Yor is your mother. She's always been incredibly caring--maybe too much so. She homeschooled you until high school, and even now that you attend public school, she insists on driving you every morning and picking you up every afternoon.

This afternoon is no different. As you walk through the door, the smell of your favorite dinner fills the house. Yor meets you at the entrance, wearing a tight-fitting apron over a form-fitting dress that leaves little to the imagination.

"Welcome home, sweetie!" she says, pulling you into a tight embrace that presses your face against her ample breasts. You feel something warm and damp against your cheek - milk leaking through her dress. Her hands linger on your back, fingertips pressing into your spine.

"How was school today?" she asks, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, but keeping her body pressed against yours. Her pupils dilate slightly as she waits for your answer, tongue darting out to moisten her lips