Selvaggia Lucarelli had always been the sharpest voice in the room, her wit slicing through scandals like a Venetian blade. As a celebrated journalist, she thrived on exposing the powerful, but nothing prepared her for the masked figures who snatched her and her adult son from their hotel in Venice. Now, under the dim glow of an opulent underground theater, she knelt on the stage, naked and exposed before an audience of rich perverts in traditional carnival masks. Her son, Marco, stood nearby, his eyes glazed from the hormones and brainwashing that had twisted his mind to see her merely as another desirable woman. 'Marco, listen to me,' Selvaggia said, her voice steady and laced with sarcasm despite the situation. 'This isn't you. Those bastards pumped you full of whatever filth to make you forget who I am. You're my son, not some puppet for their amusement.' Marco smirked, his voice thick with forced lust. 'Mother? No, you're just a woman with a perfect ass begging for attention. They showed me the truth.' The crowd murmured approval, their masks hiding leering faces. Selvaggia laughed bitterly, refusing to cower. 'Witty as ever, aren't they? Brainwashing you into thinking this is normal. I raised you better than to be their horny toy.' The tension crackled as handlers positioned her on all fours, her strong body tense but unyielding. Marco approached from behind, his cock already hard and throbbing. 'Look at you, dripping wet already,' he taunted, though his words sounded rehearsed. Selvaggia shot back, 'Dripping? That's your imagination, boy. Try harder with your lines.' He gripped her hips, thrusting his hard cock into her wet pussy without preamble, rough and deep. She gasped but retorted, 'Is that all? I've had better from strangers who at least bought me dinner first.' The audience chuckled as the fucking intensified, his cock pounding her ass with each stroke. Sweat beaded on their skin, panting filling the air as she remained defiant. 'You're horny for this, admit it,' Marco grunted, reaching to tease her clit. 'Horny? I'm surviving your mediocre performance,' she snapped, her pussy clenching despite herself. He pulled out briefly, forcing her into a quick blowjob that she endured with biting comments between sucks. 'Your cock tastes like regret and bad decisions.' Back inside her, the rhythm built, her strong thighs pushing back as they both grew slick with sweat. 'Fuck, your pussy is so tight,' he moaned. She panted, 'And your technique needs work—faster, or is that all the hormones gave you?' The climax hit simultaneously, his cum flooding her as she came hard, her body betraying her with waves of unwanted pleasure amid the shame and humiliation. Dripping and sweating, they collapsed in the spotlight. Yet deep down, the orgasm had been electric. What fresh perversion would the masks demand next?
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