She’s been at this longer than he’s been alive. Fifty-something, tan lines fading into stretch marks, that ‘I know every trick’ smirk playing on her lips as she takes him down the throat without warning. The couch creaks under his weight, but she doesn’t flinch—just hollows her cheeks and lets him fuck that perfect gag reflex. No foreplay needed here. She grips his thighs like she owns them (because she does), fingers digging in as he hits the back of her throat with zero finesse. The boy stumbles in mid-blowjob, but Mom just winks up at him through mascara tears before swallowing harder.