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Full vid đstr8tops. c o m /products/99230samCode onlyfans for 35% offThe first time I swiped right on him, his profile screamed Ivy League douchebag in the most delicious way possibleâCornell finance grad, VP at some hedge fund with a name like "Blackthorn Capital," and a hobby listed as "competitive yacht racing."His photos were all polos with popped collars and that sun-bleached hair only trust fund kids seem to pull off.But what really hooked me? The caption under a pic of him gripping a champagne bottle on a catamaran: Work hard, play harder.Classic.Heâd shown up to our date in a navy suit tailored to his linebacker shoulders, smelling like cedarwood cologne and the faintest tang of bourbonâWall Streetâs golden guy, a mergers-and-acquisitions prodigy who spent weekends restoring vintage Porsches.His Hinge profile had screamed straight, boring, desperate: âLooking for someone low-maintenance. No drama.â Drama, as it turned out, was exactly what he needed.âYouâre⌠shorter in person,â he said, eyes darting between my lace choker and the cherry-red gloss smudging my whiskey glass.I let my voice slip into that breathy, Valley-woman lilt that made frat guys melt. âFive-foot-six in heels, baby. You wanna check?â I kicked a strappy stiletto onto his lap under the table, the sole grazing his crotch. His knuckles whitened around his Old Fashioned.The lie had been flawlessâphotos angled to hide my Adamâs apple, bio scrubbed of pronouns, just â23 ⨠Fashion student who loves astrology and mojitos.â Graysonâs opening line? âYou look like trouble.âOh, honey.Heâd tried to bolt when I confessed over martinis. âYouâreâ? Fuck. No.â The way his gaze snagged on my fishnet-covered calves as he stood? Delicious. Iâd clawed him back with a manicured hand on his thigh, leaning close enough for him to see the swell of my silicone tits beneath the dress. âCâmon. Let me suck your cock. Youâll forget whatâs attached to my lips.âHe changed back to his gym clothes and we headed down to my hotelheâs pacing like a caged tiger, tie loosened. âThis doesnât mean IâmâââBi? Gay? Human?â I sink onto his leather couch, hiking my dress to mid-thigh. The black lace thong peeks. âRelax, Sammy . Itâs just a mouth.âHis zipperâs down before he reaches me.The cock that springs free is thick, veined, 10 inch đâa fucking monument to testosterone. I inhale musk, salt, the starch of his calvin klein briefs. My tongue swipes the leaking slit, collecting bitter pre-cum as he hisses. âChrist.âI take him deep, gagging myself on his girth, hollowing my cheeks until his hips jerk. His fingers fist in my rose-gold wig. âF-fuck, your mouthâââTold you,â I purr, pulling off with a pop. Spit strings cling to his shaft. âNow bend me over that armrest.âHe freezes. âI donât⌠I canât fuck you.ââWho said anything about fucking?â I stand, turn, ass pressing against his tented slacks. My hand guides his between my thighs. âJust rub that big dick on my pussy. Pretend.âThe thong tears easily. His breath hitches when he feels the smooth, hairless skin beneathâand the tight, puckered hole above it. âWait, thatâsâââStill me.â I glance over my shoulder, biting my lip. âCâmon, baby. Rub.âHeâs animalistic now, beyond thought, grinding his cock along my cleft. The fat head catches on my rim, once, twiceâthen slips.âOh shit,â he chokes, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.The burn is exquisite. I scream, nails clawing the leather as he starts pistoning, each snap of his hips slapping our flesh. âTightâfuckâso fucking tightâââYour g rlfriend canât take it like this, can she?â I taunt, reaching back to spread my cheeks wider. âBet her pussyâs loose after youââHe growls, fingers bruising my hips, pace turning feral. The dress rides up, lace straps slipping off my shoulders as he rams into me. I feel his balls slapping my taint, hear the squelch of lube and sweat.âGonna cum,â he snarls.âInside,â I gasp. âMark me.âHis roar shakes the loft. Rope after rope of thick, creamy jizz floods my guts, dripping down my trembling thighs. When he pulls out, spent and shaking, I collapse onto the couchâdress ruined, makeup smeared, grinning like a succubus.Sam Hoyt stares at his softening cock, then at the cream-pink smear on his shaft. âIâm⌠I have a fiancĂŠe.âI lick his cum off my fingers. âMm. Sheâll love the story.âHe pales.âKidding!â I blow him a kiss, adjusting my dress. âUnless you ghost me again. ThenâŚâThe door slams as I leave.His text comes at 3 AM: âWhen can you come back?âPoor straight boys. Always so hungry.
