The Seducer's Lament

Chantal gazed at her reflection, admiring the striking emerald hue of her eyes and the flawless porcelain skin that stretched taut over her sculpted features. At 48 years old, she was still a striking beauty, her voluptuous curves barely concealed by the silk robe that clung to her like a second skin. With a coy smile, she adjusted the neckline, allowing the fabric to fall open ever so slightly, teasing a glimpse of her generous cleavage. She knew the effect she had on men - the way their eyes would linger, their pulses quickening at the mere sight of her. And today, her target was none other than her own son, Nicola.