The opulent tearoom was straight out of a dream — tall windows spilling golden light across white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers glittering overhead, pink cherry blossoms and roses in tall vases everywhere. Our table looked like something out of a magazine: bone-china cups with gold rims, a delicate floral teapot, and that three-tier silver stand stacked with tiny cucumber sandwiches, warm scones, clotted cream, and those pretty pink macarons that matched my dress perfectly.
But none of it compared to how wrecked and satisfied my body still felt.
My Loverman — all 6’6” of him — sat right beside me in his cream suit jacket, pink shirt open at the collar, that little black-and-pink polka-dot pocket square tucked in to match my dress. His big hand was already under the tablecloth, resting high on my thigh, thumb lazily stroking the inside of my leg like he owned it. Because he did.
I was still leaking his cum.
We’d spent the entire morning fucking like animals, and I was still full of him. Every time I shifted in my velvet chair I felt it — thick, warm, and slowly seeping out of my well-used pussy into the thin lace of my panties.
It had started with him waking me up by burying his face between my thick thighs. That beard scratched so good while his tongue fucked my hole and his lips sucked on my clit until I was shaking. I came hard, squirting all over his tongue, soaking the sheets while I screamed his name. He didn’t stop. He flipped me onto my back, hooked my legs over his massive shoulders, and slid that thick, veiny cock straight into my dripping cunt in one long thrust.
Missionary is his favorite.
He loves it because he can stare straight into my eyes the whole time — that intense, hungry eye contact that makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. And I love it because I get to wrap my soft hands around his huge 6’6” body. I reached up, slid my arms as far around his broad back and shoulders as I could, nails digging into his skin, and held on while he fucked me deep and slow. Every roll of his hips dragged that fat cockhead right over my g-spot. I kept moaning “don’t stop, baby, please don’t stop” while he stared down at me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my tits.
“Take it,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Take every fucking inch.”
I came again with my arms locked around him, legs shaking, pussy clenching so hard around his cock that he groaned and flooded me with the first thick load of the morning. He didn’t pull out. He just kept fucking his cum deeper inside me while we kissed sloppy and desperate.
Round two was me on top, riding him reverse so he could watch my ass bounce. Round three he bent me over the edge of the bed and pounded me from behind — hard, nasty strokes that made my tits swing and my ass ripple every time his hips crashed into me. He slapped my ass, pulled my hair, called me his good little cumslut while he emptied another load deep in my guts.
By the time we finally showered and got dressed, my legs were wobbly and my pussy was puffy and sore in the best way. I slipped into this tight pink polka-dot dress — the one with the dramatic ruffled shoulders and that low, plunging neckline that makes my tits look obscene. I added the pearl necklace and earrings because I knew he’d love how classy I looked while I was secretly stuffed full of his cum. He put on the cream suit and that pink shirt, pocket square perfectly coordinated with my dress like we’d planned it.
Now here we were, pretending to be polite at high tea while his cum slowly leaked out of me.
I leaned over and whispered right against his ear, “I’m still dripping with your cum, baby. It’s running down my thighs.”
His fingers tightened on my leg. “Good girl. Keep it in there as long as you can.”
We started feeding each other little bites — a pink macaron between my lips, then his. The kisses started soft… then got nasty fast. Tongues sliding deep, wet, filthy. I could taste the tea and sugar and sex on him. His hand disappeared completely under the tablecloth. He pushed my soaked panties to the side and slid two thick fingers straight into my cum-filled pussy right there in the middle of the fancy tearoom.
I had to bite my lip to stay quiet while he slowly finger-fucked me under the table, curling those fingers to push his own cum deeper inside me. My clit was throbbing. I was so wet I could hear the quiet, filthy sound every time he pumped his fingers in and out.
“Set the timer,” he murmured against my mouth.
I grabbed my phone, propped it against the sugar bowl, and started the ten-second countdown.
The second it started ticking we crashed together again.
This kiss was nasty. Open-mouthed, tongues fucking, teeth nipping. He grabbed a fistful of my curly hair and pulled my head back just enough to kiss down my throat, then back up to devour my mouth again. His fingers were still inside me under the table, slowly stroking while we made out like teenagers. I moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it, kissing me harder, deeper, messier.
We were still locked in that filthy kiss when the shutter went off — lips smashed together, his hand in my hair, my pink nails gripping his suit jacket. Only after the photo snapped did we slowly pull apart, breathing hard, lips shiny and swollen. I reached up to touch my ear and realized one pearl earring was gone. It must have caught on his watch or his fingers when he grabbed my hair. The little pearl was probably somewhere on the floor beneath our table now — a tiny, perfect reminder of how nasty we’d just been in public.
I looked at the photo on my phone and nearly moaned out loud.
Me in that pink polka-dot dress, ruffles on my shoulders, cleavage spilling out of the deep V, bright pink lips and nails, pearl necklace still on, one earring missing. My curls were a little wild from his hand. My cheeks were flushed. His big arm was around me, that matching pink pocket square visible, his beard and smile making him look so damn fine. We both looked freshly fucked and stupidly happy — exactly how we felt.
“Fuck, look at us,” I whispered, showing him the screen. “We look like we just got caught fucking in the bathroom.”
He chuckled low and dirty. “We basically did. And I’m still hard.”
His fingers were still inside me. He gave one slow, deliberate thrust with them and I had to grab the edge of the table to keep from whimpering.
We stayed another forty minutes — sipping tea with shaky hands, feeding each other more pastries, stealing more filthy kisses every time we thought the waitstaff wasn’t looking. Every time our mouths met I remembered the way he’d stared into my eyes while he was balls-deep in missionary, the way my soft hands had clutched at his massive 6’6” body while he bred me. I kept clenching around his fingers under the table, pushing more of his cum out onto his hand.
By the time we finally stood up to leave, my panties were completely ruined, my thighs were sticky, and I was aching to get him back inside me.
He leaned down, voice low against my ear as we walked out.
“Next round’s gonna be missionary again, baby. I want those pretty pink nails digging into my back while I look you in the eyes and fill this pretty pussy all over again.”
I squeezed his hand and smiled, one earring lighter, one heart (and one pussy) completely full of him.
