PFC Chapter 491- Taking a MILF’s heart First
Chapter 491- Taking a MILF’s heart First
The woman stared at him, completely frozen in place. The warm, golden light of the bonfire painted her in flickering amber, highlighting the soft, heavy curve of her breasts straining against her worn blouse, the natural roundness of her wide hips, and the delicate, highly vulnerable trembling of her lower lip.
"I..." she started, her voice barely a whisper. "I don’t know what you mean, sir. I am a married woman."
Tianlong said absolutely nothing for a long, devastating moment. He simply stood up from the tree log, his full, towering height unfolding itself slowly, like a predator who had all the time in the world. The red-and-gold cultivation robe shifted around his frame, and beneath it, a muffled, deeply devoted ’schluck’ sounded against his inner thigh as Yuna adjusted her position, her warm mouth still cradling his heavy, throbbing cock with complete, unwavering devotion.
The sensation sent a thin, barely visible pulse of heat through his crimson-gold eyes, which remained entirely, devastatingly fixed on the woman in front of him. As he rose, the unique aura of his horny god physique began to stir—his skin, warmed by the festival fire and the hidden presence of Yuna, released a faint, invisible mist of pheromones. It was not magic in the crude sense, but a biological gift of his bloodline: a natural chemical secretion that mimicked and amplified human arousal hormones, slipping through the air like scentless vapor, targeting the receptors in her body without her ever knowing why her pulse had suddenly quickened.
He took one slow step forward. Then another.
"A married woman," he repeated, his voice low and rich, the sound rolling through the warm festival air like distant thunder. He tilted his head slightly. "Who stands alone at a festival while her husband walks away."
She flinched. The words landed exactly where he intended them to, striking directly against the raw, tender bruise of fresh humiliation. Her soft hands tightened instinctively around the fabric of her cheap skirt, the knuckles going pale. Already, the faint hormonal haze drifting from his body was doing its subtle work—her cheeks felt warmer than the fire could explain, a slow flush creeping down her neck.
"T-That’s..." she started, her heavy boobs rising with a sharp, defensive intake of breath. "That’s not your concern."
"You’re right," Tianlong said simply, coming to a stop barely two feet in front of her.
She blinked, genuinely surprised that he had agreed. Her guard dropped by exactly one careful inch.
He took that inch without hesitation.
His large, calloused hand shot out and gently, completely disarmingly, wrapped around her soft wrist.
"W-Wait—!" she gasped, her eyes going wide. "Wait, what are you doing?!"
But he had already moved, pulling her forward with a slow, irresistible firmness that wasn’t violent but was entirely, absolutely impossible to refuse. She stumbled a half-step toward him, her heavy breasts jolting forward with the sudden motion, the soft globes bouncing heavily beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. The closer she came, the thicker the invisible chemical aura grew around him; her body responded instinctively, ovaries and adrenal glands flooding with stimulated estrogen and cortisol-dampened fear, turning hesitation into a hazy, warm fog.
"You look tired," Tianlong said, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet, almost genuinely concerned. His hand moved from her wrist to her lower back, the large palm pressing flat and warm against the small of her spine, guiding her with a practiced, devastating gentleness toward the shadows at the edge of the firelight, where the thick cluster of festival bushes provided an intimate wall of darkness. "Are you alright? I saw how he spoke to you."
"I—" The simple, quiet question broke something open in her chest. Her throat tightened immediately, the burning, humiliating sting of her husband’s dismissal rushing back in full force. "It’s... it’s nothing. We’re fine." Yet even as she spoke, her steps followed his without real resistance; the hormonal stimulation had already begun softening the edges of her panic, making her limbs feel heavier, her skin more sensitive to the heat radiating from his body.
"You’re not fine," he said, pulling her the final step into the shadowed privacy of the bushes, the warm noise of the festival becoming a distant, muffled backdrop. The firelight barely reached here, painting everything in a dim, intimate amber glow. He had chosen this spot deliberately—not just for seclusion, but because the enclosed air would trap and concentrate the pheromone mist seeping from his pores, ensuring her body had no choice but to absorb it fully.
And then his arms wrapped around her.
A genuine, full embrace. His broad, impossibly solid chest pressed against her soft, heavy breasts, and his arms encircled her completely, one hand resting warmly between her shoulder blades and the other—
’Squish.’
His large, calloused hand dropped directly onto the full, round curve of her ass, groping the soft, generous flesh through the fabric of her cheap skirt with a slow, entirely possessive squeeze.
She gasped sharply, her face going crimson. "T-This is wrong!" she cried, her voice cracking with real, genuine distress, her hands pressing flat against his chest in a weak attempt to create distance. "We don’t even know each other! You can’t just—I’m a wife, I have a child, this is completely—" But the protest faltered midway; the direct skin-to-skin contact through his thin robe was now flooding her system with a concentrated wave of his chemical essence. Her nipples tightened painfully against her blouse, her core clenched with an involuntary throb, and a fresh, confusing slickness bloomed between her thighs. It felt too sudden, too intense to be natural—yet her mind, clouded by the hormones, rationalized it as nothing more than the lingering ache of her husband’s cruelty.
"I know," he said, his chin dipping down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I know it’s wrong."
The quiet admission completely disarmed her. She had expected him to push, to argue, to overpower her objections with brute logic. Instead, his voice carried something that sounded almost like genuine, shared sorrow.
"I know it’s wrong," he murmured again, his warm breath ghosting directly into her ear, his lips barely grazing the delicate skin. The exhaled pheromones hit her bloodstream like a slow drug, accelerating her heart rate and dulling the sharp edges of shame into something warmer, more liquid. "Just like it’s wrong that a woman like you is standing alone at a festival while her husband walks away with her child. Just like it’s wrong that no one has looked at you—really looked at you—in a very, very long time."
’badump. badump.’
Her heart was hammering so loudly she was certain he could feel it against his chest. A small, rational voice in her head screamed that this was madness—she should shove him, scream for help, run back to the firelight where lanterns bobbed and families laughed. But her feet stayed rooted; the hormonal surge had already weakened her knees, turning potential flight into a trembling need to simply stay pressed against his solid frame.
"T-That’s..." Her voice came out broken, barely held together. "That’s not..."
"When did he last hold you?" Tianlong said quietly, his lips now fully pressed against the soft curve of her earlobe. His teeth grazed it—a feather-light, devastating graze that sent an immediate, electric bolt of sensation firing straight down her spine, amplified tenfold by the chemical fire now racing through her veins. "When did he last tell you that you were beautiful?"