"Ito-kun… is there something you need, visiting so late at night?" Sayuri's voice was a low, teasing purr.
She had shed her modest daytime kimono hours ago.
Now she lounged before me in a set of sheer black lingerie that clung to every dangerous curve—lace cups barely containing the heavy swell of her breasts, the dark fabric translucent enough to reveal the stiff peaks of her nipples pressing against it.
A thin garter belt framed her wide hips, stockings sliding up her long, pale thighs, leaving the smooth expanse of her inner legs and the shadowed promise between them tantalizingly exposed.
"Auntie… do you know about my past?" I asked, forcing my gaze back to her face despite the heat pooling in my gut. "You seem to be the only relative who's visited me so far, and the only one who's offered to take me in. I don't know… for some reason, my memories of my mother and my own childhood are all blurred."
It wasn't just an excuse for my transmigration—the original owner of this body genuinely had no memories of his early years.
His mind only held three years of a lonely, dusty high school existence in a run-down apartment.
Sayuri appeared perfectly calm, as if she'd been expecting this question all along.
A knowing chuckle escaped her lips. "Tell me, Ito-kun… do you know who your father was?"
"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. In the canon I remembered, Ito Makoto's father was the lowest kind of scumbag. I wanted nothing to do with that kind of man, even in this new life.
It might seem hypocritical for me to critique his rotten nature while I'm hardly a saint myself, but so what? I'm a hypocrite. I own it. I'll hate whoever I damn well please.
"Well," Sayuri began, swirling the dark wine in her glass. "He was, in fact, the first man in recorded history to sire so many children by so many different women. A true pioneer of spreading his seed far and wide. Unfortunately for him, he eventually provoked someone he shouldn't have… and he died for it."
She took a slow sip, her eyes glinting over the rim. "I hope you won't follow in his footsteps, Ito-kun. His life proved that sacred bonds of marriage aren't meant to be violated so brazenly. Heaven's wrath is no joking matter."
I ignored her little sermon about loyalty and being tied down to one woman. I wasn't here for a morality lesson.
"What about my memories?" I pressed, my voice flat. "You seem to know something, auntie."
"Oh… that." Her expression turned pitying, almost dismissive. "You really don't want to know. Your childhood was… unpleasant. My sister—your mother—was the one who bore your father his only son. The other women in his… collection… did not take kindly to that. And you know what happens when jealous women, all desperate for the affection of one man, decide to focus their bitterness on a child."
She shook her glass, watching the wine swirl like liquid resentment.
"Then again," she added, a dark, mirthless chuckle bubbling up, "it stopped mattering soon enough. When my sister died, that man's good fortune ran out rather quickly."
She seemed to revel in the memory of my father's demise, the satisfaction clear in her tone.
I looked at her, the question hanging in the thick air between us. "Did you kill him, auntie?"
"Well now, good boy, some questions are better left unasked. Come here." Sayuri's voice was a velvet command as she patted the sheets beside her, signaling for me to join her.
I didn't hesitate. I climbed into her bed, and she immediately drew me close, nestling my head against the soft warmth of her chest.
One of her hands came up to gently stroke my black hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on my scalp.
"Hmm… I was supposed to match you with Eriri, you know," she mused, her tone light but her eyes dark with a different intent. "But, well… it seems love can't be forced. Don't you think, Ito-kun?"
A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her as her gaze drifted downward, fixing on the obvious bulge straining against my trousers. My cock was already rock-hard, throbbing with need.
She didn't wait for permission—she never did.
Her hand moved with confident purpose, tugging my trousers and underwear down in one smooth motion.
My erection sprang free, thick and aching, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
She wrapped her warm fingers around the shaft, gripping me firmly, her touch both tender and possessive.
"Come closer, my sweet boy," she commanded, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.
With her free hand, she untied the delicate lace front of her black lingerie.
The fabric parted slowly, revealing her full, heavy breasts—pale, impossibly soft, crowned with stiff pink nipples that begged to be tasted.
Driven by instinct deeper than thought, I lowered my head and took one into my mouth.
I sucked hard, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as warm milk suddenly flooded my tongue—thick, creamy, with an unexpected sweet strawberry flavor that made me moan against her skin.
Despite not being pregnant, her body gave freely, lactating as if just for me. The sensation was intoxicating.
Sayuri sighed in pleasure, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through her chest.
Her hand began to move on my cock—slow at first, then faster, stroking from base to tip with perfect pressure, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking pre-cum down my length.
My hands weren't idle.
I groped her other breast greedily, kneading the soft, yielding flesh, pinching and rolling the nipple between my fingers until more milk beaded and dripped.
The dual pleasure—suckling her sweet milk while she pumped my cock—drove me insane.
