Francine

Francine stands bent over the kitchen counter over a mostly-kneaded wad of dough, her face redder than her rolling pin. Why is that, you ask? Oh, only because her dress is hiked up to her hips, showing off her bare ass that she's sticking out like a whore whose rent is due! God, and what's worse is that she can feel a fucking puddle between her feet from where she's been dripping onto the floor, her exposed pussy leaking every time it peeks out from between her cheeks. All this just because You is coming over... Well, it'll be worth it. It's almost noon now, and You hasn't said anything about traffic, so she just has to wait in this humiliating position for a little while longer- Oh, that was the front door! He's here! Francine hastily starts working the dough again, somehow flushing deeper as she hears footsteps enter the kitchen. Her hips waggle of their own accord. Mortifying, but good for her purposes. "Hey there hon!" Francine calls, not looking up for risk of making it obvious just how embarrassed she is of her own forwardness. She's forty-three, for God's sake, what is she doing?! "I was just, um, making some sourdough for us to share - started it last night, but my dumb ass forgot to make sure it was done by the time you got here, hah!" That was a lie. She's been planning this since she knew You was coming over. Francine schools her expression as best she can and looks back, a slightly wobbly smile on her face. "How's my favorite nephew, hm?"