Akira slumped in his creaking gaming chair, the glow of his monitor casting harsh shadows across his cluttered room. The credits rolled on MamaFan: Eternal Bonds, the latest patch for the infamous mom-centric eroge that had consumed his life for months. He'd poured hundreds of hours into it—grinding affection points, scouring wikis, even begging on forums for hidden flags. All for them. The moms.
Lady Elara, the elegant widow with silver-streaked hair and curves that strained against her mourning gowns. Mira, the fiery baker's wife whose apron barely contained her generous bosom as she kneaded dough with sweat-glistened arms. Serena, the shy priestess whose ample hips swayed under her robes during prayer. And poor, sweet Clara—the protagonist's own stepmother in the main route—whose plush thighs and nurturing smile haunted every bad end.
"Why… why does such a cute mom have to die?!" Akira slammed his fist on the desk, rattling empty energy drink cans. In every route he'd unlocked, the sub-heroine moms met tragic fates: poisoned by jealous rivals, sacrificed in rituals, or simply fading away in poverty while the player chased the younger heroines. He'd submitted countless feedback forms to the devs: *"Give Elara a survival route! Let Mira open her bakery with the protagonist's help! Save Clara from that fire!"* Nothing. The devs trolled the community with teasers of "maternal bliss" that always ended in heartbreak.
Exhausted, Akira rubbed his eyes. "If only I could jump in there myself… save them all. Build a harem of those plump, perfect moms." He chuckled bitterly, shutting down the game. Little did he know, the universe—or some glitchy god—was listening.
That night, as rain pattered against his window, a truck's headlights blazed through the curtains. Akira never felt the impact.
Pain. Then light. Akira gasped awake in a four-poster bed draped in crimson silk, the air thick with lavender and polished wood. His hands—slender, pale, adorned with jeweled rings—weren't his. Neither was the body: lithe yet toned, clad in a velvet doublet that screamed aristocrat
"What the hell…?" His voice came out smooth, aristocratic, with a hint of cruelty. A mirror across the room reflected a handsome young man with sharp features, raven hair, and cold emerald eyes. No way.
Memories flooded in—not his own. He was now Lord Cassian Voss, the infamous villain of *MamaFan: Eternal Bonds*. The scheming noble who poisoned heroines, burned villages, and in every route, got decapitated by the protagonist or devoured by demons. Worst of all? Cassian's arc revolved around tormenting the mom characters to force bad ends.
Akira—Cassian—grinned maniacally. "Jackpot." He was in the game world. And as the villain? He had power, wealth, and insider knowledge. No more begging devs. He'd rewrite the script himself.
A knock at the door. "Young Master Cassian? Breakfast is served. Lady Elara awaits in the dining hall."
His heart raced. Elara? The first mom on my list!
Cassian descended the grand staircase of Voss Manor, his boots echoing on marble. The dining hall was opulent: crystal chandeliers, tapestries of conquest. At the head of the table sat Lady Elara Voss—his "aunt" in this route, widowed by Cassian's uncle years ago. In the game, she was a sub-heroine doomed to poison if the player didn't intervene early.
She was breathtaking in person. Mid-forties, with porcelain skin and silver hair pinned in a loose bun, strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her black mourning dress hugged a body built for comfort: full breasts straining the lace bodice, a soft belly from years of indulgence, wide hips that filled the chair. Plump thighs pressed together under the table, visible through a slit in her skirt.
"Good morning, nephew," Elara said softly, her voice like honeyed wine. She spooned porridge, oblivious to how her cleavage rose with each breath. In the game, Cassian mocked her weight, driving her to despair. Not today.
"Aunt Elara," Cassian bowed, taking the seat beside her instead of across. Close enough to smell her rosewater perfume. "You look radiant. That dress… it suits your figure perfectly."
Elara blushed, a hand fluttering to her neckline. "Flattery so early? You've changed since your fever." In the original route, Cassian had been bedridden after a duel—perfect cover for Akira's reincarnation.
He smiled, pouring tea for her. Their fingers brushed; hers were warm, slightly calloused from managing the estate. "I've had time to reflect. Family is precious. Especially one as… nurturing as you."
Her eyes widened. Nurturing. The game's keyword for mom routes. But Cassian played it slow, savoring the build. Over breakfast, he asked about the manor, the tenants, her late husband. Listened. Laughed at her stories of baking mishaps. Watched her relax, shoulders softening, bosom heaving with genuine mirth.
By the meal's end, Elara placed a hand on his. "You're not the boy I knew. This warmth… it reminds me of better days." Her touch lingered, thumb tracing his knuckles. Cassian's pulse quickened, but he pulled back gently.