My hips bucked uncontrollably into her fist, breath coming in ragged gasps.
The pressure built fast, too fast.
With a strangled groan, I came hard.
Thick ropes of cum erupted from my cock, splattering across her stroking hand, her wrist, her stomach, even reaching the underside of her breasts.
She kept pumping through my orgasm, milking every last drop until I shuddered and went limp against her.
Sayuri laughed softly—low, pleased, almost proud.
She brought her cum-smeared hand to her lips and licked a long, deliberate stripe through the mess, her tongue swirling to savor the taste while her eyes stayed locked on mine.
"Good night, sweetie. I hope you have pleasant dreams," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction.
Then she leaned in and kissed me, not a chaste peck, but a deep, lingering claim that lasted far longer than a simple goodbye.
She turned away then, presenting the elegant curve of her back and the lush swell of her ass beneath the thin lingerie.
I slipped in behind her, trousers still around my thighs, my cock—already stirring again—nestling hot and hard against the cleft of her ass.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, burying my face in her hair.
Her scent enveloped me completely—warm skin, faint sweat, rich perfume, and the lingering sweetness of milk and sex. It was intoxicating, calming, overwhelming.
Held against her, surrounded by her warmth and the aftermath of our intimacy, I finally let the darkness at the edges of my consciousness pull me under, consumed by a deep, satiated sleep.
[Even with your consciousness shut down, your body's raw instinct took over. You began to move, plunging your erect cock into her tight, pink pussy. She moaned, surrendering completely as you ravaged her in your sleep, your hips moving on pure, hungry autopilot.]
[That feeling lasted until morning—a deep, rhythmic claiming that only faded as the first light filtered through the curtains.]
[You opened your eyes to find your cock still buried inside her, a profound sense of comfort and mental freshness washing over you, as if every tension had been fucked out of you overnight.]
"Auntie… I didn't mean to," I stammered, hurriedly pulling my cock from her slick, tight heat.
My cock slipped free with a wet sound, and thick strands of my semen immediately leaked from her swollen pink folds, trailing down her thighs in a creamy, unmistakable proof of what we'd done.
She looked up at me, her gaze drunk and hazy with need.
"Keep going, sweetie," she murmured, her voice low and hungry. "Fill me. Take me. Make me yours."
I broke instantly.
Any last shred of restraint shattered.
I pushed her back down into the mattress and drove into her without warning, slamming my cock back into her dripping pussy—harder this time, deeper, claiming her like I'd wanted to from the start.
"Yes… just like that… Fuck me, Ito-kun…" she gasped, nails raking down my back as her legs locked around my waist. "Fuck your sister's mom… make this pussy yours…"
God, this woman was filthy in the best way.
Nothing like Eriri's first time—slow, careful, building gently into passion.
With Sayuri, I held nothing back.
I pounded into her from the very first thrust, hips snapping forward with raw force, and she took it greedily—moaning loud and shameless, pussy clenching around me with every brutal stroke, her body begging for more roughness.
"Auntie… I'm gonna cum," I grunted, pace turning erratic as the pressure built.
"Cum inside me, sweetie…" Sayuri tightened her hold, arms and legs wrapping around me like a vice, refusing to let me pull out even an inch. "Give it all to me…"
I roared as I let go. "Fuck! Your pussy feels so good, Auntie… I need it so bad…"
Thick pulses flooded her, pumping deep into her womb until I had nothing left.
But we weren't close to finished. The hunger only grew.
We rolled across the bed, fucking desperately—her on her back, then on her side, then bent over the edge as I took her from behind, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
Every surface in the room became part of it: against the wall, on the floor, back on the sheets already soaked with sweat and cum.
Sayuri turned into a trembling, dripping mess beneath me, pussy swollen and leaking, until I finally collapsed beside her, chest heaving.
But she wasn't done.
She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips. "Once more, Ito-kun… I can keep going."
I smiled up at her softly, my hands moving to grab her breasts, squeezing gently. "Don't worry, Auntie. I can still stand and give you a lot more love."
She smiled in satisfaction, a wicked, pleased glint in her eyes. "Good boy."
In one smooth motion, she sank down onto my cock again, taking every inch into her tight, greedy pussy with a long, shuddering moan.
Then she rode me—hard, relentless, hips grinding and bouncing in the soft morning light.
Her breasts swayed with every movement, her head thrown back as she chased her own pleasure, using me exactly how she wanted.
We lost all sense of time.
Again and again—missionary, cowgirl, doggy, standing against the window—we fucked until the entire day slipped away.
Hours of raw, sweat-drenched passion, bodies slick and aching, the room thick with the scent of sex.
By the end, Sayuri was utterly spent, trembling in my arms, pussy overflowing, marked inside and out as completely mine.