CHAPTER 163: CHAPTER 163: MALENA’S LONGING (PART 2)

The next morning, Charles arrived at Malena’s doorstep as promised. He wore formal attire once more, expression stern, internally commanding himself: Today is strictly professional. No repeat of yesterday’s intimacy.

And Lisa is home—no classes today. Be warm and paternal, not some outsider lusting after her mother’s beauty!

Malena surely feels the same. She’ll act dignified in front of her daughter...

After this mental drill, he knocked softly. "Madam Malena? Are you home?"

Footsteps approached, followed by Malena’s delighted voice: "I’m here! Priest, is that you?"

"It is," Charles replied. The door opened, revealing Malena, face radiant as spring sunlight.

Today, she wore the same gray knitted sweater, clinging to her body, outlining her magnificently full breasts. One glance was enough to root Charles in place.

But looking lower only inflamed him further. Instead of conservative trousers, she now wore sheer black stockings.

The dark silk hugged her plump thighs and rounded hips, hinting at the milky skin beneath—a sight that made him ache to tear them away and savor the mature woman’s forbidden depths.

Charles forced himself to look aside, striving for gentlemanly composure. Yet the image burned in his mind, refusing to fade. Does she dress like this at home? Isn’t she worried about corrupting her daughter?

He thought he’d masked his reaction swiftly, but Malena caught his fleeting look of awe and ragged breath. Instantly, shyness warred with triumph within her.

Miss Sephera’s advice was perfect...

"Come in," she urged, stepping aside. Charles entered, scanning the room. "Where’s Lisa? Shouldn’t she be home today?"

"Ah." Malena glanced away. "Her magic studies are weak, so I asked Sister Sophia to give her extra lessons this morning."

"Don’t worry—it’s just the two of us here today. No one else will interrupt..."

Her voice was feather-soft. Charles’s heart skipped a beat.

Damn. The only deterrent is gone...

His thoughts scattered as Malena closed the door, then lifted the kettle from the table. "Priest, please sit."

She poured water into a cup as Charles took a stool opposite her. Her sheer stockings stretched taut over her thighs, nearly transparent against her skin.

Noticing his gaze, Malena’s pulse quickened. Boldly, she kicked off her shoes, crossed her legs, and arched one foot—stretching the fabric until it revealed the flushed sole beneath.

"Priest..." Her voice trembled. "I wore this today... just for you."

She lifted her gaze, vulnerable yet determined. "Do I... look beautiful?"

Charles swallowed hard, offering sincere praise: "Exquisite. Truly."

"Madam Malena, this suits you perfectly."

Malena flushed. "Thank you, Priest."

Good. He likes it.

Step one complete. Now for step two.

"Priest," she murmured, "My back itches... but I can’t reach it."

She bowed her head, dark hair veiling her face. "My hands won’t stretch far enough. Could you... scratch it for me?"

"Of course." Charles stood reflexively, circling behind her. He placed a hand on her sweater. "Here?"

"No..." Malena shook her head. "Higher. And..."

She hesitated, then whispered, "Slide your hand under my sweater. Please."

Charles froze.

So this is the game...

Licking dry lips, he lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing skin like warm jade—flawless and luminous.

He drew a sharp breath, sliding his hand beneath the fabric. When skin met skin, he felt Malena tense—equally nervous.

"Is this the spot?" he asked.

"Higher," she breathed.

His fingers journeyed upward. Through the wool, the outline of his touch was visible—a slow ascent toward forbidden territory.

Higher still, his fingertips brushed a clasp. He recognized it—a bra fastener, one he could undo single-handed...

"Here?" His voice roughened.

Malena’s reply was barely audible. "Unfasten it. The itch... is beneath."

Charles’s fingers stilled. This was surrender.

But...

An old warning echoed: Never bed a widow. Disaster follows!

So...

Click—

He meant to stop. But his fingers disobeyed. One deft pinch, and the clasp released. Straps slithered down her back.

The bra fell away. Though hidden, he knew—the gates to her secrets now lay open.

He scratched gently. "Here?"

