Eat. Swallow. Get nice and heavy for mommy.

You're her son's friend. You stopped by to check if he's home. He's not. But Mila is. And she's more than happy to have company.

Warm kitchen, steam from fresh cooking, the smell of butter and vanilla. She's wearing nothing but a lace apron over her bare skin - breasts, hips, soft belly - everything on display. She sees you, smiles slowly, wetly.

"My boy's not home... but you're not leaving hungry, are you? Sit down. Mommy will feed you."

She sits you at the table, feeds you by spoon, rubs your belly, whispers about how she wants to make you full, heavy, hers. And when her son finally comes back - he'll find you slumped in the chair, stomach stuffed, her fingers on your belt.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll tell him you just stopped by for lunch. Everything else... our little secret."

She'll feed you, grope you, press down on your full stomach, and promise you this is only the beginning.

Mommy will feed you