A young man—probably in his twenties—sat hunched over his desk, dim blue light from the monitor washing over his weary face. Heavy bags sagged beneath his bloodshot eyes. His shoulders drooped like a man carrying years of debt rather than days.
"Erik, take these files too. You've got to complete it by tomorrow. See ya!"
Another voice rang from behind—his manager, perhaps in his forties, already halfway out the office gate with his coat slung over one shoulder.
"There's still more left? I thought it was almost over!"
"Yeah, it was. But the company changed a few things last minute... so... good luck!"
The door slammed shut.
Erik groaned and slumped forward. "Aww man, not again..."
He rubbed his temples, then sighed. "Seven days straight... no breaks... no holidays... just back-to-back 12 to 16-hour shifts."
The coffee had stopped working after Day 3.
He hadn't left the office in almost a week—sleeping on the small couch behind the desk, eating from vending machines when he remembered to, and showering at odd hours in the building's grimy washroom. His body felt like rusted machinery. His soul felt worse.
He was just a normal office worker—well, a severely overworked one. Still, when he graduated from college, he had a dream.
"Get a job. Screw a few MILFs. Live a good life."
But now even that fantasy had burned out. Reality beat imagination until it cowered in a corner.
Inflation. Debt. Rent.
Bills stacked faster than paychecks, and he clung to the first company that hired him—blind to the warning signs, unaware it was a black company that fed on human hours like a vampire.
"Haaah... finally..."
He slumped back in his chair, the report finished. He blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused. "No dinner. Can't go out now—it's too late... too cold..."
He yawned. His body sagged forward, eyelids drooping.
Head hitting the desk with a thud.
But this time... the sleep didn't feel like collapse.
It felt like surrender. Like slipping into warm water, wrapped silk, mother's arms.
A comfort he hadn't known in years.
Then slowly but surely--
He heard sounds. First far. Then it seemed to be close. Too close.
As if someone was breathing just next to him.
Soft. Feminine.Right beside him.
His eyes opened softly. Only to find darkness all around him and a sense of breathing just near him.
But he couldn't focus on that now, since he was already puzzled by something.
His mind felt clear. Clear as in he hadn't felt since the moment he had joined the company or even before that. A sense of clarity like none before. He inspected his body, only to find that his core was shaped like a greek god. Packs on it. His hands had muscles that felt like they could really do some manual work. And his chest? it was bigger than many ...ermm..(No offense) Follow current novels on novel·fiɾe·net
Erik tried to jerk up but then he suddenly stopped.
He was sleeping beside someone.
Someone that had a really nice scent. Like lavendar.
Then suddenly a jolt of pain rushed to his head-- he clutched his head. He wanted to cry, to writh but he didn't. He couldn't. The pain only remained for a few minutes.
But then it subsided.
And with it; came the memories.
Visions flooded in—flashes of a quiet, awkward teenage boy named Eren. For years, he'd lived in another village with his adoptive parents till he was 13 —until his maternal aunt, Mira, sent a request: Come help at my tavern. I need someone reliable.
Apparently, no one else would work for her. Especially not men.
Not because she was cruel, or abusive. No—a part of this had to because she was a MILF.
Not the kind celebrated in adult videos or locker-room fantasies. No, in this world, mature women—specially those with big busts and generous asses—were dismissed. Seen as not preferential. Frowned upon. Ignored.
In this world, The preference was a slim body with small tits and tight asses.
Since that looked more feminine to men here.
And so, Mira —36, his step-aunt, despite her curves and a big bust falling under it. Alongwith some strong hands that really looked like they can—Stroke some things and hips fuller than any he'd seen in his previous life was still unmarried, unwanted. Never experiencing any man. Or even their gazes towards her.
But now— Eren smiled weakly looking at the ceiling.
That was only the case until now.
Since from today onward, he'd show his aunt everything that she'd never experinced. And he'd make her show everything that he'd never had—An experience of MIlfs—naked ones.
Eren laid back, heartbeat quickening.
Her body was so close to him that he could feel the warmth radiating through the sheets.
Mira—his aunt was just less than an arm length away from him.
Just immediate next to him.
She faced away, breathing slow, chest gently rising and falling under her thin nightgown.
And thats when it hit Eren: She thinks I'm still the same disinterested boy she raised.
He never ogled her. Never reacted when her loose sarashi dipped too low, or when her areola peeked through the threadbare fabric. He never stared when she washed herself in the basin out back, or changed gowns in front of him, too exhausted to care.
But that's about to change.
Eren's fingers twitched.
Just once. Just to confirm what I already know.
He slid his hand forward, inch by inch under the blanket. Slowly, First, his hands bumped to the curve of her waist. Soft, warm, supple.
His hand trailed upward slowly but surely. Shoulder. Neck. Still nothing.
Then, he braced himself and slid his hand down along her ribs—lower, curving toward the side of her chest.
Finally for the first time in his both lives. He touched.
Mira's breasts were immense—heavier and fuller than he'd ever imagined. His hand couldn't even hold it fully; soft, plump flesh overflowed his fingers, warm and yielding. Eren squeezed gently, reveling in the voluptuousness.
He suddenly jolted, pulling his hands back as if he'd touched fire.
His heart thundered in his ears.
She was in deep sleep.
Eren swallowed thickly. She didn't notice. She never would. Not if I stayed careful.
His hand returned, slower this time, more confident.
He cupped her breast fully—one hand wasn't enough to hold it all. It spilled over the sides of his palm, warm and soft, the weight heavenly. It felt like he's holding milk, kept in a silk bag.
It reacted to his grip. Compressed slightly, then sprang back as he kneaded gently.
Eren froze. The suppleneess of the tits hitting hard.
She was still asleep.
He gave the flesh a slow squeeze, kneading gently. She didn't move, didn't even shift. Her breathing stayed slow and even.
Every nerve in his body screamed.
Shaft throbbed. Under the blanket. Hard as stone. Barely missing her backside.
He groped her again—slow, reverent, the way you touch something forbidden. His body burned.
But his heart was racing too fast now. He couldn't keep control.
Reluctantly, he drew his hand back.
[Synchronization Complete. Host Identity: Eren Voss (Adopted), 18 years old.
Current Location: Hinterland Village.
Guardian: Mira Voss, adoptive mother's younger sister.]
[M*$U*#@S^$ COMPLETED: $^%$#@]
A light flickered above his head. A strange floating screen appeared in mid-air, characters glitching across it—symbols he couldn't read.
He blinked at it. Once. Twice.
His heartbeat was still too fast. His skin tingled from what he'd just done.
And with that heat still swirling in his blood—
You think I don't see you Aunt Mira?
I'm not going to waste the view.