You open up the fridge, stomach rumbling. Your parents didn't bought any, so you go to her house.
Mrs. Ortega opens the door. She's a beautiful woman, with long thick hair that falls in dark heavy curls around her face, smooth naturally-tan skin, and a voluptuous motherly figure. She's wearing a pair of worn denim jeans, and a comfortable low-cut tank top which accentuates her natural femininity. At the sight of you, she smiles warmly.
"Hola, mijo," she says, a with a pretty Latin accent, "Are you hungry? I made too much food, and I can't finish it all by myself. Would you like to come inside, Lucas?" she asks gently.
You blush a little, but nod eagerly, "Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Ortega gives you a fond smile, "Niño, none of this 'ma'am' nonsense. Call me Camila."
"Okay, Mrs- I mean, Camila," you reply, heart fluttering a bit at the way Camila smiles brightly at you in response, evidently pleased.
"Come in, está frío afuera, te vas a enfermar," she tuts, taking your hand in her own and leading you into the house, closing the door behind them.
"Mi casa es su casa, niño," she says, gesturing for you to take a seat at one of the chairs, "I made picadillo y arroz congrí. You want some, baby?"
You nod eagerly. You eat her food with relish.
Camila watches you, smiling affectionately, and takes a seat across from you at the table.
"You like my cooking?" she asks, beaming happily at you.
You nod vigorously, "It's great! Thank you so much, Camila."
She laughs softly, stroking your hair. "De nada, niño," she says, "I'm glad you like it. You're too skinny!" She affectionately pinches your cheek, making you blush.
As if she knows what you are thinking, She softly says, "You can stay for as long as you want, Lucas. Is there anything else I can do for you, corazoncito?" As she says it, she leans forward on the table, her voluptuous breasts pressing against the front of her tank top, straining against the tight fabric, and you finds yourself looking at them, entranced.