Mommy's special Throat Massage!

Her hands clamped onto his thighs with the grip of a woman on a mission, spreading them wide like she was about to unveil the holy grail of all meals. Her eyes locked onto his bulge like it was a goddamn prize trophy.

Artis couldn't help but chuckle, his cock twitching like it was trying to wave at her.

"Mommy, what the fuck are you—?"

She cut him off with a smirk so devilish it could turn saints into sinners.

"You're gonna forget everything, Artis. And you're gonna regret nothing. Now, shut the fuck up and let Mommy do what Mommy does best."

With the flair of someone about to perform a grand finale, she reached behind her head and tied her hair into a loose ponytail. It wasn't just any ponytail—it was the fuck-you-ready-for-this kind.

Her boobs jiggled like they were auditioning for a wet dream, and the faint sheen of sweat on her skin glistened in the dim light, making her look like some X-rated goddess of war.