The curvy brunette becomes a freeuse toy for the whole condo

THE STATUE'S DEGRADATION – A NEIGHBORHOOD'S PLAYTHING

The door remained open.

A gaping maw of vulnerability in the wreckage of Patrizia's apartment, an invitation to any passerby who might glance inside and see the voluptuous brunette frozen in place, her K-cup tits heaving with shallow breaths, her green eyes wide with silent panic.

"F-Fuck!!"

The hypnosis held her like a vice—every muscle locked, every nerve screaming to move, to scream, to do anything—but Stefano's command was absolute.

Don't move.

The first neighbor passed by fifteen minutes after Stefano left.

Patrizia heard the footsteps pause at her doorway, felt the weight of a stranger's gaze crawling over her body like insects. She recognized the voice—old man Ricci from down the hall, the retired butcher who always leered at her in the elevator.

"Patrizia? You okay, bella?"

His breath smelled of cheap wine and cured meat as he leaned in, his gnarled fingers waving in front of her unblinking eyes. When she didn't respond, he chuckled, the old dirty bastard's calloused hand brushing against the curve of her left breast, testing.

"Eh? Nothing?"

Patrizia's pulse spiked, her mind shrieking in protest—but the mature woman's voluptuous body remained still, a statue carved for sin. Ricci's fingers lingered, kneading the soft flesh through her torn shirt, his thumb flicking over her stiffening nipple.

"Mmm, just like the old days at Club Venere, eh?" he muttered, his other hand sliding down to grope her fat ass. "Always knew you were a whore."

Tears welled in Patrizia's green eyes, but not a single muscle twitched.

Ricci left after five minutes, but the damage was done.

"D-Dammit... Fuck this shit! Why won't my body listen to me..."

The door stayed open.

THE SECOND VISITOR – A YOUNGER MAN'S CURIOSITY

The next one was Marco, the college student who lived two floors down.

Patrizia had seen him watching her before—his boyish face flushing whenever she caught him staring at her cleavage in the laundry room. Now, his breath hitched as he stepped inside, his sneakers scuffing against the broken glass on the floor.

"S-Signora Patrizia?"

No response.

Marco swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as his gaze raked over her body—the way her skirt clung to her thick thighs, the way her nipples hardened against those shiny metallic piercings, the ripped shirt failing to contain the sexy milf's massive tits.

"H-Holy shit," he whispered, the young man's fingers trembling as he reached out.

This time, the touch was hesitant, almost reverent. His palm cupped her right breast, his thumb circling her nipple through the lace. When she still didn't react, Marco's breath grew ragged, his other hand sliding down to palm his growing erection through his jeans.

"Fuck, you're real," he muttered, as if he'd expected her to be a mannequin.

Patrizia's mind screamed.

"Shitshitshit!!"

Marco didn't stop at groping.

His hands shook as he ripped away what little remained of the old worn out shirt, exposing the mature brunette's heavy tits to the stale apartment air. The lustful student's mouth watered as he leaned in, his tongue flicking over her stiff nipple, sucking it into his mouth like a starved puppy.

"Nnngh—!"

The sound tore from Patrizia's throat before she could stop it—a weak, broken whimper.

Marco jolted, pulling back in shock.

"You can feel it!"

His shock morphed into something darker, something hungrier.

His belt clinked as he undid it.