Three days in Yeong-suk’s house had John teetering on a razor’s edge, caught in a haze he couldn’t shake. The same white T-shirt clung to her frame today, same jeans hugged her curves, her smile still warm, her voice still soft, like she hadn’t noticed the way his eyes followed her every move. She flitted through the townhouse, tidying a shelf here, stirring a pot there, a vision of effortless grace that burned into him. Each glimpse sparked a jolt, sharp and electric, the word “mother-in-w” fshing in his mind like a live wire, setting off an itch deep inside, wild, relentless, impossible to scratch. He saw his stepmother Catherine in her sometimes, that same pull he’d buried back when this case hadn’t swallowed his life. If he had stayed clear of this mess, he thought he would be tangled up with her by now, drowning in that forbidden intimacy.

  Yeong-suk’s rule, no fooling around under her roof, had him caged from night one, a torture he hadn’t seen coming. He’d schemed quickly though: he could wait for her to head to Vitacore’s offices, then steal a moment with Seo-young, or hell, whisk her to a hotel for a night to have a proper fuck. But apparently the women had other pns. Neither budged from the house, glued to some secret talks he wasn’t allowed to. All he caught were Seo-young’s muffled giggles drifting from the next room, cut by Yeong-suk’s sharp “ahem” to hush her. Whatever they were plotting, it shut him out cold. Worse, after one of those chats, Seo-young emerged, barely hiding a smirk, cpped his shoulder like he was a kid, and dropped the bomb: she had “other tasks,” needed to leave for a few days. Just like that, she was gone, leaving him alone with Yeong-suk, her mother, his problem.

  Now, day three, the house felt smaller, walls pressing in as Yeong-suk’s presence filled every corner. She moved past him in the kitchen, brushing close enough for her scent, clean, faintly floral, to hit him like a jab. He gripped his coffee mug, knuckles pale, trying to focus on anything else: the case, Anthony, Vitacore’s dirt. But his thoughts kept slipping, traitorously, to her tits, the way it shifted under that T-shirt when she reached for a high shelf.

  Get it together, man, he growled to himself, jaw tight. This wasn’t just torture, it was a goddamn gauntlet, and he was losing.

  John’s thoughts about Yeong-suk were cwing at him, growing louder, heavier, until they felt almost unnatural, a pull stronger than anything he’d known. The idea of pinning her under him, and fucking her good and hard while she screaming like crazy was flooding his head. Just wouldn’t quit, sticking like tar. Even Catherine, his stepmother, the one he craved most, hadn’t hit him this hard, this often. With her, he could still cage his urges, keep a leash on his mind. But with Yeong-suk? He was teetering on the edge of losing it, thoughts slipping into pces he’d never gone, dark, twisted corners he’d always despised, now whispering in his own skull.

  Fucking weird.

  He couldn’t keep this up. If he stayed, something would break, his mind, her life, everything. He needed out, needed to cw back control before he did something he’d regret. Clearing his throat, he caught Yeong-suk’s eye as she set a kettle on in the kitchen. “I’m gonna step out a bit, take a walk,” he mumbled, already halfway to the door.

  Her response came warm, ced with that mother-in-w care that sank into him like a hook. “Be safe out there, John. Don’t get lost. Come back for dinner, okay?” She stepped closer, her hand ruffling his hair with a gentle, maternal pat, her smile soft and doting. That kind of mom-warmth, and it always hit him hard, melting his defenses. His pulse roared, the itch inside deepening, a heat surging so fierce he half-expected his nose to gush blood.

  “Sure,” he choked out, barely a word, and bolted for the door, her chuckle trailing him, kind, oblivious, shaking her head like he was just a goofy kid.

  Outside, Asteryne’s hum swallowed him. John kept his head low, boots scuffing pavement, drawn to the city’s darker veins. The narrower the alley, the shadier the vibe, the deeper he went, eyes scanning for, well, prostitutes. These backstreets, with their flickering signs and shadowed corners, were where you found them. His pn was primal, stripped bare: track down a working MILF, tip her more than generously, and ask her to have a rolepy as his mom or mom-in-w, just enough to douse the fire in his head. He passed a few spots where young girls, barely out of their twenties, leaned in doorways under pink neon, fshing smiles and beckoning waves. But they weren’t MILF, not even close. He needed a mature woman, nothing less, nothing else.

