A few days back, in my penthouse perched high above the glittering city sprawl, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the endless night. Marble floors cool underfoot. The air hums with discretion, walls thick enough to swallow screams. My favorite fuck-friend’s been pushing boundaries, craving control. Signs of her jealous girlfriends poisoning the well, urging her toward their dull domestic traps. I know their game—whispers of respect, feminism as a veil for envy. They crave the submission they condemn. Time to reassert the hierarchy.
I call her easiest friend. ‘Need to talk.’ That phrase? Pure foreplay in our world. She arrives like prey dressed for the kill: backless mini-dress clinging to her 1.86m frame, 79kg of sculpted power. Endless satin thighs, sky-high heels amplifying her condor span. Basketball build, thick yet sexy. She sinks into my Italian leather sofa, skirt riding up those provocative legs. Invitation clear.
The Privilege
‘Thirsty?’ I ask, eyes devouring her. ‘No, ate already.’ ‘Bullshit. I see your hunger.’ She smirks, ‘Fuck you.’ We banter. She flaunts tattoos—lower back, shoulder blade. I spin her, fingers grazing her nape, gripping wide hips. Solid. ‘No ink on me, but want my cock?’ Laughter erupts. ‘Only big ones get sucked.’ I unleash. ‘Enough for you, madame? Or more?’ Our butcher joke lands. She feigns shock: ‘You’d do her like that?’ ‘We’re not exclusive.’ I guide her head. ‘Condoms upstairs.’ She’s slow, rummaging her purse in that slutty outfit. Hypocrite. Shows the wrapper: ‘Sure?’ Kneeling now, her huge delicate hands stroke me soft. Mouth engulfs, latex dulling the heat. Good suck, eager but mechanical. No passion. I grope her small tits roughly through silk, eyes feral. Hand shoves her thick thigh aside, probing heat.
Serviette under her—protect the leather. Cotton panties, girly prints on that massive frame. I despise thongs; this delights. Basin vast, slit long, lips thin. No cunnilingus for me—filthy habit, abandoned years ago. ‘Come, fill you with joy.’ She gasps, fingers priming her slit. First thrust: awkward through rubber. On the third pullout, I slip it off slyly. Bare plunge into warm cyprine. Divine. Her size means no vice-grip like my schoolgirl’s. Legs on shoulders—heavy, offering the view. My raw cock pistons, slick with her, sweat-glazed labor.
The Excess
Doubt creeps. This A380 overwhelms. Hard at 70%, mind drifts to tighter thrills. Fantasy her as punished sub fails—too complicit, no edge. I grind on, vacant. Cum without joy—an ‘orgaste,’ seed flooding deep. She feels it, no word. I snag the discarded condom, feign recent removal. She rises, creampie trickling down her thigh despite her palm. Mesmerizing drip. Heads to the marble bathroom, silent.
She dresses, leaves into the elevator’s hush. Penthouse seals the secret—glass walls reflect nothing. City lights wink below, oblivious. My cock’s gift lingers in her. Women’s intuition will stir soon. Hierarchy etched. Back to leather throne, champagne flute chilled, savoring the privilege.
