January 6, 2026. The coffee date.
Sophia suggested a spot—not some crowded chain, but a quiet, upscale café tucked into a high-rise lobby downtown. "Semi-private booths," she'd texted last night, followed by a winking emoji and a photo: her in bed, sheets pulled up just enough to tease the swell of those massive G-cup tits, nipples faintly outlined under silk. *Dreaming of tomorrow already. Don't keep me waiting.*
I arrived early, heart pounding, cock already half-hard from anticipation. The place was perfect—dim lighting, plush leather booths partitioned for intimacy. I claimed one in the corner, ordering a black coffee to steady my nerves.
She walked in ten minutes late, on purpose. Teasing. Sophia Langford in civilian mode was lethal: a fitted emerald blouse that hugged her curves, the deep V-neck plunging into endless cleavage, those heavy breasts straining the buttons with every breath. Black pencil skirt clinging to her wide hips and thick ass, ending mid-thigh to show off toned legs in heels. Her blonde hair loose in waves, makeup subtle but lips painted red—plump, suckable.
Heads turned as she crossed the room, but her eyes locked on me. That knowing smile. Hips swaying with deliberate fertility, ass cheeks shifting under the tight fabric. I stood to greet her, pulling her into a hug that lingered. Her body pressed against mine—soft, warm, those enormous tits squishing against my chest, nipples hardening instantly through the thin blouse. She smelled divine: jasmine perfume, faint vanilla, and that ever-present musk of her arousal, stronger today.
"Mmm, you smell good," she whispered against my ear, her hand sliding down my back to rest just above my ass. Her breath hot, lips brushing my neck.
"You look fucking edible," I growled low, hands daring to grip her waist, thumbs tracing the underside of her breasts. She arched into me subtly, a soft gasp escaping.
We slid into the booth—side by side, not across. Thighs touching immediately. The server took her order (latte with extra foam), and as soon as we were alone, her hand found my thigh under the table, nails grazing inward.
"Tell me, Kai," she purred, leaning in so her cleavage spilled forward, inches from my arm. "What have you been fantasizing about since the studio?"
I turned to face her, our faces close. "You. Every inch." My hand mirrored hers, sliding up her smooth thigh, feeling the heat radiating from between her legs. "Those perfect, heavy tits—want to bury my face in them, suck your nipples until they're throbbing. Worship them like they deserve."
Her breath hitched, thighs parting slightly under my touch. "Keep going."
"That thick ass," I continued, voice dropping to a rumble. "Spreading your cheeks, licking every curve. Then flipping you over, spanking you red while you beg."
She moaned softly, hand squeezing my thigh higher, brushing the bulge in my pants. My cock throbbed, leaking pre-cum. "And?"
"Your pussy," I said, fingers inching up her skirt, tracing the lace edge of her panties. She was soaked—fabric drenched, swollen lips outlined. "That dripping pink cunt, so wet and ready. Tasting you, tongue-fucking you until you squirt on my face. Then pinning you down, hair in my fist, pounding you rough and deep. Telling you what a good girl you are—my needy MILF slut—while I breed you. Fill you up until you're overflowing, pregnant with my load."
Her eyes glazed, hips shifting to press against my fingers. I circled her clit through the panties, feeling it swell under the touch. Wet sounds faint as I teased, her arousal coating my fingertips even through the lace. "Kai... fuck," she whispered, voice trembling. Her free hand gripped my shirt, pulling me closer. Our lips brushed—almost a kiss, but I held back, teasing.
"You're mine this month," I murmured possessively, finger slipping under the panties to glide along her slick folds. Pink, puffy, dripping nectar that tasted sweet when I brought it to my lips later (I would). "No one else touches this body. I own it."
"Yes," she breathed, thighs clenching around my hand. "Possessive... I love it." Her hand unzipped me subtly under the table, wrapping around my thick cock—stroking slowly, thumb smearing pre-cum. "So big. Young and hard for me."
We teased like that for an hour—fingers exploring, whispers filthy. She came once, quietly: body tensing, pussy clenching my fingers as I rubbed her clit, muffling her moan in my shoulder. Overstimulation hinting as I didn't stop, drawing out whimpers. "Too much... but don't stop."
Her praise/degradation kink shone: "Good girl, cumming on my fingers like a desperate slut." She soaked the booth seat.
But no full release. Not yet. I pulled back when the server returned, leaving her flushed, skirt rumpled, lips bitten red.
"Dinner tomorrow?" I asked as we parted outside, her body pressed to mine again, tits heaving.
"Your place," she demanded, hand squeezing my ass. "I need more privacy."
Twenty-five days left. The tension was unbearable—her scent on my fingers, taste lingering. Tomorrow, I'd escalate. Taste her fully. Worship those tits for hours.
Sophia was unraveling beautifully. And when I finally claimed her completely? That reward—and her addiction—would be mine.