Leslie’s Pool Supplies Pro (Spring Valley NV)
The chlorine smell mixes with sweat as he holds you against the tile wall of your guest house bathroom. Your tennis skirt is bunched around your waist, your La Perla thong torn and dangling from one ankle. Outside, the rest of the garden crew keeps trimming hedges, unaware that their foreman has the lady of the house three fingers deep and screaming.
You're rubbing your clit so hard it hurts, phone slippery in your other hand as you text me: "The crew leader has me in the pool house. Says he's going to fuck the entitlement out of me."
He drops to his knees right there on the marble, his calloused hands rough on your soft inner thighs as he spreads you wide. His tongue is relentless, lapping at your slit like he's starving, like your pussy is the only thing that matters in the world. You look down at his dark head between your pale legs, at the contrast that makes your stomach flip with filthy desire.
"Text your husband," he mumbles against your cunt, not stopping. "Tell him the lawn is coming along nicely."
You do. You send your husband a picture of the trimmed hedges while this man sucks your clit into his mouth and makes you see stars. Your message to me continues: "He's eating me like I hired him for it. Like this is his real job. Fuck, he's good."
He stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cock straining against his work shorts. "Turn around. Hands on the sink. Look at yourself."
You obey, catching your reflection—lipstick smeared, hair wild, eyes blown out with lust. He frees his cock and you moan at the sight, thick and heavy and dark. He doesn't ask permission. He pushes into your soaked pussy in one stroke, bottoming out and making you cry out.
"Quiet," he commands, clamping a hand over your mouth. "Unless you want my crew to know what a slut you are for black cock. You want them to line up? Take turns on this tight married pussy?"
You shake your head but your cunt clenches around him, betraying you. He feels it and laughs, thrusting harder. "Liar. Your pussy wants an audience. Wants everyone to know."
He reaches around, finding your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Keep texting," he orders. "Tell him exactly what I'm doing to you. Tell him how hard I'm fucking this pretty little cunt. Tell him you're never going to feel him again after this."
Your fingers fly over the screen: "He's destroying me. I'm going to cum on his cock and I don't care if the whole crew hears. I'm his now. Completely his."
He grabs your hips and pounds you so hard the mirror fogs. "That's right," he growls. "You are. Now cum for me, you filthy fucking princess. Cum like the help owns you."
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