SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All!

It was a cool, crisp morning, sunlight spilling through the thin white curtains and painting soft golden streaks across the kitchen floor. The air outside still carried that early-morning chill that made every breath feel sharp and clean.

Inside, the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the sound of a knife meeting the cutting board filled the silence.

Yelena stood by the counter, her hair neatly brushed, her apron tied with practiced precision. She looked every bit the picture of composure, calm, elegant, perfectly put together.

No one would have guessed that only last night she had been a trembling mess—her hair in disarray, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in uneven gasps as Mika’s lips had explored every inch of her.

But even now, that memory wouldn’t leave her alone.

She sighed quietly as she sliced into a ripe peach, her movements slower than usual. The knife glided through the tender flesh with ease, and when she picked up one of the slices, her fingers brushed against the soft, juicy surface.

A strange heat rose to her face.

The texture, so smooth and yielding, reminded her of Mika’s lips.

Her grip faltered slightly and she stared at the fruit in her hand for a long moment, her thoughts betraying her composure.

She remembered the way Mika had kissed her the night before, how unexpectedly deep it had been.

His tongue had moved against hers, slow at first, then firm, claiming her breath and reason with every second.

It wasn’t like the fleeting touches he used to give, those soft, affectionate kisses on her forehead or cheek that once made her heart race.

No, this was entirely different.

This was hunger and warmth and emotion all tangled together.

For years, she had thought those little gestures were already the peak of what she could ever hope for.

But last night had shattered that illusion. That single kiss had opened an entirely new world inside her, one that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

And, shamefully, she felt something else too, jealousy.

Jealousy toward her own daughter.

For all those years Charlotte had been the one Mika kissed like that, held like that, tasted like that, while she, had been on the outside, pretending to be content with small crumbs of affection.

It was wrong to think that way, she knew that. But denying it now was impossible. She was too far gone.

At least here, alone, she could be honest with herself.

Her thumb traced the slick edge of the peach slice, and before she knew it, she was imagining Mika again, his mouth, his warmth, his breath mixing with hers. The thought made her chest tighten, her pulse flutter.

Almost without realizing it, she brought the slice to her lips. The sweet fragrance filled her senses. She brushed her mouth against it lightly at first, testing, then pressed harder, her lips moving against the fruit in a slow, lingering kiss.

"Lick!♡~ Mmph!♡~ Ahh!♡~ Suck!♡~"

The taste was soft and sweet, not quite the same as him, but close enough to make her lose herself in the fantasy. Her lips parted slightly as she traced the edges with gentle care, her breath quickening just a little.

She knew how absurd it was, kissing a piece of fruit like this—but in that fleeting moment, she didn’t care. She just wanted to remember the warmth, the feeling, the tenderness.

Until she froze.

Something moved at the edge of her vision.

Her head snapped to the side, and her blood turned to ice.

Mika was standing there at the edge of the kitchen, silent and perfectly still, his expression unreadable. He must have been there for a while, just watching her.

Yelena’s heart nearly stopped.

"M-Mika?!" She blurted, instantly hiding the peach slice behind her back. Her face turned bright red, and words stumbled out of her mouth before she could think. "It’s not, it’s not what it looks like! I wasn’t—I wasn’t kissing it or anything!"

Mika didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly, that faintly amused expression still there.

"I swear!" She rushed on, stammering helplessly. "The taste, it just felt strange! I was, um...testing it! To see if it was rotten! Yes, that’s it! I thought maybe it had gone bad, so I was checking! You know, tasting it! That’s all!"

A nervous, high-pitched laugh escaped her lips. She clutched the fruit behind her back like it was contraband, staring at Mika as if pleading with him to say something, anything, to end her humiliation.

But Mika remained silent, rooted in place, his eyes fixed steadily on her from across the kitchen.

Yelena’s cheeks burned hotter. His silence pressed on her nerves, making the air feel thick, her heart thudding in her chest.

Was he angry? Amused? Disgusted?

She couldn’t read him at all.

And the more he stared, the more flustered she became, until her anxiety gave way to a spark of irritation. She drew herself up, puffing her chest out, and tried to reclaim the upper hand, even if only for show.

"And you!" She said, pointing a finger at him, her voice trying for stern but quivering with leftover embarrassment. "You! Always sneaking up on me! Whether it was yesterday or today, you just keep sneaking into the kitchen, always when I’m busy, especially when I have a knife in my hand!"

She gestured with the knife, her voice growing louder, as if noise could mask her fluster.

"It’s fine this time—but what if you really scare me one of these days and I stab myself by accident? What are you going to do then, huh?"