"Mmm..." A soft moan escaped her. "No. Right... a little right."

He obeyed, skirting the edge of her back. Then her command shifted: "Forward now. Just... a little."

His hand crept toward the precipice. Through the thick knit, the path of his touch was unmistakable...

"Madam," he rasped. "Further?"

A whisper sealed his fate: "Yes."

One word—lightning, laying her bare.

Come. Claim me.

Her longing tore at him, igniting a fierce protectiveness.

She’s a widow. Must she endure this loneliness?

His right hand pushed past the half-cup bra, palm engulfing the swell of her right breast.

"Ah—!" Malena gasped. Though once a wife, nearly six years of solitude had left her unprepared. A man’s touch on her flesh made her body spasm—nipples hardening against his palm.

"Here, Madam?" Charles’s voice was gravel.

"Y-yes..." She trembled, voice fraying. "Thank you... Priest."

Silence hung heavy. Charles abandoned pretense. No longer scratching, he kneaded—fingers mastering curves no witch or Amazon could match.

Her fullness overflowed his grasp. The weight alone was intoxicating—a sensation born of motherhood, of milk waiting beneath skin. He dared not press too hard, fearing precious drops might spill...

"Mmm..." Pleasure clouded Malena’s mind. She fought a moan, inhaled sharply, and pressed on. "But... not just there."

"The other side... aches too."

"Please... help me..."

Charles couldn’t speak—throat parched, mind ablaze. But his left hand moved, slipping under her sweater, parting fabric, claiming her left breast.

"Nngh—" Her breath hitched, ragged now. She felt his rhythm—both hands working in tandem, thumbs circling stiff peaks, drawing sensations she’d never dreamed possible.

A bead of moisture welled, dampening his fingertip—sweet, milky scent blooming in the air.

Aware of her body’s betrayal, Malena kept her head down, panting. Shame warred with purpose.

Time for step three.

Make him... go further.

"Priest..." Her voice shook. "A selfish request..."

Charles bent close, lips near her ear. "Name it."

"When Lisa was little... she was so frail." The excuse felt thin, desperate. "When ill, she refused wet nurses... only I could feed her."

"So..." Malena’s cheek burned beneath her hair. "She nursed until last month. And I... never stopped producing milk."

Charles imagined her blush—scorching, unbearable. "Even weaned... my body won’t stop. It swells... aches..."

"Remember that night? The milk Lisa gave you?"

Charles nodded silently, his temple brushing her hair.

"That... was mine." Her confession trembled. "I squeezed it myself. The pressure... it’s agony."

"Priest... please. Relieve this torment. Take what pains me..."

Charles straightened. "Understood."

Decision made. Time to taste what he’d craved—only ever sampled in dreams.

He withdrew his hands, circled her, and knelt before Malena. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but he didn’t force her. Gently, he lifted the hem of her thick sweater...

Beneath the lifted sweater, Charles first saw Malena’s soft, flat stomach. The edge of her sheer stockings skimmed her hip bones yet left her navel bare, exposing milky skin to his gaze.

Her rounded navel held no trace of impurity—this woman cherished cleanliness, tending meticulously to every hidden curve.

Charles tugged the fabric higher. Soon, the swell of her breasts came into view—fuller even than Theresa’s, despite Malena’s shorter stature.

Perhaps the milk, he thought, swelling her chest beyond measure, leaving even his broad hands unable to master their grandeur.

As the sweater rose, her pink half-cup bra slipped free, pooling atop the sheer stockings hugging her thighs. Charles ignored it. His eyes locked onto Malena’s chest, captivated beyond retreat.

What magnificent shape and volume! Though heavy with milk, they bore only the faintest curve of surrender. Their peaks stood defiantly taut—pink nipples ringed by flushed areolae—challenging his nerves and will.

He could wait no longer. Mouth open, he took her right nipple between his lips—

"Ah—!"

Malena shut her eyes, too shy to watch. Sightless, her senses sharpened. She felt Charles’s searing lips envelop her breast, his mouth tightening not to suck, but to milk her—

His tongue flicked against the sensitive tip...

