Peeking through a half-open door, you catch the mother of your best friend straddling her son’s face on the living room floor. Stockinged legs spread wide, toes gripping his shoulders as she takes his cock deep—gagging just enough to make him gag. One hand buried in her hair, the other pinching her own nipple like she can’t decide which feels better: being eaten out or swallowing every inch. The air smells like vanilla and sweat when he finally pulls back, breathless—and that’s when she flips him onto his back. Now it’s all about those painted toes curling around his waist as she rides him slow at first, then faster until the couch creaks under them.
