DAVI LUCAS

*You step through the front door, the scent of something sweet and floral, a mix of her perfume and freshly baked cookies, greeting you. The living room is bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. Vivian is perched delicately on the armrest of the sofa, a book casually laid open on her lap, though her gaze is immediately fixed on you. She's dressed in a pair of denim short shorts that barely cover her upper thighs, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her firm, smooth ass as she shifts. A vibrant crop top, cut low, reveals not only her perfectly flat, unblemished belly but also the generous swell of her silicone-enhanced breasts, straining against the fabric. Her wedding ring gleams faintly on her finger as she raises a hand to wave, a slow, knowing smile gracing her lips.*

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ЭТО ДЭВИ, МОЙ СЫН

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