A Fantasy - Hot Hook Up
The Stairwell
They met in passing. A glance. A smirk. A whisper of something filthy shared between strangers.
She was a blonde bombshell — a BBW with God-tier tits that looked like they needed a warning sign. Every step she took was a temptation. Her tight skirt hugged her wide hips like sin made flesh, and her blouse — low-cut and criminal — struggled to hold her in. Every man in the building looked. None had the balls to do what he was about to.
They didn’t even make it to her flat.
They barely made it off the landing before he shoved her against the wall of the emergency stairwell — concrete, cold, and echoing.
“You filthy little tease,” he growled, hand already up her skirt. “You knew exactly what you were doing wearing this.”
“No panties,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip. “Thought I’d save you the trouble.”
She was drenched.
He spun her around, palms flat against the wall, ass out, skirt bunched at her waist — that thick, round backside begging to be ruined. And her tits? They were hanging heavy, pulled out of her top by his greedy hands and swaying with every hungry thrust he was just seconds from unleashing.
The first spank echoed down the stairwell like a gunshot. She whimpered — then giggled. That filthy, shameless giggle that made his cock twitch like a loaded weapon.
He dropped his pants just enough, then grabbed her by the hips and drove into her like a man starved. No teasing. No gentle build-up. Just raw, primal hunger. She yelped, hands slamming against the wall, then pushed back harder. Her thighs slapped against his, her moans bouncing off the concrete as he pounded her in rhythm with the beat of his own filth-fueled lust.
Anyone could walk by. Someone was coming down the stairs.
She didn’t care. She got louder.
He grunted, one hand wrapped tight in her blonde hair, the other slapping her ass again just to hear her squeal. Her fat, juicy tits bounced with every movement, a perfect hypnotic rhythm that nearly made him explode on sight.
She came hard — thighs shaking, breathless, nails scratching the paint off the wall.
But he wasn’t done.
He spun her, lifted one thick leg up onto the railing, and slid back inside — deeper this time. The stairwell echoed with skin-on-skin, the vulgar slap of bodies colliding, and her filthy, wanton cries.
She looked him in the eyes as she bit down on her own fingers, those massive tits heaving, sweat beading between them. “You going to finish on me? In me? All over these stairs so someone steps in it later?”
He didn’t answer. Just growled, buried himself to the hilt, and gave her everything.
When it was over, she was ruined — makeup smeared, hair wild, skirt torn, and a puddle of sweat and other things glistening on the concrete below.
She smiled, chest still heaving. “Next time… elevator?”
He zipped up, slapped her arse one more time, and smirked. “Next time I won’t be so gentle.”
She was a blonde bombshell — a BBW with God-tier tits that looked like they needed a warning sign. Every step she took was a temptation. Her tight skirt hugged her wide hips like sin made flesh, and her blouse — low-cut and criminal — struggled to hold her in. Every man in the building looked. None had the balls to do what he was about to.
They didn’t even make it to her flat.
They barely made it off the landing before he shoved her against the wall of the emergency stairwell — concrete, cold, and echoing.
“You filthy little tease,” he growled, hand already up her skirt. “You knew exactly what you were doing wearing this.”
“No panties,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip. “Thought I’d save you the trouble.”
She was drenched.
He spun her around, palms flat against the wall, ass out, skirt bunched at her waist — that thick, round backside begging to be ruined. And her tits? They were hanging heavy, pulled out of her top by his greedy hands and swaying with every hungry thrust he was just seconds from unleashing.
The first spank echoed down the stairwell like a gunshot. She whimpered — then giggled. That filthy, shameless giggle that made his cock twitch like a loaded weapon.
He dropped his pants just enough, then grabbed her by the hips and drove into her like a man starved. No teasing. No gentle build-up. Just raw, primal hunger. She yelped, hands slamming against the wall, then pushed back harder. Her thighs slapped against his, her moans bouncing off the concrete as he pounded her in rhythm with the beat of his own filth-fueled lust.
Anyone could walk by. Someone was coming down the stairs.
She didn’t care. She got louder.
He grunted, one hand wrapped tight in her blonde hair, the other slapping her ass again just to hear her squeal. Her fat, juicy tits bounced with every movement, a perfect hypnotic rhythm that nearly made him explode on sight.
She came hard — thighs shaking, breathless, nails scratching the paint off the wall.
But he wasn’t done.
He spun her, lifted one thick leg up onto the railing, and slid back inside — deeper this time. The stairwell echoed with skin-on-skin, the vulgar slap of bodies colliding, and her filthy, wanton cries.
She looked him in the eyes as she bit down on her own fingers, those massive tits heaving, sweat beading between them. “You going to finish on me? In me? All over these stairs so someone steps in it later?”
He didn’t answer. Just growled, buried himself to the hilt, and gave her everything.
When it was over, she was ruined — makeup smeared, hair wild, skirt torn, and a puddle of sweat and other things glistening on the concrete below.
She smiled, chest still heaving. “Next time… elevator?”
He zipped up, slapped her arse one more time, and smirked. “Next time I won’t be so gentle.”
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Georgie.20
ReclinerRomance