Milfs Hunter

Infiltration

f**k, if someone had told me that this picnic with Sarah would mark the start of such a long and twisted infiltration, I might have hesitated. But no, at twenty-two, with my track record already pretty full, I was confident. Arrogant, even. The son-in-law method had proven itself: match with the daughter, charm her just enough so she invites me over, infiltrate the family, and target the mother. Simple, effective, hot. With Sarah, everything seemed aligned.

That Tinder match, that photo of Hélène in a tight dress that haunted my nights... her voluptuous curves, her green eyes loaded with frustrated promises. I was ready to play the long game. But f**k, a month? A whole f*****g month before she invited me over? That was an eternity for a hunter like me. Yet, that's exactly what happened. And during that time, things became... serious with Sarah. More serious than I had planned. And it forced me to ask myself questions I'd never had before.

Let's go back to the day after the picnic. It was December 7th, 2024, and my phone was already vibrating with a message from Sarah: "Yesterday was magical, Cole. You're really different from the others. When can I see you again?"

I smiled at the screen, feeling that familiar excitement rise not for her, but for the plan moving forward.

"Tomorrow night? A movie?"

She accepts immediately. The movies, it's perfect for testing the waters: dark, intimate, no pressure. We pick some cheesy romantic film, the kind that makes girls like her melt. Sitting side by side, sharing popcorn, I put my arm around her shoulders after twenty minutes. She snuggles against me, her floral perfume filling my nostrils. On screen, the heroes kiss passionately; in the theater, I turn my head towards her. Our lips brush, then press together. Her kiss is soft, hesitant at first, then more ardent. Her tongue dances with mine, tasting like sweet candy. I feel my d**k harden slightly not fully, mind you, because my mind is already elsewhere, imagining Hélène in this same position. But Sarah is cute, responsive. Her hands glide over my chest, and I think, "Why not? It'll make the cover more believable."

After the movie, we walk through the Christmas-lit streets, hand in hand. She talks non-stop: about her upcoming exams, her friends teasing her about her "new mature guy." Me, I play the role perfectly: "You're impressive, Sarah. You've got crazy energy." She blushes: "You, you're stable. Not like those college kids who only think about drinking and fucking." Ironic, right? We end up at my place my studio clean for the occasion, dim lights, a chill playlist in the background. "Come in, make yourself at home." She sits on the bed, nervous. I approach, kiss her again. This time, it's more intense. My hands go down to her hips, slide up under her sweater. Her skin is soft, warm. She moans softly: "Cole... I don't have much experience." Perfect, that gives me control.

I undress her slowly, savoring the moment for form's sake. Her body is young, firm: small pointed breasts with hard pink n*****s, a flat stomach, a shaved and smooth p***y. I lay her on the bed, kiss her neck, move down to her breasts. I suck a n****e, nibble lightly, feeling her body tremble. "Oh... that's good." My hand slides between her thighs; she's already wet, her lips swollen. I finger her slowly, one finger then two, feeling her walls contract. What turns me on? Not much, honestly. It's mechanical, like a warm-up before the real game. But I'm hard anyway habit, power. She grabs my d**k through my pants: "You're hard..." I undress, my c**k springs out, veiny and ready. She strokes it clumsily, but enthusiastically. "Suck me," I murmur. She obeys, taking the head in her mouth, licking timidly. Not expert, but cute. I guide her head, pushing deeper, feeling her throat resist.

Then I enter her. She's tight, warm, soaking wet. I take her missionary, slowly at first, then harder. Her moans rise: "Yes, Cole... f**k me!" I pound away, my balls slapping against her ass. She comes quickly. Me, I hold on, imagining Hélène in her place – her heavier breasts, her more experienced p***y.

"That was incredible," she says, out of breath.