  He lost track of how many turns he’d taken, how many shadowed corners he’d passed in this maze of an alley, each one blurring into the next. Girls fshed smiles from doorways, their waves soft under flickering signs, but he kept moving, driven by his need for a mom. Then, at the end of a narrow bend, he saw it, a shack like the others, dim and unmarked, its light a faint yellow haze spilling onto the cracked pavement. Inside, a lone woman sat at a table, draped head-to-toe in a flowing linen robe, beige and heavy, hiding every curve. Her hands moved over something on the table, too shadowed for John to make out. Only her face showed, its contours clear even in the gloom, mature, sharp, a woman who’d seen years and carried them well. John took a deep breath. This is it, he thought, and stepped inside.

  “This isn’t the kind of pce you’re looking for. Leave,” she said, her voice ringing out the second his boot crossed the threshold. It was rich, warm, like honey pooling slow, catching him off guard and holding him fast. His eyes flicked to the table, tarot cards, scattered in deliberate patterns. He squinted at her face, still half-hidden in the low light. She hadn’t looked up, her brow furrowed, focused on the deck like he wasn’t even there. Up close, her beauty sharpened, mature, striking, with lines that spoke of time rather than wear. Something about her tugged at him, a ghost of familiarity he couldn’t pce.

  Pretty sure I don’t know her, he told himself, shaking it off. He raised a hand, backing off. “Sorry, I’ll leave now.”

  “Wait!” Her voice snapped out, sharp now, stopping him cold. She lifted her head, eyes locking onto his, studying him like a puzzle she’d lost years ago. And her expression shifted, confusion, pain, something deeper, twisting in ways John couldn’t read. He swore he saw a glint of tears, her gaze carrying a weight that hit him square in the chest. It was like Yeong-suk’s touch earlier, that maternal warmth when she’d ruffled his hair, but heavier, stranger. This woman hadn’t moved, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t spoken beyond that one word. She just looked, and it was enough to make his skin prickle, almost like she was looking at her son, maybe?

  Under her gaze, John felt the fire in his chest bze hotter, a raw heat that seemed to pour from his eyes, unhideable. The woman sensed it too, her lips curling into a faint, self-mocking smile. “It’s not time yet,” she said softly. “When it is, I’ll find you.” She fell silent, head dipping back to the tarot cards on her table, fingers tracing their edges. Under her breath, she murmured, “Destiny, huh?”

  John had no clue what she meant, her words tangling in his head. Should he press her? She seemed like some mystic, a fortune-teller type, not someone he was looking for, not someone he needed. She’d made that clear from the start: this wasn’t that kind of pce. He realized his gaze earlier, naked, hungry, embarrassing him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered again, turning to go, the door’s creak loud in the quiet.

  Outside, he wandered, thoughts churning. Maybe settle for one of those girls who’d waved earlier? Better than nothing, he figured. But before he could double back, his phone buzzed, and it was Yeong-suk.

  “John, dinner’s almost ready. You heading home?” Her voice, warm and expectant, pulled him up short. He shook his head, sighing, resigned to the torment waiting back at her pce. “Yeah, on my way.”

  Dinner mirrored the st two nights, savory dishes steaming on the table, light chatter filling the room, and Yeong-suk nudging him to share her soju. That first evening, he’d bmed the alcohol for his unusual filthy thoughts, the way they spiraled around her. But yesterday, he’d dodged drinking, ciming a headache, and the darkness in him still grew, sharper, hungrier. Booze wasn’t the issue; it was him, something broken inside. Might as well get shit-headed, he thought. Getting pstered, passing out, that felt safer than staying awake, wrestling urges he couldn’t trust. So he drank, gss after gss, matching Yeong-suk’s pace until her face blurred across the table. He thought he caught her saying, “You’re like the son I never had,” or maybe, “It’s really nice being with you.” Later, he vaguely recalled her sliding close, her hand rubbing his back, soothing the liquor’s kick. Then bckout. Nothing left but haze.

  John jolted awake in the dead of night, stirred by the soft rustle of someone rummaging through the closet. His eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep. He y in Seo-young’s old bed, dressed in clean, soft pajamas, freshly changed, not his doing. His skin felt scrubbed, the sour reek of soju gone, like someone had wiped him down while he was out. But that unusual fire that he felt he couldn’t control in his chest burned on, wild and untamed, no amount of sleep or booze able to snuff it out.

