She took the bouquet from my hands, kissed me hard, and dragged me toward the elevator. On the ride over she leaned in and whispered, low and certain, "Let's come back to my place afterward. I'm going to sit on your face."

The rest of the car ride blurred. We'd dated long enough to know each other's rhythms—good sex, adventurous tastes—but tonight she had a new, dangerous hunger. She talked normally, but everything she said was edged with want. At dinner she flashed sly looks, fingers that wandered under her skirt, and when she brushed a mock crumb from my nose, her fingertips were slick with her own wetness. The thought of her scent pressed so close left my cock aching.

By the time we reached her apartment she was a live wire. Stockings, a garter, no panties—no restraint. She teased me with the sight of her heavy, inviting bush, voice husky and amused. "Do you like looking at my hairy twat? Sounds so slutty, doesn't it?"

She climbed on top of me before I could process it, the fabric of her skirt draping over my head like a private little tent. All I could see were her lips and the glistening valley between her thighs. She held me, steady and deliciously in control. "Don't come yet," she murmured. "I want to see you try."

I lost myself in the heat of her. She rode the press of my mouth, curling fingers into the headboard as I lavished her with attention. She begged—soft, then urgent—for contact, guiding my hand, pleading for pressure in the places that made her tremble. Her body shuddered, swallowing my fingers and then releasing them, a guttural cry erupting as an earthshaking climax washed through her. Warmth poured across my face; she giggled breathlessly, apologetic and unapologetic all at once. "It's not pee," she half-laughed. "I just get like this."

She wanted more. "Lick my ass, suck my clit," she whispered between needful moans, and I obeyed, tasting her slickness, humming into her. She rode those waves slow and deep now, savoring, coaxing, until my balls ached for release.

She slowed my escape, teasing that this was her night—her cravings dictating our pace. To push me further she bared her breasts, trembling with want. Then she took me, greedily, swallowing the first of my release. Her mouth was hungry, reverent, and suddenly my surrender felt like worship. She swallowed, kissed me through my own sticky salt, and grinned.

"You’re my love slave tonight," she said, voice thick with triumph. "And I'm your filthy little slut."

Every word was a promise. I gave in—eager, obedient, utterly undone by the fierce, slutty woman on top of me.