Ethan stood on the empty sidewalk under a streetlamp's harsh glow, the night air cool against his freshly healed skin. The system hovered in his vision like a heads-up display from some twisted RPG—Lust Points: 0. No strength buffs, no stamina upgrades, nothing but his skinny frame and a burning need for payback. He was still the same eighteen-year-old kid who'd gotten his ass kicked twice today: tall but reedy, arms like twigs, chest concave from years of avoiding the gym. If he went after Marcus or Cole now, it'd be suicide all over again.
"First things first," he muttered to himself, pulling up the system's shop menu with a thought. It shimmered blue in his mind's eye: options for muscle mass, endurance, even cock enhancements that made his cheeks burn despite everything. But all of it cost points he didn't have. He needed a target.
A MILF to break. Someone close, easy to start with. Build up slowly, gain those 1000 points, then level up.
That's when he heard her voice, warm and familiar, cutting through the quiet suburb like a lifeline.
"Ethan? Honey, is that you out there so late?"
He looked up. Across the street, in the soft porch light of the colonial next door, stood Mrs. Smith. Jane Smith—forty, stunning in that effortless way that turned heads even in sweatpants. She looked like an actress, with sharp cheekbones, full lips that curved into a sly smile, dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and green eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her husband, John, ran a construction firm downtown—always away on bids and builds, leaving her alone in their perfect house with its manicured lawn and empty bedrooms.
They'd never had kids. Jane had told Ethan once, over lemonade on her porch, that it just hadn't happened. Instead, she'd poured that maternal energy into him: the neighbor kid with the absent dad and self-obsessed mom. Holidays meant cookies at her place, summers meant helping her garden while she chatted about books and life. She was fond of him, treated him like the son she never had. And now, staring at her in her yoga pants and loose tank top that hugged her curves, Ethan saw opportunity.
"Yeah, it's me, Mrs. Smith," he called back, forcing a smile that felt foreign on his face. He crossed the street, hands in his pockets to hide the tremble of adrenaline.
She stepped down the porch steps, bare feet on the cool grass, arms crossing under her breasts in a way that pushed them up just enough to notice.
"What are you doing wandering around at this hour? Your mom's not home yet?"
Ethan shrugged, stopping a few feet away. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry—comforting, but tonight it stirred something darker in him.
"Nah. She's... out. Dad's away too. Just needed some air."
Her brow furrowed, those full lips pursing in concern. She reached out, touched his arm lightly. "You look rough, kiddo. Everything okay? Come inside. I was just making tea. Can't have you freezing out here."
He hesitated for show, then nodded. "Sure. Thanks."
Inside, her house was warm and inviting: soft lighting, plush couches in the living room, photos of her and John on the mantel—him rugged and smiling, her radiant in sundresses from vacations past. No dust, no chaos like his place. She led him to the kitchen, hips swaying with that natural grace, the yoga pants clinging to her toned ass. Ethan watched, system pinging in his head: Target Acquired? He confirmed it mentally. Mrs. Jane Smith. MILF Level: High. Corruption Potential: Untapped.
"Sit," she said, pointing to the island stool.
"Chamomile, okay? Or something stronger? I think John's got beer in the fridge."
"Tea's fine," Ethan replied, sliding onto the stool. He watched her move: reaching for mugs, her tank top riding up to show a sliver of smooth, tanned back. Forty looked damn good on her—firm from yoga classes, curves that spoke of a woman who knew her body but hadn't shared it with anyone but her husband in years.
She set the kettle on, then turned, leaning against the counter. Her eyes scanned him, maternal worry mixing with something softer. "You seem different tonight. Quieter. School rough?"
He met her gaze, holding it a beat longer than usual. "Yeah. Got into a fight. Nothing big."
Her eyes widened. "A fight? Ethan, you're not the type. Who—"
"Just some asshole," he cut in, voice low. He flexed his hand under the counter, remembering the healing. "But I'm done taking shit. From anyone."
She blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone. Then she smiled, soft and understanding. "Good for you. You're eighteen now. Time to stand up for yourself." She poured the hot water, steam curling up between them.
"Here. Honey?"
He nodded, watching her drizzle it in. Their fingers brushed when she handed him the mug—electric, deliberate on his part. She didn't pull away immediately.
They talked for a while: safe stuff at first. School, her garden plans for spring, how John's business was booming but keeping him gone most nights. Ethan listened, nodding, but his mind was mapping her: the way she laughed, head tilting back to expose her throat; how she crossed her legs when she sat next to him, thigh brushing his knee "accidentally."
"You know," she said after a sip, "I always enjoy our chats. Holidays aren't the same without you popping over. Remember last Christmas? You helped me decorate the tree, and we watched those old movies till midnight."
Ethan leaned in closer, elbows on the counter. "Yeah. You looked beautiful in that red sweater. John's a lucky guy."
She flushed lightly, waving it off.
"Flatterer. You're growing up too fast."
"Not fast enough," he murmured, eyes dropping to her lips for a split second before flicking back up.
The air shifted. She cleared her throat, but didn't move away.
