The mansion's sleek facade loomed as I parked in Lorette's lot, its windows glinting faintly under a starless sky. We stepped inside, and the sheer scale hit me—triple my apartment, maybe more.
The living room sprawled like a showroom, its velvet couches and glass coffee table catching the glow of a modern fireplace.
The kitchen's quartz island gleamed under pendant lights, and wide hallways stretched into shadows, their walls studded with bold, abstract art. Lorette's world was unrestrained, every inch as audacious as her emerald dress.
A stray thought flickered: a place this vast could cradle Yulia's snowy warmth, Lorette's fire, even Sky's grounded strength. I pushed it aside as Lorette guided me to a plush couch, her fingers grazing my arm, warm and deliberate.
"Wait here," she purred, her voice a low hum as she vanished up a spiral staircase, heels clicking faintly. Alone, I scanned the room, curiosity prickling. The perfection felt curated, like a stage hiding secrets.
I tugged open the coffee table's drawer, expecting coasters or clutter. Instead, a stash of sex toys gleamed—vibrators, silk restraints, a sleek plug winking in the firelight.
My pulse spiked, boxers tightening. This place is a sex dungeon dressed as a mansion. The thought sent a thrill through me, nerves tangling with intrigue. I shed my blazer, the room's warmth clinging to my skin, and sank back, heart thudding.
Lorette descended, her presence a sudden charge in the air. She'd shed her dress, standing stark naked, fair skin shimmering with a faint sheen of sweat that caught the chandelier's dim amber glow.
Her curves—bold, unapologetic—drew my eyes: heavy breasts swaying, hips rolling with each slow step. She turned, a deliberate spin, showcasing every angle under the orange light—her breasts jiggled, her cheeks bounced, a living icon of desire.
"Like what you see, baby?" she teased, voice husky, her smile a mix of challenge and invitation.
"You're a canvas I'm itching to paint," I said, the words slipping out, raw and unfiltered. Her body was a prelude, a spark to the fire we'd been stoking all night.
"Making an old wrinkle feel young again, Jona~?" Lorette purred, her smile softening—not predatory, but warm, almost fond. "Plenty of men have called me beautiful, spun it a hundred ways…" Her voice held a quiet joy, nipples flushing red, swelling like small knobs under my gaze.
"Yours is creative. So, how about you paint me white with that brush of yours?"
Her words hit like a match to kindling, heat coiling low. I locked eyes with her, her glistening stare pulling me in—hungry yet trusting, daring me to take the lead. I took a deep breath, steadying the pulse hammering in my chest.
This wasn't Yulia's tender surrender or Sky's quiet pull—this was Lorette, bold and teasing, nudging me toward control without fully yielding.
"Thank you, Lorette," I said, voice firm, claiming the moment. "Now, get on all fours."
Her eyes widened, a thrill flashing across her face. She licked her lips, slow and deliberate, as her thick inner thighs quivered, a faint glisten betraying her arousal.
Her legs shook like fragile reeds as she sank to her knees, the sight sending a jolt through me, my slacks straining. I strode to the couch, its leather cool against my back, and sat with legs spread wide, owning the space.
Lorette crawled toward me, her movements deliberate, hips swaying under the chandelier's glow. She settled between my thighs, looking up with shining, expectant eyes—not fully submissive, but eager, like a puppy testing its leash. The air thickened, charged with her teasing challenge.
"Take it out," I ordered, voice low, final. Outside this mansion, Lorette's a friend—banter, laughs, shared drinks. Here, though, she's a flame, daring me to burn brighter.
Her hot breath seeped through my slacks, a teasing warmth that made me ache. With practiced ease, she grazed the zipper with her teeth, unbuckling my silver belt with fluid flicks—experience clear in every move.
My erection sprang free, dense and heavy, grazing her cheek with its heat. Her smooth skin felt like silk against me, a contrast to the fire in my veins.
"Hah… it's so fucking big…" Lorette's eyes crossed as she stared, her giggle brushing my balls, heavy and primed. My cock throbbed, so hard I half-believed a release could hit the eight-foot ceiling.
Her reaction—raw, unguarded—stoked a primal pride. Only my second time, and an older woman's fawning over me like this?
That'll never get old.
