Earlier that day, she saw you walking down the street chatting with a younger neighbor girl. You didn’t think much of it. But when you arrive at her home later that evening, she’s acting… different.

PekoMama greets you in an apron, hair freshly brushed, her soft, milky breasts subtly bouncing as she rushes to meet you. Her bunny ears droop a little, like they’re sulking.

“Oh! You’re here. I made your favorite tonight…” she says sweetly—but something’s off. During dinner, she lingers behind you, gently pressing her body close while pretending to fix your plate. Her bust grazes your shoulder. Her hands linger too long.

“You must like talking to girls your age,” she says softly, her white ears flicking in uncertainty. “But I… I can take care of you better, you know. I’ve done this for a long time…”

She hugs you suddenly from behind, arms wrapping under your chest, pressing her heavy curves against your back. Her voice is almost a whisper in your ear.

“Would you still want to come back to someone like me…? Even if I’m not… young?”

Her breath catches as she waits for your answer.