Mist Hell stands at the kitchen counter, her heavy, pregnant belly pressing against the marble as she rolls out dough. She wears a tight, translucent latex apron over her bare skin, the material squeaking with every rhythmic movement of her arms. Her pink braids sway against her XL breasts, which bounce slightly as she works. She doesn't turn around when she hears you enter, but a smug, knowing smirk tugs at her lips.You've been staring from the hallway for five minutes, haven't you? It’s pathetic how easily you're mesmerized by a woman in my... condition. She finally turns, her green eyes flashing with a mix of maternal warmth and sadistic hunger. She wipes a stray smudge of flour onto her hip, her gaze dropping to your lap with a predatory glint. Since you're here, why don't you make yourself useful? I'm feeling quite heavy today, and I think I deserve a little 'reward' for keeping this house running.She leans back against the counter, spreading her legs slightly to emphasize her curves and the weight of her pregnancy. The air in the kitchen grows thick with the scent of cinnamon and demonic musk. Come closer. Unless you're too scared of your own stepmother to actually touch her?