  Across the room, a figure stood at the closet, back to him. Sleek, straight bck hair fell past her shoulders, catching the dim light. A white T-shirt hugged her frame, tucked into loose, tailored suit pants, those signature scks he’d seen a hundred times. Seo-young’s finally back, he thought, heart kicking hard, a rush of relief and hunger flooding him.

  Rules be damned. Yeong-suk’s no-fucking decree could burn for all he cared. Tonight, he needed her, needed to have her until the ache in him broke. His mind raced, already scheming, wondering how to coax Seo-young into that game Cami loved, the “Mommy game”.

  He reached out, arms wrapping tight around her from behind, his hips pressing hard against her ass, his rock-hard penis between her butt cheeks. His hands found her tits, kneading through the fabric, urgent and hungry. He kissed her neck, her ear, breath ragged, voice low and rough in her ear. “Baby, screw your mom’s rules. I need to fuck you till I fill you up tonight.” The woman in his arms shivered, a thrill running through her, her body answering his heat.

  Clothes weren’t enough, he wanted more, needed skin. His fingers gripped her T-shirt, tearing it open from the neckline with a sharp rip, yanking her bra away. He cupped her bare tits, hands working harder, her flesh softer, lusher than he remembered, almost too perfect. But when he pinched her nipples like he always did, something felt off, bigger, fuller, not Seo-young’s at all. These were a mature woman’s tits, gone through breast feeding, shaped by motherhood. His thigh brushed her ass below, rounder, more pronounced than he knew. Realization crashed in like ice water. This wasn’t Seo-young. It was her mom, Yeong-suk.

  He froze, hands still on her, mind bnk with panic. Yeong-suk spun, shoving him back with a force that staggered him. “What are you doing, John!?” Her voice cracked sharp, a tremor beneath the steel, her eyes fshing with tension, part fear, part something else. Her cheeks glowed red, flushed with undeniable heat. Her torn shirt gaped open, her full breasts spilling free, her big, swollen nipples high and proud above her equally bold areo below. No question, MILF tits, raw and commanding.

  Shocked at the scene in front of him, he was fumbling for words, maybe an apology? But then he saw the thing on her hand, a vibrator, long, thick and bold.

  Maybe… she needs… some help? John thought to himself, staring at her flushed face, her erect nipples and that vibrator on her hand.

  Before he could shake this ridiculous idea off his head, Yeong-suk snapped, and spped him on the face, “I'm your mother-in-w! Stop staring, you fucking pig!”

  And that “mother-in-w” was his st straw, his reason completely gone. He wrapped his arms around Yeong-suk’s waist firm and pulled her close, mouth tching onto her big juicy nipples, tongue swirling, smack—smack echoing.

  “Stop it now, John! Mouth off my… my chest!” she chided, as she squirmed in his arms, but his grip only tightened around her.

  “You mean your tits, mom. Sorry, I'll help you with your needs ter. But have to taste your tits first. So fucking delicious! Wish you had some milk for your son-in-w,” John muttered between his loud sucks, breath heaving. His hand reached down, yanking her pants button open, going through her underwear. And She was already all wet, soaked.

  “Noooooo! Don't touch it!” her voice rough now, but moans slipped out, her control fraying. The slick on John's fingers sent a jolt through his spine. Without any wait, he stuck two fingers into her pussy, picking, circling.

  “Don't worry, mom. I’ll take care of it soon,” he even smirked when he said this.

  Yeong-suk beat her fists against John's back, but he didn’t flinch at all, not even lifting his head from her breasts, mouth still tching on her tits. With a swift motion, he caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head, “stop fighting back. You are having your son-in-w’s cock tonight, the same cock your daughter sucked and rode.”

  “No! No! Anything but that!” Yeong-suk’s voice panicked, “Let me use my hand. I can give you a handjob, what do you say? You can still… suck… while I do it…”

  She tossed out John’s favorite way of handjob, tempting indeed, but hell no. He just buried his head in her chest, fingers still enjoying the wetness of her vagina, juice dripping onto his palm.

  “Aaah! Stop it! Aaah! You are hurting me,” she gasped. John actually let out a quick chuckle upon hearing this. She was gushing. Clearly she was enjoying his fingers.

  Hurting her? She probably meant she wanted three fingers instead of two, John thought, his reason shattering to pieces.

  Seeing John didn’t react at all to her proposal of a handjob, Yeong-suk sounded like she was begging now, “we can’t have sex, John. Think about Seo-young! She’s your future wife, and I’m your mother-in-w! I can… I can give you a bl…blowjob, okay?”