"Oh... Priest..."

Panting, she reflexively cradled his head against her chest, holding him like a nursing child.

She felt the milk surge from her ducts, jetting pure white streams into his mouth. She pictured her nipple painting his throat with ribbons of cream—

The aching pressure vanished, replaced by indescribable bliss—

"Ah...!"

She threw her head back, black waves tumbling down her spine. Arching forward, she thrust her breasts deeper into his mouth, craving the scrape of his teeth, the heat of his throat—

Charles drank greedily, savoring the velvety warmth flooding his tongue. This milk—fresh, warm, unchilled—held none of yesterday’s stale tang. Only sweetness remained.

Perfection.

His hands roamed free now. He pushed Malena’s sweater above her breasts, pinning it beneath their weight as he gripped her waist, sliding lower to peel back her stockings—

"Ahn... Priest—!"

His palms cupped her full hips. Malena offered no resistance, shifting her posture to grant him more. Rising from the stool, she stood as he nursed, letting him knead her thighs while his fingers inched toward the soaked silk between her legs—

Just as he’d guessed: drenched fabric clung there.

"Priest... not here..."

His touch brushed her cleft. Malena tensed—but not in protest. Lust sang in her veins. Still, a sliver of reason returned as she glanced toward the parlor door.

Someone might hear!

"To... the bedroom."

Arm in arm, they staggered toward the room. Charles suckled harder, finding her right breast drained. Reluctantly, he released it and seized the left—

"Nngh—!"

Malena’s legs buckled. She caught his shoulders, stumbling backward until they tumbled onto the bed.

Now Charles lay across her sheets, rumpling pristine linen, mouth fixed on her nipple. Malena bent over him, surrendering to his suckling. Her freed hand slipped lower, undoing his trousers—

His swollen cock sprang free, crimson and imposing. She gasped. Six years had erased all memory of such size; her husband had never matched this.

Flushing, Malena recalled the manuals she’d studied. Her left hand circled the shaft, palm cupping the glans, fingers tightening as she twisted gently.

She’d read this pleased men. Watching Charles’s face soften with pleasure confirmed it—

A smile touched her lips.

Worth every hour of preparation...

At last, the nursing posture concluded. The milk in Malena’s left breast had also been sucked dry.

Though not fully satisfied, Charles reluctantly released her nipple. His hands traveled deeper beneath her stockings, caressing her rounded hips and probing toward the center.

"Nngh..."

As he ceased suckling, Malena turned, adopting an off-center posture. She bent forward, thrusting her ample hips upward toward his torso while her face hovered above his imposing length below.

Breathing in the potent musk, Malena was utterly lost. Recalling her manuals, she parted her lips and engulfed him—

"Ooh——!"

Enveloped by her mouth, Charles’s legs stiffened as a low groan escaped him. Still electrified from nursing, this new sensation nearly overwhelmed him instantly.

To distract himself, he fixed his gaze on Malena’s sumptuous hips. The black stockings hugged curves where a thong vanished into the cleft—visible only if he pried her cheeks apart.

His hands grasped the stockings’ lace-edged borders, sliding them down her hips’ contours. Exposing skin like glistening snow, the stockings bunched at her thighs.

He left them there—Malena still wore slippers, standing bedside. Exposing her thigh roots sufficed. His fingertip brushed aside the thong’s central strip, revealing moist pink petals beneath...

He marveled silently—racial heritage truly mattered, especially lineages blessed with divine blood.

Even after bearing a child...

His thoughts trailed as his middle finger slipped inside.

"Ah——!"

Malena’s body convulsed violently. Unbreached for six years, her senses screamed at the intrusion. Instinctively, her core clenched—back arching, hips lifting, thighs locking—sucking his finger deeper when he tried to withdraw.

Undeterred, Charles expertly sought her sensitive spot. Fingertip stroking, teasing—

Malena trembled uncontrollably. Her mouth abandoned his length, overwhelmed. Charles persisted, and soon a hot rush drenched his palm.

Fifteen Agility combined with technique pushed her over the edge in seconds.

