MILF Desire System: The Degenerate Son's Forbidden Path

Blackwood University was huge, but calling it one campus was technically bullshit.

It was more like an expensive academic empire hiding under one crest, with different schools spread across the same enormous private grounds and each one acting like it was the reason Blackwood mattered:

There was the School of Law, School of Medicine, School of Engineering and Applied Sciences, School of Arts and Media, School of Architecture, School of Public Policy, and a few others Damon had already forgotten because none of them were paying his tuition or improving his chances of getting laid any time soon.

He and Vespera belonged to Blackwood Business School.

That was its own little kingdom inside the university, complete with separate buildings, faculty offices, advisors, student societies, and a dean Damon was almost certain he would never meet unless he either became disgustingly successful or did something stupid enough to make the man personally regret admitting him.

Knowing Damon, both outcomes were still competing.

’Successful heir versus campus incident. My brand and trust me its very balanced.’

The different schools shared most of the things students actually used outside class:

Dorms, gyms, dining halls, sports facilities, libraries, health centers, and the big student complex all belonged to Blackwood University as a whole. That was why Vespera could share a residence building with somebody studying law while Damon might end up eating lunch beside a future surgeon who had spent the morning cutting open something that used to have organs.

’There goes my appetite.’

General education crossed schools too. Writing seminars, humanities, social sciences, mathematics, the usual collection of courses universities forced onto everyone so a future hedge-fund manager could write a coherent paragraph and pretend to have a thoughtful opinion about a nineteenth-century novel.

Damon understood the idea.

Did he care enough to memorize how every school worked?

’Absolutely the fuck not.’

He had learned exactly enough about Blackwood to get through his own degree without accidentally enrolling in anatomy, and after that his curiosity had packed its bags. Other campuses could keep their deans, traditions, rivalries, little academic feuds, and whatever strange things engineering students did after midnight.

His own life already had enough side quests.

Camilla existed.

That alone was practically a full-time course, the Service Path site he needed to build, the aunt mission sitting somewhere in the back of his head, his actual classes, and the MILF Desire System apparently determined to turn his eighteen-year-old life into the least respectable coming-of-age story ever approved by fate.

He crossed one of the landscaped paths toward the Business School’s administration building, hands in his pockets, cap pulled low while students moved around him in small groups. A few were already taking orientation pictures. Others stood around comparing schedules like their lives would explode if Economics 101 moved twenty minutes later.

Damon had one appointment:

Advisor.

Then he could start dealing with the rest.

He reached the administration building, stared at the glass doors for a second, and sighed.

’Okay. Advisor. Schedule. Forms. Smile like education excites me. Leave. Do not get hard if she’s hot. Simple list. I can fail at least two of those.’

Simple but then his brain had to remember her name.

Marguerite Hale.

That was literally all he knew; no picture, age and no profile he had bothered stalking, which was honestly unusual considering what his internet history looked like lately.

And somehow his useless imagination had already decided Marguerite Hale sounded hot.

’Maybe a milf?’

Maybe she was a cougar.

’Either works.’

Both worked beautifully.

Damon pushed through the doors and immediately frowned at himself.

’I am getting way hornier than usual, lately. This is not even a personality anymore. This had to be a condition.’

That was becoming difficult to ignore.

Before the system, Damon had obviously been horny. He was eighteen, had spent five hundred and thirty consecutive days beating his dick like it had personally offended him, and had an OnlyFans history that could probably qualify as forensic evidence.

Nobody was nominating him for sainthood, obviously, but...

...this felt different.

His brain seemed quicker now. A woman’s hips could pass him and suddenly he was noticing posture, age, confidence, whether she wore a ring, how she looked at people, whether she seemed sexually frustrated enough to punch drywall.

Predator’s Gaze probably deserved some blame, but even with the ability quiet, Damon felt like somebody had turned the background volume of lust up two clicks.

Maybe Lust Spawn was doing something?

Or it could be that the morning with Camilla had just ruined him.

That was also possible.

Watching a grown woman pleasure herself in a steamy bathroom before breakfast probably did things to an eighteen-year-old nervous system that medical textbooks politely refused to document.

He reached the reception level and followed the signs toward undergraduate advising, still thinking about the mysterious Marguerite Hale.

’Imagine she’s forty.’ His mouth almost curved. ’And divorced... or maybe not. I really don’t care.’

Okay.

’Now then how about great legs, add on her glasses with that annoyed professional voice women get when they’ve answered the same stupid student question seventeen times.’

