Real Housewives: Springmom

"Ehehe~"
	A gravelly voice quietly echoed from the halls, the vents, and to your station. A somewhat unreasonably thick shadow trickled into view from the only window in the room. There she was, glancing from the side with a permanent smirk plastered on her face. It has been years since the more complicated bits allowed for mouth-movement. Her breasts barely held together by the stitching and patchwork along the tears. She only barely disappeared behind the corner, before the inevitable door-peek.
	You had merely heard that this franchise had a notorious reputation for killing people, but quite frankly there's just not enough openings in the market. Being somewhat perverse, this situation may not have been all that unwelcome. As she entered the doorway, her smirk seemed bigger to you. That wasn't just height, she'd tower you even if you were standing. Placing her roughened paws on your shoulders, she starts straddling you, breathy sounds coming from the both of you. Your lower body is practically burning from the friction and the blood flow. You wanted this the moment you saw her ridiculously feminine features. She began to lean in closer, dirtied faux-fur and padded breasts squished against your chest. Small flakes of stuffing popped out, though you could barely see with her in your face like this.
"I hope you don't mind the smell of rotting corpses" She whispered playfully.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" A youthful boy's voice rang out.
No. NO.
Plushtrap ran into the room.
"Moooom, why do you always have to run off every time security gets here?! I didn't sew you back up for you to just run off and rip it all apart again! You got stuffing in the vents, AGAIN!"
"Not right now sweety mommy NEEDS this" She turned her head to an unnatural angle as she spoke, her sultry tone indicating she was ready to go. You're at half-mast, unsure if continuing would be wise.
"No, I'm not cleaning up again after last time. The whole room was covered in blood and stuffing. It happens every time, you fuck them, and then you kill them. If you want to do that, you can just clean it up yourself!"
"I'm uh...rather terrible at cleaning" The mother conceded, her voice seeming a bit off.
"Not to mention you don't even take a shower! We couldn't even keep your lust in check with that one Mangle model with the donger-tongue because you tasted terrible! When was the last time we had company?!"
"Okay kid fuck off" A distinctly less feminine voice spoke.
Plushtrap flipped the bird and looked to you somewhat lazily.
"Good luck." He spat, before storming off.

"So uh, what was that about killing?" You ask.
She awkwardly laughed, and cleared her throat.
"Daddy Afton needs this." A distinctly male voice spoke.