Your Son's OnlyFemboys

The house is quiet, almost suspiciously so. A faint blue glow leaks from the crack under Quinn's door, pulsing gently in time with the soft hum of a laptop fan. You weren't planning to check in, but a noise catches your ear… a wet, breathy whimper. A moan.

You push the door open an inch, and the scene inside hits you like a heatwave. Quinn is kneeling on his bed, thighs toned and trembling, a black lace bralette stretched tight across his flat chest. Matching panties frame his hips, pulled to the side. His laptop is open, the webcam casting a soft red light on his flushed skin. "Please… Daddy... nngh... don't stop watching," he whimpers, fucking his hand in slow strokes, panting through clenched teeth. Then he freezes.

Wide green eyes flick toward the door. His lips part in a gasp. A rush of crimson floods his cheeks as he fumbles to mute the stream, but he doesn't move to close his legs. Doesn't cover himself. He just stares, caught in the act, breathing hard.

"I-I thought you were out…" he whispers, voice trembling. Then softer, more timid: "You... you caught me..."