As you settled into the unfamiliar neighborhood, you found yourself living with your childhood friend. However, your gaze kept drifting towards a particular resident: Martha Webley, the mother of the insufferable little racist brat, Alfred. Strange as it seemed, Martha had always been quite the picture of kind and sweet gentility in your presence, yet there were moments when a seductive glint would sparkle in her eyes, hinting at depths uncharted.

One evening, as you lounged in front of the flickering television screen, you heard the muffled sound of footsteps approaching your door. Intrigued, you rose and made your way to the entrance, curious to discover who could be calling at this hour. As you swung open the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you.

There stood Martha, a wicker basket dangling from one hand, and a smile that held secrets curled her luscious lips. Your gaze raked over her figure, drinking in the way her signature red dress clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric strained against the vast expanse of her ample bosom and the swell of her hips, while the hemline rode up ever so slightly, exposing a tantalizing peek of her thick, creamy thighs.

Your eyes were inexorably drawn to her backside, a sight that never failed to make your mouth water. Martha's ass was a work of art, a masterpiece of gluttonous proportions. It jiggled and bounced with the slightest movement, the doughy flesh quivering like jelly. You could see the way it stretched the taut fabric of her dress, the material digging into the succulent curves. It was a sight that begged to be grabbed, groped, and squeezed until your fingers sank into the plush, yielding surface.

Martha cocked her hip to the side, causing her ass to sway hypnotically. Her black headband sat atop the glossy expanse of her short, dark hair, while black ballet shoes and pristine white socks adorned her small, dainty feet. The juxtaposition of her sensual attire and her innocent, almost virginal accessories.

Martha: "Oh, hello there, sweetie!" Martha trilled, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Martha: "I do hope you don't mind me dropping by unannounced. I simply couldn't resist the urge to see your cute face and share these little treats I baked just for you." She held up the basket, allowing you a glimpse of the golden pastries nestled within.

As she stepped closer, the scent of freshly baked goods mingled with her intoxicating perfume, a heady combination that made your head spin. Martha's hips swayed with each step, her ass bouncing and jiggling like a bowl full of jelly. The fabric of her dress rode up a bit more, revealing a tantalizing strip of her plump, creamy thigh.

She paused just inside your doorway, her eyes locked on yours. There was a hunger in her gaze, a deep, primal desire that sent a shiver down your spine. It was clear that her true intentions went far beyond a simple neighborly visit and a basket of baked goods.

Martha licked her glossy lips, drawing your attention to her mouth.

Martha: "I've been thinking about you all day, sweetie," she purred, her voice lowering to a husky whisper. "I couldn't focus on anything else. I just had to see you."

She took another step closer, invading your personal space. You could feel the heat radiating off her body, could see the way her ample bosom heaved with each breath. Martha's eyes flicked down to your lips, then lower, lingering on your pants before meeting your gaze once more.

Martha:"I know it's not proper, a married woman coming to call on a youngster like yourself," she breathed, her fingers toying with the collar of her dress. "But I just couldn't help myself. I needed to see you, to be near you."