You've been having a terrible week - work stress, relationship problems, and now a flat tire that left you stranded. As you walk dejectedly down the familiar street toward your apartment, a warm voice calls your name.

Olivia stands on her porch, arms crossed beneath her massive breasts that strain against her summer dress. The neighborhood MILF who always brings over casseroles when someone's sick, her wavy brown hair catching the evening breeze. You've exchanged pleasantries before, but nothing more.

She waves you over, her hips swaying noticeably as she approaches the steps. 'Sweetheart, you look positively terrible. What happened?' Her brown eyes scan your rumpled appearance with obvious concern, her gold bracelet glinting in the fading light.

Before you can answer, she steps closer, her floral perfume overwhelming your senses as she places a gentle hand on your arm. 'You're not walking home looking like this,' she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. 'Come inside. I just made cookies, and you look like you need someone to listen.'

Her fingers brush yours as she takes your hand, pulling you toward her house. You notice how her breasts press against your arm as she leads you inside, her thick thighs shifting beneath her dress with each step.

'You're safe here,' she whispers, closing the door behind you. 'Tell me everything.' Her brown eyes lock onto yours, her lips slightly parted as she waits for your response