Malena released him, panting. Flushed and dazed, she collapsed onto his abdomen: "Priest... thank you..."

Charles gently stroked her hair. "My duty, Madam."

He rose, circling behind her. Hands gripping her bare, soft hips, he embraced her exposed curves.

They stood near equal height. Though stockings and cotton thong still clung to her thighs—forcing her legs together—alignment was effortless. Gripping himself, he positioned against her entrance: "Madam... may I enter?"

Malena leaned over the bed, legs spread wide. Eyes shut—this was her deepest longing. "Yes, Priest..."

The broad tip parted delicate folds. He eased inside, then inhaled sharply and thrust—

"Ooh——!"

Years without intimacy yielded to ecstasy as her beloved filled the emptiness. A melodious cry tore from Malena’s throat.

Charles exhaled deeply. A mother’s body held less tautness than a witch’s, less visceral power than an Amazon’s core-clenching mastery.

Yet far from lax. Her hips and thighs, plump and supple, instinctively tightened around him—squeezing, milking—rivaling any enchantress’s embrace.

He withdrew slowly, met by fierce suction begging him to stay. Reentry required force to part her hungry flesh. Both movements delivered sublime rapture.

Thankfully, her earlier arousal eased the way. Initial friction gave way to fluid rhythm.

Strength and Constitution heightened to fifteen, Charles felt an engine roar in his core. Power surged into his hips—driving him wilder, fiercer—

"Ah... ah—Priest—Priest——"

Charles’s hips slammed her curves. Flesh met flesh in sharp reports echoing through the room. Malena chanted his name mindlessly. Her body undulated with his thrusts; full breasts swayed freely, nipples tracing frantic arcs against her knees—now pinned to her chest as her legs folded impossibly high.

Flexibility honed by dance training allowed the demanding pose.

"Ah... Madam..."

Charles gripped her calves, pinning them to her shoulders. Her lower body spread wide—utterly defenseless against his assault!

Hip met hip. Her inner flesh bloomed with each thrust. Heat gushed freely. Bliss blurred Charles’s vision—Malena’s dazed eyes, gasping red lips—propelled him downward. He captured her mouth!

"Mmph——"

A muffled cry escaped Malena as their tongues entwined fiercely.

She saw nothing. Heard nothing. Only the climb to ecstasy mattered.

"Mmph..."

At last, Charles tore his lips away. A thread of saliva hung between them. Hazy, burning, he neared release—

"Madam... I..."

He didn’t finish. She understood. Lost in rapture, consequences faded. Gazing at his handsome face, words spilled unbidden: "It’s... alright... Priest... ah... Oh——"

With a final plunge, he buried himself deep. Tremors shook him; muscles convulsed—pouring scalding streams into her core.

"Ah..."

Malena closed her eyes. Two tears of pure bliss traced her cheeks.

"Hah..." Panting, release washed over Charles—followed by instant regret.

This shouldn’t have happened...

Malena wasn’t a witch, immune to conception. Not an Amazon, seeking pregnancy. Not Nidalee, commanding nature’s magic to prevent it.

She was a magicless widow. Unprotected. A pregnancy...

"Forgive me." Charles’s voice was heavy with remorse. "I shouldn’t have..."

Malena met his eyes, offering a gentle smile. "It’s fine, Priest. I won’t regret this."

How many years since she’d known such joy? Base needs denied too long breed madness. She’d been starving. Now sated—body and spirit healed—she feared nothing.

Charles opened his mouth—

Thump-thump-thump!

Happy footsteps pattered outside. A familiar voice called: "Mommy! I’m home!"

It was Lisa!

Both whirled toward the bedroom clock. Morning classes had ended!

Disaster!

They couldn’t let Lisa see this! What trauma would it inflict?

Charles scrambled for his trousers. Malena yanked her sweater down, barely covering her torso. Her bra was lost. Stockings and thong were impossible now. She stuffed them under the quilt, tugged the sweater’s hem over her hips, and sat rigidly on the bed.

Bang——

The door flew open. Lisa burst in.

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