"So, tell me more about this fight. You win?"
He chuckled darkly. "Not yet. But I will." He reached out, casual-like, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, soft and warm.
Jane froze, green eyes widening. But she didn't slap his hand away.
"Ethan..."
"You're always so good to me," he said softly, voice dropping an octave. "Taking care of me when no one else does. I appreciate it. More than you know."
She swallowed, her chest rising faster. "You're like family. Of course I—"
"But I'm not," he interrupted, thumb tracing her jawline now. Bold, testing.
The system hummed: Seduction Progress: 10%.
"I'm a man now. And you've been alone a lot lately, haven't I noticed?"
Her hand came up, covered his, but didn't push it off. "What are you doing, honey?"
"Saying thank you," he whispered, standing slowly. He was taller than her by a few inches, close enough now that their bodies almost touched. He could smell her shampoo, feel the heat radiating from her skin.
She stepped back, but only half a step, bumping the counter. "This isn't... he could be home any minute."
"Is he?" Ethan pressed, not backing off. "Or is he in Chicago again, closing another deal?"
Her lips parted, breath quickening. Conflict warred in her eyes—fondness for the boy she'd watched grow up clashing with the spark of something forbidden.
"Ethan, stop. This is wrong."
"Is it?" He took her hand, brought it to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat. Steady, strong now thanks to the demoness's gift. "You've been lonely. I see it. Let me make you feel good for once."
She pulled her hand back, but slowly, like she didn't want to. "You're my neighbor's son. I can't—"
"You can," he said, voice firm but gentle. He cupped her face with both hands, tilting it up. Her eyes searched his, vulnerable, tempted. "Just a kiss. To say thanks."
The kettle had long since cooled. The kitchen clock ticked loud in the silence.
Jane hesitated, then—God, yes—her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned in.
Their lips met soft at first, tentative. Hers were plush, tasting of chamomile and honey. Ethan kept it slow, one hand sliding to her neck, the other to her waist. She gasped against his mouth, hands coming up to his shoulders—not pushing, gripping.
Seduction Progress: 25%.
He deepened it, tongue tracing her lower lip until she opened for him. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating through him like victory. Her body pressed closer, breasts soft against his chest, hips aligning instinctively.
When they broke apart, she was flushed, breathing hard. "Oh God... what am I doing?"
"What you want," Ethan murmured, kissing her jaw, then her neck. His hands roamed lower, cupping her ass through the yoga pants—firm, perfect. She arched into him, a small whimper escaping.
"We shouldn't," she whispered, but her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
He lifted her onto the counter effortlessly—surprising himself with the strength he didn't have before the system. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, pulling him between her thighs. He ground against her slowly, feeling the heat through their clothes.
" Ethan... " she breathed, head falling back as he kissed down her throat, nipping at the collarbone. Her tank top strap slipped off one shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast.
"Tell me to stop," he challenged, hand sliding under her shirt, palm flat on her bare stomach. Skin like silk.
She didn't. Instead, she kissed him harder, hungry now, years of suburban boredom cracking open. Her nails raked his back through his hoodie.
Seduction Progress: 50%.
He pulled back just enough to yank her tank top over her head. No bra—her breasts spilled free, full and perky for her age, nipples hard and dark. He took one in his mouth, sucking gently, then harder when she cried out.
"Yes—oh fuck, yes," she gasped, legs tightening around him.
Ethan's dick strained against his jeans, but he paced himself. Slow seduction, remember? He wanted her broken, begging, not just a quick fuck. He dropped to his knees, hooking fingers in her yoga pants and peeling them down with her panties—black lace, soaked already.
She was bare down there, smooth and glistening. "Ethan, wait—"
He didn't. He buried his face between her thighs, tongue flat against her clit. She bucked, hands fisting his hair. "Oh my God!"
He ate her like a man starved: long licks, circles around her bud, fingers sliding inside her wet heat. She was tight, responsive, flooding his mouth with her taste—sweet and musky.
"I'm—I'm gonna—" She came hard, thighs clamping his head, body shuddering as she screamed his name.
Seduction Progress: 75%.
He stood, wiping his mouth, watching her pant on the counter: hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lust.
"More," she whispered, reaching for his belt. "Please, Ethan. Fuck me."
He grinned, dark and triumphant. "Not yet. I want you to think about this tomorrow. About how bad you need it."
She whined, pulling him close, grinding against his bulge. "Don't tease. John's never... he doesn't do that."
"Good," Ethan said, kissing her deeply.
"Now you're mine."
He fucked her slow on the counter: pants around his ankles, her legs over his shoulders. She was velvet inside, clenching around him like she was made for it. He pounded deep, hitting spots that made her sob.
"Harder," she begged, nails digging into his arms. "Make me yours."
He did. Until she came again, walls pulsing, pulling him over the edge. He pulled out at the last second, spilling on her stomach—marking her.
Seduction Progress: 100%.
MILF Broken. +1000 Lust Points.
They collapsed together, her head on his shoulder. "What have we done?" she murmured, but there was no regret. Only hunger.