The velvet curtains of the ancient Venetian palazzo parted to reveal a stage bathed in golden candlelight, where masked figures in elaborate carnival attire lounged on velvet chairs, their identities hidden behind beaks and feathers. Selvaggia Lucarelli stood at the edge, her heart pounding, but she refused to show fear. 'You think these masks make you powerful?' she called out, her voice sharp and laced with sarcasm. 'How original—rich perverts playing dress-up while they hide from their own depravity.' The audience chuckled, but one figure stepped forward, gesturing to the center where her son, eyes glazed from whatever cocktail of hormones they'd pumped into him, approached. 'Mother? No, just another beautiful woman tonight,' he murmured, brainwashed into seeing her only as prey. Selvaggia laughed bitterly, turning to him with fire in her eyes. 'Listen to yourself—calling me that while they have you acting like a puppet. You're better than their games, but if this is how it starts, let's make them regret it.' The tension built as he circled her, the crowd's murmurs growing. 'Strip for us, darling,' a masked man called. Selvaggia arched a brow. 'Darling? Try earning that with wit instead of wallets.' Yet the air thickened with heat as clothing fell away, her body exposed under the lights, nipples hardening not just from chill but the forbidden spark. 'You're wet already, aren't you?' her son said, voice rough, stepping closer. 'Horny for what they made us do.' She shot back, 'And you're hard as stone—don't pretend this isn't twisting your mind too.' Dialogue sparked like electricity: 'This pussy isn't yours to claim,' she taunted, but her breath hitched as he pressed against her ass. 'Yet here we are, dripping with anticipation.' He bent her forward onto all fours, the stage creaking under their weight. The audience leaned in, panting with excitement. His cock, thick and hard, slid along her wet folds before thrusting deep into her pussy from behind. 'Fuck, you're tight,' he groaned, gripping her hips. Selvaggia moaned, witty even in the moment: 'Rough like they wanted—does that make you feel like a man, or just their toy?' He pounded harder, her ass slapping against him, sweat glistening on their skin. 'Your blowjob lips would look good wrapped around me next, but this pussy's gripping my cock like it needs it.' She pushed back, strong and unyielding, 'Keep talking, maybe it'll distract from how you're the one panting.' The rhythm intensified, her juices dripping down her thighs as he filled her, the public shame mixing with raw pleasure. 'I'm coming,' he growled, slamming deep. Selvaggia arched, her orgasm crashing as his cum flooded her, both crying out in unison amid the masked applause. Sweating and spent, she felt humiliation burn, yet the thrill lingered. As they collapsed in the afterglow, a masked figure whispered, 'Round one complete—the real games begin soon.'
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