.