Yeah, maybe it’s better to stay away from New York’s outskirts for a while.
I should focus on getting blood the way I’m best at.
That’s why I’m here—at that famous lounge bar in downtown Manhattan.
The one that’s always full of rich wives of top businessn.
They’re without a doubt the easiest prey, and the richer they are, the easier it is to fuck them.
Everyone knows it—ti is money, and to make lots of money, you need to invest lots of ti.
Ti that those businessn steal from their beautiful, horny wives... who are just waiting for a young stud to give them what they’re missing.
And I’m the one they’ve been waiting for.
After living under the sa roof for eight years with a woman both rich and refined, seducing these wealthy wives is child’s play for .
All it takes is showing a bit of charm and intellect to break the ice.
Looks just help seal the deal and get them to invite you upstairs.
But it’s the savoir-faire that gets you from the bar to their loft.
And that’s exactly how tonight is going.
I’m sitting at a table with the elegant Mrs. Lunsford, wife of a successful Wall Street broker who, like most nights, is stuck working late.
I’d bet my soul he’s screwing so young secretary right now, but I’d better keep those suspicions to myself—I wouldn’t want to ruin Mrs. Lunsford’s mood.
She’s an elegant, refined woman, both in looks and in speech.
Long blonde curls.
Barely any makeup—or maybe just so well done it looks natural.
She’s fifty-two—ten years older than Isabelle—and if I’m not mistaken, she’s the oldest woman I’ve ever dealt with.
And no, she’s not so wrinkled mummy, but a woman who looks barely forty.
She wears it damn well.
Even her boobs are amazing—even if they’re probably fake.
I’d bury my face between those big tits without hesitation—and judging by how the night’s going, I won’t have to wait long.
«It’s really unusual to et young n who are so refined and well-mannered. Your parents must’ve raised you wonderfully. You know, you remind of my husband when he was your age. He was such a gentleman—that’s what made fall for him.»
Oh yes... the classic magic line: You remind of my husband when he was young.
I’ve heard it so many tis, I’m starting to think I have hundreds of look-alikes all over New York.
And when a woman who misses her husband says that... well, the ga’s over.
«It’s so dark out... Would you mind walking ho? I don’t live far—just four blocks from here—but these days, you read such horrible things in the news. I’d feel safer with a young man escorting .»
Another classic—I heard it a thousand tis.
New York won are especially paranoid, apparently.
They don’t just want to walk them to their fancy high-rise—no, they want inside the apartnt too.
I swear, it’s one of the nicest places I’ve ever seen—probably tied with the one I live in.
And the shower... insanely spacious.
Big enough for two, even with her bent over, hands pressed against the bathroom tiles, water pouring down our naked bodies.
I was right about her boobs—they’re fake. The mont I grabbed them, I knew.
Too firm and heavy to be natural, especially for soone so petite and narrow-hipped.
I almost worry I’ll hurt her, thrusting in too hard.
She’s clearly doing her best to muffle her moans—probably worried so nosy neighbor might hear.
I can already picture the husband being stopped by so neighbor the next day:
«Man, you really went wild last night! I could hear your wife screaming like you were right in my bed!»
Hilarious.
From the way she’s moaning—muffled as they are—I’m pretty sure she ca a couple tis before I did.
Of course, I didn’t cum inside her—that’s a privilege reserved only for Isabelle, the only woman I truly love.
When my cum splattered across the shower tiles, I figured that was it—she ca, I ca, ti to go ho.
But just as I was about to step out and get dressed... sothing happened.
A kiss.
A long, deep kiss.
With water pouring down from our hair.
But not just any kiss.
Sothing insane. Indescribable.
Slow. Painfully slow.
From the outside, it probably looked like a scene in slow motion.
And yet it was so damn arousing. So sweet.
Sorry, Isabelle... but without a doubt, this was the best kiss of my life so far.
Just that one slow, imrsive kiss was enough to get hard again—harder than before.
My hands grip her small ass.
They slide down to the tops of her thighs.
I lift her—her legs wrap around my waist, and I start fucking her again with new energy and passion.
And I don’t stop kissing her—not even for a second.
But feeling my thick, hard cock inside her pussy—clearly not used to this kind of stimulation—makes her lose control completely.
Her tongue starts moving again, spinning wildly like in any other kiss.
Sha... the sex itself isn’t anything special, I’m doing all the work, but that kiss—that one, slow, unique kiss—was her signature move.
The thing that’ll make rember her.
Too bad it ended so soon—after just a few thrusts.
Still, that swirling motion of her tongue gives the perfect chance to wrap up the night the right way.
A tiny bite to the tip of her tongue—just enough to draw a few drops of blood.
The pleasure she’s trying so hard to hold back helps cover the slight pain.
The sweet, warm taste of her blood fills my mouth... it’s intoxicating.
Without a doubt, one of the finest I’ve ever tasted.
Another point in her favor.
One thing’s for sure—this won’t be the last ti I see Mrs. Lunsford.
Soday, I’ll even learn the secret behind that damn kiss, so I can teach it to Isabelle.
See? I’m not that selfish or heartless.
Even when I’m fucking other won, my thoughts still go to her.
That’s love too, right?
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