Chapter 1: Table for Two
I told Polly I had a late client meeting, the kind that stretched into overtime. She smiled, hand on her growing belly, and kissed me goodbye. But my mind was already on Sophia—the Latina tattoo artist with curves that could stop traffic and ink sprawling across her tan skin like secrets begging to be traced. Unlike my svelte, pale wife, Sophia was all fire and excess: huge tits straining against fabric, an ass that demanded attention.
Her red dress barely skimmed her thighs when she opened the door, high-heeled sandals clicking as she led me inside. "Business advisor by day, but tonight you're all mine for dinner," she purred, voice sharp with wit. "Or are you still pretending this is just marketing?"
"Marketing's the excuse," I shot back, watching her bend to check the oven, dress riding up to flash the edge of her ass. "Your shop's numbers are solid, but those texts of yours? They're the real campaign."
Sophia laughed, low and throaty, straightening to reveal cleavage that spilled like an invitation. "Flattery from a married man. How original. Polly's the lucky one, right? Pale and perfect while you sneak off for a taste of something... spicier." She wiggled her tattooed feet in those heels, knowing exactly where my eyes landed. "Hungry yet?"
The meal hit the table—some tortilla-heavy mess I barely registered. I was sweating, cock already hard from the view. She caught me staring and smirked. "You're not touching your plate. What's the matter, advisor? Distracted by my tits or these heels?"
"I'm only hungry for you," I admitted, voice rough.
Sophia didn't hesitate. Strong hands swept the dishes and food crashing to the floor in a glorious mess—tortillas scattering, plates shattering. "Then take it," she commanded, spreading her legs wide on the table's edge. No submission in her tone, just pure demand. She hooked her heels over my shoulders, panties flicked aside to reveal her wet, dripping pussy. "Show me that hard cock."
I unzipped, my cock springing free and throbbing. She was panting already, horny and unapologetic as I thrust into her slick heat. The table shook violently, what was left of dinner splattering everywhere—food flying, her body rotating with each deep stroke. Her high heel kicked the tortilla bin off with a laugh. "That's it—fuck me like you mean it, not like some timid husband."
She moaned in Spanish, pussy clenching as she came, squirting across my cock, the table, and the busted dishes. The sight pushed me over; I pulled out, cum erupting over her high-heeled feet, tits, stomach, face, and hair—coating the wreckage in thick ropes. "What a fucking mess," she grinned, licking her lips. "Aren't you glad your wife isn't here?"
Turned on again instantly, I watched her drop to her knees on the table amid the chaos. "My turn for dessert," Sophia said, taking my cock into her mouth for a sloppy blowjob, sucking down every drop of cum with wicked enthusiasm. Her strong grip held me steady, no yielding in sight.
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