She hoped her little outburst would make him laugh, or at least crack his calm mask, maybe even drive him away, so she could gather herself in peace.

But Mika still didn’t move.

He just kept staring at her with that same quiet, unreadable look, and the longer it lasted, the more Yelena’s irritation crumbled into uncertainty.

His calmness wasn’t reassuring, it was unnerving. It bored into her, deep and searching, until she felt exposed and naked, as if he could see every wild, shameful thought flickering behind her eyes.

Yelena’s bravado faltered. She glanced at the counter, at the window, anywhere but his face.

"Mika, say something." She mumbled, her voice small and pleading now. "Don’t just stand there. You’re scaring me—"

But before she could move—suddenly, Mika moved.

The shift was so quick, that Yelena barely had time to react. In an instant, he’d crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them in a few silent steps.

Yelena instinctively took a step back, only to bump up against the counter behind her. She found herself trapped, heart hammering, eyes wide.

"W-What are you doing, Mika?" She stammered, her words trembling as he drew closer still.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, Mika pressed his body against hers, his warmth enveloping her. One strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her flush to him, while the other slipped behind her, gently prying the peach from her grasp and tossing it aside.

Before Yelena could protest, before she could even catch her breath, Mika leaned down and captured her lips with his.

"Mmm!♡~ Mmm!♡~ Kiss!♡~ Mmm!♡~ Slurp!♡~"

It was so sudden, so breathtakingly bold, that Yelena’s entire mind blanked. The warmth of Mika’s mouth, the pressure, the familiarity, it shattered every barrier of logic she’d tried to build in the last few hours.

He kissed her not with hesitation, not with apology—but with full, open want.

Yelena gasped softly against him, but that gasp melted instantly into a moan as his tongue slid past her lips, uninvited yet welcomed in the deepest parts of her.

"Kiss!♡~ Kiss!♡~ Mwah!♡~ Kiss!♡~ Nibble!♡~"

The kiss deepened instantly, his tongue tangling with hers, tasting her, claiming her. It was nothing like the gentle, polite pecks she’d known before.

This...was a lover’s kiss.

A real one.

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Hot, slow, wet, and full of hunger. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew the answer. And her body responded before her mind could catch up.

"Smooch!♡~ Smooch!♡~ Kiss!♡~ Smooch!♡~ Sip!♡~"

Her legs weakened beneath her. Her arms, which had been slightly raised, trembled and finally dropped as the peach slipped from her fingers and rolled to the floor, forgotten.

His arms tightened around her waist.

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

Their tongues danced, soft, wet sensation that made her shiver from her spine to her toes. He was tasting her like he had last night.

No...even more intensely than that.

She could feel every firm press of his chest against hers, every throb of his heartbeat through the thin fabric between them. And the way he kissed her, slow and deep and unrelenting, it was like he had been waiting all night to do this again.

Like he had no intention of stopping.

Yelena’s body melted into his. Her resistance evaporated like morning mist in sunlight. She wasn’t even sure if she was standing anymore, only that Mika’s arms were the only things keeping her from collapsing.

But even as her mouth responded, even as her hands dug into his shirt and her lips moved against his with aching desperation, her mind screamed in protest.

’This is wrong.’ She thought wildly. ’This is wrong. You can’t do this. He’s your—’

But even in that thought, there was no real word to finish the sentence. Was he her what? Son? The boy she raised? Her daughter’s love?

That title was crumbling faster than her self-control.

’This shouldn’t be happening.’ She told herself again, desperately. ’This isn’t right. I need to pull away. I should stop this. I should—’

But Mika didn’t stop.

And neither did she.

Because no matter how hard she tried to feed her mind those warnings, her body refused to listen.

Her heart refused to listen.

She’d denied herself for so long, denied these feelings, this hunger, this impossible yearning, and now that it was in front of her, surrounding her, kissing her like she was the only woman in the world,

She couldn’t fight it.

’Just a little more, she told herself. Just a moment longer. I’ll stop after this...’

"Mwah!♡~ Mwah!♡~ Pucker!♡~ Mwah!♡~ Suck!♡~"

But the kiss deepened again, Mika’s lips parting hers with a slow, possessive slide of his tongue, and Yelena whimpered into his mouth, her hands clutching at his shirt as if it were the only solid thing left in her spinning world.

’This is too much. I should push him away. I should...’

But her lips parted even more willingly. Her body leaned into his. Her fingers curled tighter.

’I can’t.’

That was the final whisper in her head, raw, fragile, honest.

’I can’t stop.’

And in that moment, as the kiss devoured her thoughts, Yelena knew,

’She didn’t want to.’