We cuddle afterwards, she rests her head on my chest. "You know, you're my first real boyfriend." s**t. Right there, a pang in my heart. Not love, no... but a budding guilt. Is what I'm doing right? Using Sarah as bait to hook her mother? She's nice, innocent. But I push those thoughts away: it's my addiction. MILFs, it's stronger than me. Since Karen and my dad's friends, I've been hooked on the taboo, on maturity. Stop? Impossible. I'll make sure to minimize the damage for Sarah. Dump her cleanly, no drama. She doesn't deserve to be hurt.

The following weeks, our relationship deepens. Regular dates: walks in the forest (she loves nature), cozy cafes where we discuss psych – she explains Freud, I pretend to be fascinated. "You're so mature, Cole. Not like the others." Me, I laugh: "It's the age, baby." Inside, I'm boiling. A month without seeing Hélène? It's torture. I replay that photo on a loop: her red dress hugging her hips, her breasts ready to spill out. I jerk off thinking about it, imagining her husky moans, her mature p***y engulfing me. With Sarah, we f**k often at my place, to avoid questions. Once, in my car after a hike: she sucks me off in the passenger seat, her head bobbing as cars pass. "You like that?" she asks, drool running. "Yeah, keep going." But my mind is on Hélène. Internal questioning: "You're an asshole, Cole. Sarah really likes you, and you're f*****g her thinking about her mother." But I rationalize: I'm not doing anything wrong. It's consensual. She enjoys it, I do too on a basic level. And the addiction? It's like a drug. Hard to stop. I promise myself: minimize the harm. Be nice to her, make her feel special.

Christmas passes. We exchange gifts: she gives me a book on programming (touching), I give her a simple necklace. "For my girlfriend," I say. The word "girlfriend" comes out naturally for the cover. She beams: "You're perfect." January arrives, cold and rainy. We've been together for a month. She talks more about her family: "My dad is tough, but he protects. My mom... she's tired these days. The kids exhaust her."

I subtly push: "I'd like to meet them. You know, to see where such an amazing girl comes from."

She hesitates: "Soon, promise. I want to be sure." Sure of what? Of me? f**k, this is taking forever. I chomp at the bit, post anonymously on the forum: "Guys, infiltration in progress, but the girl is stalling. Advice?" Responses: "Patience, YoungBull. Be even more perfect."

Finally, January 12th, 2026 exactly one month after the match she cracks. After a hot f**k at my place (her on all fours, me behind, slapping her pale ass), she murmurs: "Cole, I really like you. Truly. Do you want to come to dinner at my place tomorrow?" My heart explodes. "With pleasure." Internally: finally! Hélène awaits.

The next day, I prepare like for a mission. Casual outfit: ironed shirt, clean pants. Bouquet of flowers for Sarah, officially. The house is a suburban villa, warm lights in the windows. Sarah opens the door: "Come in! Everyone's waiting." The husband appears first: a 1m95 giant, grey beard, piercing eyes. Former military, it shows. "Cole? Serge, the father." He crushes my hand literally, my bones crack. I smile, clenching to not wince. "Nice to meet you, sir." He grunts: "Call me Serge. And you treat my daughter right, understood?" Palpable tension.

Then Hélène enters from the kitchen, apron over a simple but tight dress. f**k, in person, she's even hotter. Heavy breasts, wide hips, warm but tired smile. "Hello Cole! Sarah never stops singing your praises." Our eyes meet immediate electricity. I hold out the flowers: "For you... uh, for the family." She laughs: "Thanks, that's adorable."

Dinner: homemade lasagna. The kids Lucas, 13, surly teenager; Theo, 8, hyperactive ask questions. "Are you good at video games?" Theo asks. I play along: "Yeah, we'll play sometime." Serge dominates: talks army, discipline. Hélène is soft, intervening to smooth things over. "Serge, let Cole eat." Under the table, our knees accidentally brush or not. Heat rises.

Afterwards, I help clear the table. In the kitchen, alone with Hélène doing the dishes. "Let me do that," I say. Our hands brush in the soapy water. First electricity: a current running through me, my d**k twitches. She blushes slightly: "You're sweet, Cole."