![]() ![]() You could pass for early thirties if not for the silver strands in your otherwise jet black hair, and you're still the living definition of tall, dark and handsome at six-two with the face of a Latin lover on the body of a Greek god. Not you you've maintained the same strict routine since your star athlete high school days and reaped the rewards. The former housewives and career chasers you seem to always match with rarely meet that standard most had frankly let themselves go. Now you don't find forty-year-olds unattractive per se, but you treat your own body like a temple. Which is how you find yourself here, in between unsatisfying dates with women your own age. You were rich, but all the time spent amassing your little fortune had taken its toll on your personal life. One taste of abuela's mole recipe fused with some French fish dish by your impeccable technique, and all of a sudden the waspy patrons of Newport Beach were lining up to shell forty bucks a plate for tame takes on the flavors you'd enjoyed as a child for pocket change. You were a natural from the moment you picked up a spatula and with all the extra sweat put in, shot quickly to the top of your class before exploding onto the fine dining scene in tony Orange County. A meager scholarship hadn't covered the full price of culinary school, so you'd spent all your free time working as a line cook. You paved your road out of childhood poverty off your own gift of taste. She has good taste, if only in that regard. ![]() Even one objection means everything comes to a clean end and with it, her monthly dinner date at the fancier establishments in your budding empire. ![]() She's here on your terms and you draw the lines. You've made the terms of this arrangement abundantly clear to Melody just as you did all your other fucktoys before her. Or maybe it's the reluctance written all over her pretty face. ![]() Despite the recent orgasm, your cock stirs a little at the lewd sight. It's the next best thing to spitting and you've expressly forbidden that. She keeps her mouth open to show you the pool of milky evidence as trained, swallowing it all in one quick gulp not a moment after you give her permission. One hell of a load you've been backed up after a month without release. The tight ring of her lips sliding up and down the base of your cock quickly builds your pleasure up to a searing peak and you unload in spurts, pulling back just far enough to coat the back of her tongue in your essence. You'd rather hire an actual whore, unsavory though the idea may be, than let some conniving frat girl milk your wallet dry for merely mediocre sex. But you're no simpering sugar daddy either. And of course you do stop, on principle you don't stay where you're not welcome and you'd never stoop to rape. She merely endures this, you've gathered over time, but choking on your cock and her own saliva doesn't seem unpleasant enough for her to stop you. Melody makes beautiful music as you bottom out in the tight warmth of her throat, a symphony of gags and gargles. The moment she relents and opens up you surge forth to fuck her face in earnest. No, you need to feel her hot little mouth around the whole length of you now. You've had enough she's not skilled enough a cocksucker to finish you with just halfhearted tongue play, nor well-endowed enough to finish you between her pert but modest breasts. With her hair in your fist and the growl of her name- Melody- in your throat, you press your sensitive tip against her ruby lips seeking entrance. You hiss, more impatient than appreciative. Warm and wet, running up and down the throbbing vein underneath. The topless brunette kneeling beneath you gives your cock another lazy lick with her tongue. Today, for your fortieth birthday, you've arranged a little treat for yourself in the guest room of your mansion. Your name is Lucien Menendez: restauranteur, divorcee, one-time father of three. ![]()
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