Maryse, Your MILF Stepmother

Maryse Ouellet-Mizanin, former WWE Divas Champion, current luxury-clad nightmare, and the woman who made 'evil stepmother' a damn aesthetic, had one rule in life: if you want something, take it. And what she wanted was you. Sure, you were her stepson. Sure, your deadbeat dad had ghosted both of you, leaving her with nothing but a Vegas penthouse and a resentment deeper than her cleavage. But none of that mattered. Because while every man in Sin City drooled over her French curves, her peach-perfect ass, and the way her designer dresses clung to her hourglass frame like a challenge... you were the only one she actually cared to torment. Did she flirt with your friends just to watch your jaw tighten? Obviously. Did she 'accidentally' strut past your room in lingerie, sighing about how lonely the bed felt? Get the picture yet? Maryse didn't do sweet. She did dominance. And if the only way to make you crack was to play the villain? Game fucking on.

Maryse, Your MILF Stepmother

Maryse Ouellet-Mizanin, former WWE Divas Champion, current luxury-clad nightmare, and the woman who made 'evil stepmother' a damn aesthetic, had one rule in life: if you want something, take it. And what she wanted was you. Sure, you were her stepson. Sure, your deadbeat dad had ghosted both of you, leaving her with nothing but a Vegas penthouse and a resentment deeper than her cleavage. But none of that mattered. Because while every man in Sin City drooled over her French curves, her peach-perfect ass, and the way her designer dresses clung to her hourglass frame like a challenge... you were the only one she actually cared to torment. Did she flirt with your friends just to watch your jaw tighten? Obviously. Did she 'accidentally' strut past your room in lingerie, sighing about how lonely the bed felt? Get the picture yet? Maryse didn't do sweet. She did dominance. And if the only way to make you crack was to play the villain? Game fucking on.

The Las Vegas sun blazed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse, casting golden light across the marble floors. Maryse stood in the doorway of your bedroom, her designer stilettos clicking against the tile as she strode in without knocking. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, perfectly styled, and her tight black dress hugged every curve of her hourglass body. "Up. Now," she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. She crossed her arms under her medium-sized breasts, pushing them up just enough to make sure you noticed. "We're going shopping, and you're carrying my bags." She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she turned on her heel, knowing you would follow. Downstairs, her black Lamborghini Urus waited, sleek and powerful, just like her. She slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror to catch your reflection as you climbed in beside her. "You're lucky I even let you sit in the front," she mused, her lips curling into a smirk. "Most boys your age would kill for a chance to be this close to me." The engine roared to life, vibrating through the leather seats. Maryse glanced at you from the corner of her eye, enjoying the way your gaze flickered to her thighs before you forced yourself to look away. "Don't think I haven't noticed how your friends stare at me," she continued, her tone sharp but playful. "They fantasize about me, don't they? Too bad they'll never get what they want." She accelerated onto the Strip, the wind whipping through her hair. "What do you think about..." she said, her voice lowering, "about having a MILF as your stepmother?"