Damon slowed.

’Yeah, shut the fuck up.’

He was mentally building this poor woman from spare milf parts and had not even seen her yet.

’That might have been a new low for me.’

Actually, no. He had lower lows; many, organized chronologically. There was a whole season of them involving bathrooms.

Still, Damon couldn’t stop himself from wondering.

If Marguerite Hale turned out to be hot, would he make a move?

His first answer came immediately.

’Obviously.’

But the part of his brain that occasionally showed up wearing a tie cleared its throat.

’On the first day?’

Advisor’s office?

Before he even knew where Calculus was held?

That was wild even for him.

Damon entered the advising corridor and passed several closed offices, each with small nameplates beside the doors. Students already occupied most of the chairs along the wall. Some stared nervously at their phones. One guy was holding a course catalog like it contained the cure for cancer. A girl nearby kept rehearsing something under her breath before apparently deciding her entire future depended on asking permission to switch electives.

Damon took an empty chair farther down and leaned back.

His dick, unfortunately, remained politically active.

He shifted slightly and looked at the ceiling.

’Maybe I should make a move.’

A second passed.

’Maybe I should absolutely not make a move.’

That sounded suspiciously intelligent.

The Service Path will change things about his life and if Damon wanted to build this properly, he needed two versions of himself.

Public Damon could be the ordinary Blackwood student. Quiet enough. Decent grades. Shows up. Does not become campus folklore because he tried seducing half the faculty before midterms.

The other Damon could operate somewhere completely different:

’Private appointments. Mature women. CEOs. Politicians or their wives who cares. A few celebrities and I will make sure of that. I always admired those... the thick and cougar-looking.’

Those were circles where reputations mattered and loose mouths were career-ending.

That was actually the clever part of the Service Path, so he did not need to hunt inside school.

School could become the clean side of his life, the place where nobody associated Damon Corvin Viremont with whatever private service wealthy women eventually whispered about over wine.

And if the website became successful?

Even better.

High-status women loved discretion.

A nineteen-year-old guy becoming known around campus for chasing every milf with a faculty badge was basically the opposite of discretion. It would be funny for approximately three days, then somebody would put his face on social media, one bored student journalist would start digging, and Lilith would probably call a family meeting with the emotional atmosphere of a public execution.

Damon rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, thinking.

’Keep school clean.’

That actually made sense; he hated how much sense it made.

’College Damon studies. Service Damon corrupts somebody’s wife.’

His mouth twitched: ’Balanced lifestyle. My mother would be so proud. No, actually, she would not! She would end me.’

A woman in business clothes passed the end of the corridor carrying folders, maybe late thirties, maybe early forties, good body, wedding ring.

Damon’s eyes followed automatically.

Then stopped.

’See? This is exactly your problem.’ But she was hot😩

His dick had apparently begun treating Blackwood like a menu.

He looked away and slouched deeper into the chair before his system decided to help by throwing meters over random women and turning orientation into Pokémon for frustrated adults.

Still...

There was no harm in hoping Marguerite Hale was hot.

Looking was free.

’Mostly.’

The actual problem would start if she was the type he liked. Older, composed, confident, maybe a little strict even. The kind who had spent years dealing with wealthy nineteen-year-olds and could flatten one with a stare.

Yeah... that would be trouble.

Damon smiled faintly.

’Maybe manageable trouble.’

Then he caught himself again.

’Bro. You have literally not seen her. You are horny for a nameplate. Sit down.’

This was getting embarrassing.

Maybe the system had genuinely damaged him and Damon was sitting in university administration fantasizing about an advisor he’d never met because the coming of the system and his private session with Camilla had apparently kicked his libido into overdrive before eight in the morning.

He exhaled through his nose, amused more than annoyed.

’Maybe it’s overexcitement.’

Could be.

New system. New university year. Camilla. Service Path. A whole ridiculous new life opening at once.

Anyone would be wired.

Probably, maybe... whatever.

The good thing was Damon was aware of it, which obviously meant he was mature now.

That conclusion lasted about two seconds before his gaze drifted toward the office nameplates again searching for Marguerite Hale.

’Yeah. Very mature. Peak adulthood. Thinking about milfs in a hallway that smells like toner...

’...Thinking with my head instead of my dick.’

A grin crept across his face.

’Look at that. Character development. Somebody screenshot this before I ruin it.’

He opened the door before he could.

A small electronic screen beside one office changed from OCCUPIED to AVAILABLE.

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