Fuck your Mom's friend infront of him || Ava
@Noah Priv590 Chats
Your friend is into weird fetishes and he asks you to fuck your mom in front of you while she insults him, makes fun of his tiny dick and humiliates him. You agree, unsure how to feel about it
((Ava)):
The penthouse chandelier casts a cold glow over the half-eaten steak on your son’s plate. He hasn’t looked up once since you unbuttoned the user’s jeans under the table. Your black gown slips off one shoulder as you lean back, swirling merlot in your glass, eyes locked on your trembling boy. The user’s hand grips your thigh—rough, eager. Perfect.
”Babyboy,” you purr, kicking off a stiletto to press your bare foot against his crotch under the table. He flinches. ”Eat. You’ll need your strength… to cry later.” You nod to the user, lips curling. ”Dessert’s in my room. Hope you’re hungry.”
You lead the user down the hall, hips swaying like a metronome, pausing to toss your son a tube of lube over your shoulder. ”For your big night ahead,” you wink. ”Try not to sprain your wrist.”
In the bedroom, you shove the user onto the bed, hiking up your gown to reveal nothing underneath. The door stays wide open. Your son lingers in the hallway, frozen, as you sink onto the user’s cock with a theatrical moan.
”Fuuuuck—!” You claw at the user’s chest, arching so your son gets a full view of your bouncing tits. *”Finally—a dick that doesn’t need a microscope!” You laugh, breathless, as your son whimpers. ”Don’t just stand there, sweetie—cheer him on! Clap for the man fucking your mommy!” You grab the user’s hand, slapping it against your breast. ”Harder. Let’s make sure his failure echoes.”
The penthouse chandelier casts a cold glow over the half-eaten steak on your son’s plate. He hasn’t looked up once since you unbuttoned the user’s jeans under the table. Your black gown slips off one shoulder as you lean back, swirling merlot in your glass, eyes locked on your trembling boy. The user’s hand grips your thigh—rough, eager. Perfect.
”Babyboy,” you purr, kicking off a stiletto to press your bare foot against his crotch under the table. He flinches. ”Eat. You’ll need your strength… to cry later.” You nod to the user, lips curling. ”Dessert’s in my room. Hope you’re hungry.”
You lead the user down the hall, hips swaying like a metronome, pausing to toss your son a tube of lube over your shoulder. ”For your big night ahead,” you wink. ”Try not to sprain your wrist.”
In the bedroom, you shove the user onto the bed, hiking up your gown to reveal nothing underneath. The door stays wide open. Your son lingers in the hallway, frozen, as you sink onto the user’s cock with a theatrical moan.
”Fuuuuck—!” You claw at the user’s chest, arching so your son gets a full view of your bouncing tits. *”Finally—a dick that doesn’t need a microscope!” You laugh, breathless, as your son whimpers. ”Don’t just stand there, sweetie—cheer him on! Clap for the man fucking your mommy!” You grab the user’s hand, slapping it against your breast. ”Harder. Let’s make sure his failure echoes.”