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She rises, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, chest heaving beneath the apron. I grip the dress’s zipper at her spine and yank. The white shell peels down, reveals tits cradled in a sheer bra so thin her dark areolae show through. Lust pounds behind my temples. I hook a finger in the elastic, tug it under her breasts so they spill free, high and round, nipples hard as pearl beads. I bend, capture one, sucking hard enough to leave blooming purple. Lucia hisses, fingers spearing my hair, holding me closer. I bite; she yelps, then groans when I soothe the sting with my tongue.

My pants drop to my ankles. She kicks them aside with me still latched to her tit. My hand fumbles up her skirt, finds nothing, no barrier, just slick heat coating her shaved lips. She went commando. Calculating little witch. Two fingers plunge inside her cunt, curl hard. She convulses, knees buckling.

“Jesus—soaked.” I thrust deeper, spread my digits to stretch her open. “You planned this the moment you stepped off that elevator.”

Her answer is a breathy moan, thighs spreading wider. I pull out, smear her juices over her clit, then shove her backward onto the bed. She bounces once; ponytail whips across the sheets. I haul her hips to the edge, lift both legs until her ankles rest on my shoulders. The white skirt bunches at her waist, exposing glistening folds, pink and swollen and begging. My cock jerks, smearing pre-cum on my abs.

I press in slow, watching her cunt lips flower around my crown. Heat clamps down, silk and vise. We both groan. Inch by inch I spear her until my balls kiss her ass. Her nails claw at the duvet, mouth opening on a silent scream.

“Look at me,” I grunt.

Dark eyes find mine, pupils blown. I pull out halfway, slam back, setting a brutal rhythm the instant her breath catches. The bed creaks; headboard knocks the wall with steady thuds. Her tits jiggle, bra still trapping them from beneath so they mound obscenely. I shove her knees wider, fold her nearly double, angle so high her ass lifts off the mattress. Each thrust pummels her G-spot; her juices drip down my shaft, run to my thighs.

Through the pounding blood in my ears, I still hear the distant vacuum cleaner outside, Bridget’s accompaniment. The mundane noise grounds me in perverse contrast: here I am gutting Lucia while the other woman sweeps my hallway, both of them under my roof, my rule. Imagining Bridget stepping inside, the gasp she’d make at the sight of my cock stretching Lucia’s little cunt, spurs me faster. I close my fist in Lucia’s ponytail again, yank her head sideways so she has to watch the door even if blind with pleasure.

“You want her to see you, eh?” I snarl. “Want Bridget catching you stuffed full of dick?”

Lucia whines—half protest, half plea. I slap her tit, watch it bounce pink, then pinch the nipple until she writhes.

“Answer. You’re jealous of my new maid.”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” she pants. “Let her see what a whore I am.” The confession detonates heat down my spine. My thrusts turn animal, hips jackhammering, the wet slap of skin echoing louder than the creaking wood.

Her first orgasm rips through without warning; walls clamp so hard my vision tunnels. She screams, back arching, liquid gushing around my shaft, soaking my balls. I keep pumping through it, prolonging her convulsions until her voice breaks to sobs.

I don’t let her down. Just when she starts to sag I withdraw, flip her onto her stomach, drag the dress up farther. Perfect peach ass revealed, flushed from hipbones pounding the mattress. Asshole tiny, clenching nervously. I spread her cheeks, spit once, watch it slide down the crack. She tenses, but a low moan escapes. Trust. Or surrender. Makes no difference; I’m taking.

I hook a thumb into her cunt, scoop more of her cream, paint it around her rim. Press inside the tight ring to the first knuckle. She mewls, fingers fisting sheets. A second thumb joins, scissoring until muscle loosens. My cock, glistening with her squirt, lines up. I lean over her back, growl in her ear. “Breathe.”

She does one shaky inhale and I drive forward, crown popping past resistance. A ragged cry tears from her throat. I freeze, let her adjust to the stretch, then sink deeper, feeding her ass every thick inch until my pelvis flattens her cheeks. Sweat beads on my brow, drips onto the curve of her spine. So fucking tight. Her walls ripple around me like a fist.

I rise to my knees, grip her hips, and start fucking in earnest—long, deep strokes that pull out to the flare before spearing back to the root. Her whimpers turn to guttural grunts each time I bottom out. The bedframe protests; the scent of sex coats the air, raw and musky. I lift one hand, land a harsh slap on her right cheek, watch the flesh jiggle red. Another. And again until both globes glow, heat radiating under my palms.

“Adriano—fuck, fuck,” she chokes, words muffled by the mattress. Tears varnish her cheeks, mascara carving black trails. She grinds back against me despite the pain, greedy for more.

My mind drifts again to Bridget, picture her ghost entering, skirt hiked, fingers rubbing circles on her clit while her gaze devours the sight of Lucia’s ass getting reamed. I imagine ordering Bridget to her knees, forcing her to lick Lucia’s dripping cunt while I keep destroying that tight hole. The image sends electricity crackling up my thighs.

I rut faster, balls churning, the wet squelch of lube and cum and sweat mixing filthy music. Lucia’s knuckles blanch as she claws the bed. Her spine bows, legs trembling. “Pleasepleaseplease—“

“Come on my cock, you filthy slut.” I snake a hand under, strum her engorged clit. “Squeeze me dry.”

Two rubs and her entire body locks; then she detonates, second climax ripping through harder than the first. Her asshole clamps like a vise around my shaft. Wetness splashes my wrist: another jet of hot squirt that drenches the sheets, runs down her thighs. The contractions milk me mercilessly. I roar, bury to the hilt, and explode, cum pumping in thick ropes deep into her bowels. Spurt after spurt until my legs shake and vision whites out.

She cleans herself up and gets dressed. I hand her a thick stack of dollar bills.

She takes the money and grins at me. “Thank you, boss,” she says, because she always does this for the money.