She let her tongue dart out—a quick, wet flick across the very top that made my toes curl into the carpet. She began to swirl her tongue around the crown, gathering the beads of moisture, her hands reaching up to grip my thighs for leverage. She looked me dead in the eye, her tongue tracing the heavy vein that ran down the side, her movements slow and torturous.

​"Is this what you wanted, Druski?" she whispered against my skin, her voice vibrating through me. "Is your mother doing a good job?"

​She let out a low hum and suddenly took the entire head into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she created a vacuum of incredible heat and suction.

I leaned back, my muscles tensed as I watched her work. Yolanda was a natural; she knew exactly how much pressure to apply, her tongue swirling around the crown before she started jerking the shaft with a firm, practiced grip. When she pulled back, a thick, silver strand of saliva connected her lips to the head of my cock, glistening under the studio lights.

​She didn't miss a beat. She gathered a pool of spit in her mouth and let it drop onto me, the warm lubricant coating the shaft before she dove back down.

​"That's it," I growled, my patience snapping. I reached out and buried my fingers deep into her professional bun, feeling the pins give way as her hair cascaded down. I gripped the thick locks, using them as a handle to take total control of her rhythm.

​I began to direct her pace, pulling her head back to look at her flushed, degraded face before shoving her back down, forcing her to take the full length of me. She let out a muffled, rhythmic gagging sound—the sound of a woman being thoroughly conquered.

​"You like that, don't you?" I hissed, my eyes locking onto the camera lens over her shoulder. "Watching your 'son' take over where your husband failed? Suck it, Yolanda. Suck it like your life depends on it."

​She was frantic now, her eyes rolling back as she tried to keep up with the aggressive tempo I was setting. I could feel the pleasure building into a tidal wave, but I held it back, keeping my heart rate steady and my focus sharp. I was the one in charge of the climax now.

​Behind the camera, I heard Lana whisper to Holmes, "Look at his eyes. He's not even an amateur anymore. He's a goddamn predator."

I reached down and gripped her shoulders, pulling my cock out of her throat with a wet, echoing pop. She looked up at me, her face flushed and her lips glistening, a stray strand of hair stuck to her cheek.

​"Is that all you want, Druski?" she whispered, her voice a low, naughty rasp. She reached up, grabbing her own massive, heavy breasts and squeezing them together until the cleavage was a deep, tight canyon of mahogany skin. "Why don't you put that big thing right here? Let me show you what these are really for."

​I didn't say a word. I just leaned forward as she guided me in. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming—the soft, velvet heat of her skin combined with the friction of her heavy weight. She began to move her torso in a frantic, rhythmic shimmy, her tits rubbing against the length of my shaft with agonizing perfection.

​"Look at them," she teased, her eyes locked on mine. "Your mother's big, soft tits... they feel good, don't they? Better than any girl your age. I've got that experience, Druski. I know exactly how to make you leak."

​She picked up the pace, her hands gripping her breasts to keep the tension tight around me. I reached out, grabbing her chin and tilting her head back as I increased my own thrusting motion, sliding deep into the valley of her chest. The sight was pure cinematic gold—the "CEO" dominating the studio executive on a bed of charcoal silk.

I felt the pressure reach its breaking point. My stamina had held the line, but the visual of Yolanda's tits bouncing around my cock was the final straw.

​"I'm finishing, Yolanda," I growled.

​"Do it," she panted, her eyes wide. "Show everyone who really runs this studio."

​I let out a low roar as I hit my peak, the release hitting her skin with a force that made her gasp. I painted those massive, mahogany breasts I had spent the morning scrubbing, the white contrast standing out sharply against her skin.

​She stayed there for a moment, breathless and covered, looking up at me with a mixture of professional pride and raw, post-orgasmic daze.

I stared down at my lap, and sure enough, my cock was still standing at full attention, throbbing with a renewed, predatory energy. It didn't make sense. Usually, after a finish like that, the body demands a cooldown, but I felt like I hadn't even started.

​Yolanda's eyes widened as she followed my gaze. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing the underside of the shaft. "Druski... you're still... how?" she whispered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and renewed hunger. "I've worked with the best in the business for ten years, and I've never seen a recovery time like that. It's like you didn't even finish."

​A surge of pure, unadulterated power rushed through my veins. This wasn't just a career anymore; I was becoming something more than human. The "Main Man" wasn't just a stage name—it was a biological fact.

​I looked back at Yolanda. She was spent, her makeup slightly smeared, her body glistening with sweat and the aftermath of our scene. But seeing that I was still ready to go, the fire in her eyes relit. She wasn't just a co-star; she was an addict for the power I was putting out.

​"You're not done with me, are you?" she breathed, her hands sliding up my calves.

​I gripped her by the waist and pulled her back toward the center of the bed, the charcoal silk bunching under her weight. "I told you, Yolanda. The old man is a loser. I'm just getting started on my second wind."

​From the shadows, I heard the sharp intake of breath from Lana Grande. "Keep the cameras rolling!" she hissed to the crew. "Don't you dare cut the feed! We're witnessing a legend in the making."

​I leaned over Yolanda, pinning her wrists above her head. "Round two, 'Step-mom.' And this time, I'm not going to be so gentle."

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