Her Black Cocktail Dress

He says I look a lot like his ex-wife, but even prettier. He says I have the same sweet brown eyes, the long platinum blonde hair, the slender and petite physique with fulsome breasts, but that my face is more angelic, more innocent. I smile at this. 

He says his former wife was a trophy bride, over twenty-years younger than he was, and that was why she cheated on him. 

“It happens,” I try to console him a little, this hulking man in a business suit with the red silk tie loosened at the neck. He looks like he would have been a rugby player when he was younger, but his size belies his profession as a merchant banker. He must have plenty of money to capture a pretty young thing, maybe not enough to keep her, and then to lose her is bound to happen. 

We’re lying on the king-sized double bed, in the deluxe room at Le Penthouse Suite, the Gold Coast’s finest and longest established bordello, where first-class escorts pleasure a high-end clientele, and sometimes mend broken hearts. And where elegant beauty often hides wild-fire lust; like this moment in myself, Raven, I feel a stirring of erotic passion for this brutish banker, and I wonder if he got angry with his ex, wonder if he was a little too rough with her perhaps? 

He’s read my mind and from an expensive Luis Vuitton shoulder bag he pulls out a gorgeous black silk chiffon cocktail dress. “This is the dress she wore when she cheated on me. There were two guys that had her every which way they could, on an ocean cruise I let her go on with her female friend.” He looks downward for a thoughtful moment, but starts to fully undo his neck tie, and unbutton his shirt. “The private investigator took photos …” he sighs in defeat. “Can you wear the dress now?” 

I grab hold of the dress, but not before I place my hand on his rough cheek and turn his face to the deep kiss I place on his lips. But there’s not even a glimmer of a smile there, and his breathing gets a little heavier. 

I slip into the dress as he now undoes his belt and takes off his pants, to reveal a bulging thick erection pressing hard against black briefs. I pull the dress over my purple lace brassiere, transparent enough to show my stiffening nipples and the swell of my full breasts. Rising onto my knees while still on the bed, I position the hem over my transparent G-string, aware of the sensation of fabric against my barely concealed pussy, and finally I fit the dress at the level of my tanned and lithe thighs. 

“So beautiful,” the banker whispers more to himself than to me, he’s breathing deeply, looking defeated, sitting only in his briefs, his thick manhood bulging out of the top of the black Calving Klein underwear. He reaches his thick arm around my waist and pulls me into his heavy embrace, pressing his face into my belly, nuzzling deeply and saying, “How could you do it? How could you cheat on me?”  

He pulls me down onto his lap, hiking the dress up so that now the hem is bunched around my waist, and I’m straddling his lap, with my pussy pressed through the G-string crotch, pressed against his thick erection, which is throbbing and pulsing and glistening with precum. His briefs are bunched down below his scrotum, and he’s un-zipped the strapless dress at the back and pulled the front down, already sucking my nipples so deeply they are stiff with a painful pleasure that has me moaning.  

My brassiere is askew to fully expose my breasts and I try to reach around and unfasten the hook, but he grabs my wrist and stops me. His strength is irresistible. 

He begins to turn me around, and I remember we need to use protection, so I struggle and say, “Stop! We need a condom.” He almost continues on, heedless of my request but he relaxes for a moment and I quickly grab a condom from the bedside table, and tear open the packet, begin to fit the prophylactic on his throbbing manhood because now he is kneeling on either side of my legs, his thick length pressed into my face, leaving a sticky mark on my cheek.  

I manage to fit the condom over the head of his pole and then he pushes it into my mouth, so I finish the fit with my mouth, biting down hard several times to stop him pushing too hard, because my back is against the bed head rest. And now he is thrusting deep, in and out, into my mouth, pressing against the back of my throat so that I gag several times. His strong hands are mussing my blonde hair up and he is whispering, “Were they good, those two guys, were they good … “ 

And then he pulls his length out of my mouth, and turns me around so that I place my hands on the metal bed head. The silk chiffon dress is bunched around my waist with the back zipper undone; and my breasts are facing towards the back wall, the brassiere now fallen to the bed because sometime during the fellatio the hook has come unfastened.  

He holds my slender waist, grabs my buttocks and slaps the flesh hard enough to elicit a small cry from me, and then he positions the head of his erection against the lips of my tight tight pussy. He rubs the head up and down along the groove, rotating it against my stiff clitoris, and then he pushes it past my engorged pussy lips with a silent pop as he enters my sex from behind. 

He starts thrusting in and out of my tight pussy, deep for the first five or six times, then deeper, and deeper, until I feel him penetrate my G-spot and I groan in pleasure. Then he gets a little rougher, and while I support my weight and his with my hands firmly clasped on the bed head, I hear a sudden tear, and the black chiffon dress falls away, ripped down the back seam along the zipper line. And still he thrusts into me, more urgent now, more aggressively, and suddenly in three pounding thrusts I feel him orgasm, feel his body stiffen, feel his erection deep inside my sugar walls blow its load, and I then orgasm as well, shuddering with pleasure, Raven, a mender of broken hearts, the black chiffon dress ripped apart, like black wings on the bed before us. 

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Hannah