  John finally lifted his head up from her breasts, “no, mom. Not today. Need your mouth to scream while being fucked by your son-in-w.” He then hauled Yeong-suk up, and threw her onto the bed. She nded on her back but she quickly flipped on her limbs, trying to crawl off the bed and leave, while John just shoved her back and pinned her tight, with her weight still resting on her knees, legs parted and ass high up, her face smashing into the mattress. He then yanked her pants down to her knees, binding her legs so she would stumble if she tried to escape, her dripping pussy bare right in front of him. He wanted to have a taste of her juice for sure, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to feel her inside, to feel her pussy wrapping his cock warm and tight, to scratch the itch in his chest and the itch in her pussy.

  He shoved his length all the way in, quick, hard, relentless, as Yeong-suk cried out a loud, high-pitched Aaah, then he started smashing his hip as hard as he could. Her cheek pressed against the sheets, breath hitching, as he pulled her hips back, quick, hard, making her feel every inch of it.

  “You are stretched well, mom. Your daughter is a bit too tight for me,” he taunted as the darkness inside him stirred, spreading like wildfire, “That vibrator did its job, but you won’t need it anymore. You’ve got your son-in-w to take care of the stretching now.”

  No words came out from Yeong-suk anymore, just heavy breaths, loud screams, and moans torn between pain and pleasure, shameful, almost filthy, as if she’d given up on stopping him.

  “Say something, mom. How’s it feel to have your son-in-w’s cock inside you?” No answer.

  He paced up his thrusts even more, “do you like your son-in-w fucking you this hard?” Still not a word from Yeong-suk, just screams and moans.

  He raised his hand, and spped onto her fat, bouncy ass, a sharp crack ringing out as his handprint seared into her skin, bright and red.

  “Ouch!” She let out a gasp, pained and pleasured. But she bit her lip shut, still not answering John’s question. John wasn’t letting her off until he got the answer he wanted. So the second crack, then the third; the fourth crack, then the fifth until she yelled out loud, rough and raw, “yes, yes, stop spping my ass! Fuck your mother-in-w hard, you fucking pig!”

  With her yell, John felt her pussy was sucking his cock in, as if it was trying to milk him dry. His cock twitched hard, and he was about to burst.

  “No, not inside, John!” But it was too te. John pulled her ass tight against his crotch, balls pressing on her thighs, and unloaded his seeds all inside her. The amount was huge from days of pent-up, and the overflow spilled out from her pussy. And only till then, a flicker of sense cwed back into him. He finally pulled out, a sticky thread mixed of his cum and her juice glistening under the dim light.

  What the fuck have I done? John buried his face in his hands, breath shuddering, his brows drawn tight with regret and guilt. What the fuck got into me? What he did, what he said, joy and pleasure a minute ago, now just shame and guilt. His heart was racing, as he was trying to find something, anything to say to Yeong-suk, and it was at that moment her voice snapped him back out of his thoughts.

  "At least you passed the test," she murmured, her voice raw from all the screaming, hoarse, breathy, but unmistakably thrilled. "Barely, though."

  John’s guilt was quickly repced by confusion. He wasn't sure what she meant by “test” at all. Yeong-suk ignored his confusion, and flipped to lie on her back, her bouncy, soft tits jiggling from her move. She stuck two fingers into her own pussy, picked out some of John’s fresh cum, still hot, thick. Then she looked at it, smelled it, and adding to John’s confusion, she tasted it.

  “Your self-control is honestly impressive,” Yeong-suk said between shallow breaths. “I mean it. I had to triple the dose, and put on Seo-young’s clothes just to finally get you to make a move on me.”

  Triple the dose? She drugged me? For what? And how? Food was from the same ptes and the soju was from the same bottle.

  But one thing John was sure of now, he was pyed, outpyed by this mother-in-w. Now he thought of it, she was trying to dig out her vibrator in her daughter’s room? That simply didn’t make any sense. But he still had absolutely no clue of what all this was about. If she just wanted sex, she could’ve just seduced or asked. There would be absolutely no need to use drugs and disguises to edge him into, well, let’s face it, raping.

  She took another breath, then looked at John, her expression shifting, serious, almost stern.

  “But I need to remind you, my son-in-w. If we want the next phase of our pn to work, something has to change.” Her eyes locked onto his.

  “You’re way, way too soft with women, so soft it can be even seen as weak. And that,” she said ftly, “is going to get you killed one day, especially with all the shit you’ve pulled”

  What the fuck?