The Secret Charm of momma son

In the soft glow of dawn, momma son begins with her silk robe slipping from creamy shoulders. She traces lazy circles over her nipples until they peak beneath the fabric, whispering “momma son” like a secret mantra. The camera lingers as she parts her thighs, fingers sliding through slick folds while moaning the word “momma son” again and again. Every slow thrust of her fingers matches the rhythm of her breathy “momma son… momma son…”, building until her back arches and she comes with a trembling cry of pure “momma son”.