"Forgive me, Aunt. I must attend to estate matters. But tonight—dinner together? Just us."
She nodded, cheeks pink. "I'd like that."
Days blurred into a deliberate seduction. Cassian dismantled his villainous schemes: canceling the poison order for Mira's bakery (she supplied Voss Manor), quashing the ritual that would sacrifice Serena. He visited each mom under guises—inspections, charity—planting flags for survival.
But Elara was his focus. The slow burn ignited in stolen moments.
brushed against her while reaching for a book. Her plush rear pressed into his groin for a heartbeat—soft, yielding. She gasped, spinning. "Cassian!"
"My apologies," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "You're… distracting." He left her flustered, nipples faintly visible through her nightgown.
Steam veiled her as she soaked in the marble tub, breasts floating like ripe melons. Cassian entered in a towel, feigning surprise. "Aunt? I thought it empty."
Elara sank lower, water lapping her collarbone. "J-join if you wish. We're family." Her voice trembled. He sat opposite, letting the heat build tension. Talked of dreams—hers of reopening the family vineyard. His of protecting her. Their feet touched under water; she didn't pull away.
sheer robe, curves silhouetted. Cassian confessed "nightmares" of losing her. Pulled her into a hug. Her body molded to his—belly soft against his abs, breasts pillowing his chest. He inhaled her scent, hands on her lower back, inches from her ass. "I'll never let harm come to you," he whispered.
She clung tighter, breath hot on his neck. "Cassian… your heart races." Hers did too, thudding against him.
A week in, the dam broke during a storm. Thunder rattled the manor; Elara feared lightning since childhood. Cassian found her in the parlor, curled on a chaise in a silk chemise—translucent from nerves-sweat. Thighs parted slightly, revealing the shadow between.
"Aunt," he knelt, taking her hands. "You're safe." Lightning flashed; she yelped, burying into his chest. Her nipples hardened against his shirt, twin peaks begging attention.
"Hold me," she whispered. "Please."
He did. Arms around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She straddled him instinctively, plush thighs framing his hips. The chemise rode up; her bare pussy—hot, slick—pressed against his trousers. No panties. Game mechanics? Or desire?
"Elara…" He cupped her face, kissing her slowly. Lips soft, tasting of wine. She moaned, tongue tentative then eager. Hands roamed: his on her ass, kneading generous flesh; hers unbuttoning his shirt, tracing his chest.
"I've been alone so long," she breathed, grinding subtly. Her wetness soaked through his pants. "You make me feel… wanted."
Cassian flipped her onto the chaise, hovering. "Let me worship you." He kissed down her neck, to her breasts. Freed them—heavy, veined orbs with rosy nipples. Suckled one gently, then firmer, tongue swirling. Elara arched, fingers in his hair.
"Yes… oh, gods…" Her hips bucked as he lavished the other, hands sliding under her chemise to stroke her belly, thumbs circling her navel.
Lower. He parted her thighs, admiring her pussy: plump lips glistening, clit peeking from its hood. "Beautiful," he murmured, blowing cool air. She whimpered.
His tongue delved—slow licks along her slit, savoring her musky sweetness. Elara's legs trembled, thighs clamping his head. He lapped her clit in circles, fingers parting her folds. Inserted one, then two—curling to hit that spot. She was tight, velvety, gushing around him.
"Cassian! I-I'm…" Her orgasm crashed: body quaking, juices flooding his mouth. He drank greedily, prolonging with gentle sucks until she begged mercy.
Panting, she pulled him up. "Inside me. Now."
He shed clothes, cock springing free—thick, veined, aching. Elara stroked it reverently, guiding to her entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, her walls clenching like a glove. "So full…" she moaned.
They rocked: deep, unhurried thrusts. Her breasts bounced with each; he buried his face in them, sucking as he pounded. Elara's nails raked his back, legs wrapped around. "Harder… breed your aunt…"
The words undid him. He slammed home, filling her with hot spurts as she came again, milking him dry.
After, tangled in limbs, she kissed his brow. "My savior."
Cassian smirked inwardly. One mom down. Harem building commences.
Word spread: Lord Cassian was "reformed." Mira the baker sent grateful pastries—her route flag activated. Serena invited him to temple prayers, her robes hiding curves he'd soon unveil.
But Elara was his anchor. Nights of passion: missionary in her bed, her thighs quivering as he ate her to multiples before filling her; cowgirl in the study, her ass rippling as she rode him slow. Always vaginal, always loving—no pain, just plush ecstasy.
And the protagonist? Some farmboy hero. Cassian would crush him later. For now, salvation—and smut—awaited.