January 5, 2026. Three days since the gym encounter, and Sophia has consumed every waking thought—and every filthy dream.
Our texting started innocent enough. That first night, after her teasing message, I fired back:
*That stare? You have no idea what it's doing to me. Can't stop picturing those curves in motion.*
Her reply came quick:
*Oh? Tell me more, handsome. What exactly are you picturing? 😏*
I escalated carefully, testing the waters. Compliments laced with worship:
*Your body is unreal. Those deadlifts... the way your ass filled out those yoga pants. Made it hard to focus on anything else.*
She sent back a selfie—mirror shot in her bathroom, post-shower. Steam fogging the glass, her blonde hair damp and loose around her shoulders. She wore a thin white tank top, no bra, those massive G-cup tits straining the fabric, nipples dark shadows poking through. Cleavage spilling over like an invitation. Caption: *Just finished a late session. Sweaty again. Thoughts?*
My cock throbbed instantly. I jerked off that night imagining burying my face in those tits, sucking her nipples until they were swollen and aching, her moans echoing as I praised her: "Such perfect, heavy breasts. Made for a younger man to worship like the goddess you are."
The texts grew bolder each day. She'd send voice notes—husky whispers about her day, how a client's hands lingered during adjustments, making her think of *stronger, younger hands*. I'd respond with hints of possession:
*Better not let them touch what's catching my eye. I don't share well.*
Her: *Jealous already? Cute. What would you do about it?*
Me: *Pin you down. Remind you who can make that body tremble.*
She'd reply with emojis—peaches, water droplets, fire. And once, late at night:
*Can't sleep. Touching myself thinking about that gym stare. Wish it was your mouth instead.*
Fuck. I nearly came from the text alone. Her kink list flashed in my mind constantly: *body worship, praise/degradation, breeding, rough sex, overstimulation, possessive dominance.* Every message aligned perfectly. She was dripping for it—literally. I could picture her fingers circling that swollen pink clit, pussy lips slick and puffy, aching to be filled.
But I held back. Slow burn. The cooldown demanded patience; rushing would ruin the reward. I needed her desperate, begging by month's end.
Today, I engineered our second "chance" meeting. She mentioned in a text she taught a private yoga class at a studio nearby on Wednesdays. So here I am, "jogging" past the floor-to-ceiling windows of Serenity Flow Studio just as her session ends.
The class disperses, and there she is—leading a group of wealthy women out, all chatting. Sophia's in black leggings and a cropped sports bra today, the kind that leaves her toned midriff bare. Sweat glistens on her skin, highlighting the soft curve of her underboob where those enormous tits overflow the top. Her ass... God, those leggings are painted on, the fabric wedged slightly between her thick cheeks, outlining everything. As she bends to pick up a stray mat, the material stretches, camel toe faintly visible—plump pussy lips outlined, a dark patch hinting at dampness.
She spots me through the window, eyes lighting up. Excuses herself from the group and steps out, ponytail swinging, hips swaying with that fertile roll.
"Kai," she purrs, closing the distance. Up close, her scent hits like a drug—sweat mixed with jasmine perfume and that underlying musk of arousal, stronger now after her class. Her chest heaves, tits rising and falling, nipples hard points under the thin bra. A bead of sweat trickles down her neck, disappearing into her cleavage.
"Funny running into you here," I say, smirking, eyes devouring her openly.
"Is it?" She arches a brow, stepping closer until her breasts nearly brush my chest. Heat radiates from her body; I can feel it. "Or did a certain someone mention my schedule?"
Guilty. But I lean in, voice low. "Can't blame me. Hard to stay away from a woman who looks like this." My hand dares a touch—fingertips grazing her bare waist, thumb brushing the soft skin just above her hip. She's warm, slightly slick with sweat. Her breath catches, thighs shifting as a soft whimper escapes.
"Mmm," she murmurs, not pulling away. Instead, she presses subtly into my touch, her massive tits grazing my arm. "You're dangerous, Kai. Making me all... distracted during class."
"Distracted how?" I press, fingers splaying wider on her waist, pulling her an inch closer. The air between us crackles. I can smell her arousal now—sweet, tangy, her pussy soaking those leggings.
She glances around—the street busy but no one close—then whispers, "Wet. Aching. Imagining your hands higher. Or lower."
My cock hardens fully, pressing against my joggers. She notices, eyes dropping, licking her lips. "Fuck, Sophia," I growl softly. "You're killing me. Those tits... that ass... I want to worship every inch."
Her pupils blow wide, cheeks flushing deeper. "Do you now?" Her hand brushes my chest, nails scraping lightly. "What else?"
"Pin you against a wall. Spank that thick ass until it's red. Fuck you hard from behind while telling you how good you feel—how you're my needy MILF slut, begging to be bred deep."
A soft moan slips from her throat, thighs clenching visibly. The wet spot on her leggings darkens; she's dripping. "Kai..."
But I pull back slightly, teasing. "Soon. Coffee first? Tomorrow?"
She pouts, but nods, eyes hungry. "Tomorrow. But make it somewhere private. I'm not sure I can behave in public much longer."
As she walks back inside, ass jiggling with frustrated need, I adjust my throbbing cock.
Twenty-seven days left. The tension is exquisite—her body calling to me, kinks screaming to be fulfilled.
By the end, she'll be mine completely. Squirting on my tongue, pussy clenching as I fill her, overstimulated and owned.
And that $45,000? Just the beginning.