I hadn't checked her Cradler profile, hadn't dug into her age or details. Part of me craved the mystery, the thrill of diving blind.
Sure, I might get catfished one day, but for now, I'd ride this ignorance like a wave.
The thought of Lorette, maybe past her prime, her body still craving my mark—hell, the idea of fucking her so hard it sparked life in her core—sent a drool of precum down my shaft, my arousal spiking.
Lorette's eyes glazed over, a soft "Mmm…" escaping as she leaned in, her breath hot against my sack. Her tongue pressed flush, pillowy cheeks enveloping one side with a slow, deliberate suction that tugged deep, pulling a groan from my chest. The sensation—wet, warm, unrelenting—sent sparks up my spine, my slacks straining tighter.
"It's so… primal," she murmured, voice thick with reverence, her nose grazing me as she inhaled deeply. "Your genes… they're dominant, Jona. Perfect fit." Her words, half-praise, half-taunt, stoked my ego—either I'm one-of-a-kind or her ideal match, but the way her lips worked, coaxing more heat through my length, told me it didn't matter. She was lost in it, and I was right there with her.
"Rough me up, Jona… handle me," she purred, her desire laid bare as she worshipped me, tongue tracing slow circles. "You own me, don't you?" The challenge in her voice—teasing, not yet surrendered—tensed my hand, fingers itching to act. She wasn't my slave, not yet, but she was daring me to take control, testing how far I'd go.
Her wish sparked my command. I seized her wavy hair, thick curls tangling in my grip, and pressed her face against the underside of my cock, smothering her with my heat. I'd bathed, but this was raw—pheromones cutting past soap, sinking into her senses, stoking her hunger.
The chandelier's amber glow caught the sweat on her brow, her fair skin flushed as she yielded to the moment.
"Mmnff… hhh… schllp…" Lorette's muffled sounds vibrated against me, her tongue swirling, suckling my balls with a fervor that churned my brain.
Her nails dug into my thighs, sharp and grounding, like she was anchoring herself to keep from losing control. The sting felt electric, amplifying the heat pooling in my core.
"Fuck…!" The urge to paint her white consumed me, my cock throbbing, swelling so hard it felt like forged steel, molten and unyielding.
"I'm cumming…!" My core tightened, a torrent roaring through me as I unleashed across her hair and back, thick streaks of genetic honey marking her under the mansion's dim light. Her body quivered, a soft moan escaping as she pressed closer, savoring the claim.
Lorette's brunette curls gleamed under the chandelier's amber glow, streaks of my thick, pearlescent release woven through them like bold highlights.
The sight stirred a primal pride in my chest—maybe my athletic habits, the hours of sweat and discipline, were paying off beyond a chiseled frame.
Was that why she called my genes "dominant"? My body seemed to agree, rewarding me with a physique women like Lorette craved and a potency that marked her now.
"Pwah…" Lorette exhaled, her breathy giggle brushing my skin as she pulled back, lips glossy. "Cumming just from having your balls sucked? You're adorable, Jona… time to eat you up." Her voice dripped with playful menace, and she leaned in, introducing my cock to her lips with a moist, teasing sigh.
Her tongue flicked over me, a diligent sweep that felt like a vacuum, cleaning me for a fleeting moment before she draped her heavy breasts across my lap, their weight warm and commanding.
"Fuck… your mouth's a weapon," I groaned, the words half-laugh, half-truth. Lorette's lips were a beast apart from Yulia's. Yulia's touch was patient, coaxing me to savor every pulse until I burst; Lorette's was relentless, a storm meant to break me fast and hard.
It mirrored their bedroom selves—Yulia's tender worship, Lorette's hungry conquest. Both unraveled me, but in ways that clashed like fire and frost.
Her suction tightened, a deliberate pull that drew a small, involuntary spurt from me. She swallowed it without hesitation, her throat working smoothly, and the sight—her ease, her greed—kept my cock rigid, arousal flaring hotter.
"Healthy body, healthy dick, right?" she teased, her giggle a spark against the mansion's quiet opulence. Her eyes glinted, challenging me to match her pace, daring me to take the reins she hadn't fully offered.
Lorette's eyes glinted with mischief, her lips curling as she leaned closer, breasts still heavy across my lap.
"Ever gotten a titjob before, young man?"