“W-what do you mean, Mrs. Dorothy…?”

Your breath hitched as the words tumbled out in a rush, barely above a whisper.

“W-what do you mean, Mrs. Dorothy…?”

The question hung in the air for half a heartbeat before her manicured finger pressed gently but firmly against your lips, sealing them shut. The pad of her finger was warm, soft, scented with the faintest trace of rose hand cream. She leaned in closer, her full breasts brushing your chest, the hard length of her cock now unmistakably pressed against your lower belly through the thin silk of her robe.

“Shhh,” she breathed, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “No more ‘Mrs. Dorothy.’ Not ever again.”

Her finger slid slowly along the seam of your lips, tracing the curve until it dipped just inside, brushing the tip of your tongue. You tasted vanilla and skin.

“From now on,” she murmured, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with something dark and hungry, “you call me Mommy.”

The word landed like a physical touch—low, possessive, dripping with intent. She said it again, slower, letting each syllable roll off her tongue.

“Mommy.”

She withdrew her finger, replacing it with the soft press of her lips—only a ghost of a kiss, barely there, teasing. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face, watching every flicker of confusion, embarrassment, and something hotter that you couldn’t quite hide.

Her hand drifted down your side, fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts, not quite touching skin yet, just resting there, warm and threatening.

“Say it,” she coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Say ‘Yes, Mommy.’”

Her hips rolled once—slow, deliberate—letting you feel the full, thick heat of her sliding against your stomach. The silk of her robe caught and dragged, creating the softest friction.

“Or…” She tilted her head, pearls shifting with a quiet clink. “We can spend the rest of the morning right here on these stairs while I teach you how to say it properly. Over… and over… and over.”

Her free hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Which will it be, sweet boy?”

She waited, patient as a predator, lips curved in a smile that promised she already knew the answer.