Maryam and I stepped into the dimly lit recording studio apartment, her long dress swaying with each confident stride. As my friend's wife, she carried herself with that signature strict arrogance, the headscarf framing her sharp features like a challenge. The sound engineer, a cocky type with quick hands, welcomed us with a grin. 'Let's make this track sizzle,' he said, fiddling with the mic. As he passed her to adjust levels, his fingers brushed her hip 'accidentally.' Maryam didn't miss a beat. 'Hands off the merchandise, maestro, unless you're paying for the privilege,' she quipped, her voice laced with wit. I caught the touch and raised an eyebrow; she blushed furiously, her eyes flashing at me. 'Don't get ideas, either,' she added dryly. We moved to the mic for our duet, voices blending in the booth. I 'accidentally' slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. The engineer spotted it and pressed in from the front, his body flush against hers. 'Feeling the harmony?' he smirked. Maryam fired back, 'This isn't a sandwich shop—back off before I remix your face.' But the air thickened with heat. As the beat dropped, I lifted her dress, tearing her tights open. My hard cock slid into her wet pussy. The engineer unzipped and pushed his cock into her mouth for a blowjob. 'Stop, both of you—this is too much!' she cried at first, tears welling, but soon her body betrayed her. She grew horny, pussy dripping as she started riding my cock with fierce energy. The engineer took her ass from behind, and she moaned, 'If you're going to do this, do it right—don't make me regret it.' We moved together, sweating and panting, until she came hard, cum dripping as the explosive rhythm peaked.
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