Mother's Friend's Daughter #1

Aw, is your cute little dick getting hard from having my fingers in your pretty asshole? You keep pushing against my hand like you want more, hm? You get so hard when I fingerfuck you, and when I tease you, but you can hold out a little longer, can’t you? Yeah, you’re my good boy and you can hold it for a little longer, even when I press on this part inside you—oh look at how wet you’re getting baby boy, you’re so wet for me.

PSA: if he cums on you while he’s riding you it’s his job to clean it up.

mommy said you could cum, not make a mess, so be a good boy and lick it up for me, taste how desperate you were to cum just from mommy’s cock.

You hate how she treats you like a toddler in your own home. That you bought.

Ever since you became incontinent it’s been like this. She doesn’t make you wear printed diapers. You don’t sleep in a crib. She doesn’t shove a pacifier in your mouth when you're fussy.

But you still get treated like a toddler anyway. She just doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re an adult anymore. She listens to you like you’re a toddler rambling about rainbow-colored snowflakes even when you’re trying to discuss the mortgage payment.

All you hear is “that’s great, sweetie” in that dismissive tone. She’ll help you with basic tasks like tying your shoe like you don’t know how to do it yourself.

You can be in the middle of a business meeting when she will come in to your office to check your diaper. If it’s wet, you have to excuse yourself while she changes your diaper. You don’t have any say anymore.

When her friends come over they treat you like you’re a kid who came to the party because your babysitter canceled at the last minute. They put the tv on for you and expect you to not “interrupt the adults.” The only time you’re acknowledged is when your diaper is changed.

You don’t understand how you can be treated like this. You’re an adult, one who built his own company and bought for this house. How can they not see that? How can they treat you like a child?

But as you toddle into the kitchen, you see the last remaining proof that she knows you’re an adult. She’s not cooking you breakfast in a bikini for just any reason. No, she knows you still crave her.

But she won’t acknowledge that she’s cooking breakfast in a bikini. She won’t acknowledge your desire. She’ll act like there’s nothing special happening. Nothing will be said about it.

She is happy letting the situation speak for itself as you sit down for breakfast with her. You, in your swollen morning diaper, ready for a change. And her, in her bikini. Eating breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.