My Birthday Cooking Lessons

Evelyn Claire's birthday sucks so far—she's all alone, no one's around, and she's not exactly thrilled. Then her boyfriend calls with some "special surprise." She gets all giddy, thinking maybe he's finally booking Paris or flying home early, but he keeps it shut tight and tells her to wait an hour. She hangs up, already smirking, and mutters to herself that she'll be ready. Off come her clothes until she's down to sheer lingerie, nipples tight, pussy already tingling as she stretches out on the couch and slides two fingers between her legs. She rubs slow, then faster, picturing her man bursting through the door and taking her right there. The doorbell snaps her out of it. She throws on the tiniest robe and runs to answer, expecting her boyfriend, but instead there's Dante Colle with grocery bags and a chef's coat. He steps in, all professional, saying her man's paid for a private French-cooking lesson. Evelyn rips open the envelope, reads the card, and her face drops—cooking class? She hates cooking. Worse, the card ends with instructions for her to whip up something nice for him. Classic. Spite flares hot. She leads Dante into the kitchen, robe slipping open every few steps. As they chop and stir, her thoughts stay nasty—she keeps brushing up against him, letting her small tits press against his arm, the little tattoo on her hip flashing when her robe rides up. The kitchen heats up, oil sizzling, and Evelyn's patience snaps. She pushes the cutting board aside, hops onto the counter, spreads her thighs, and pulls her soaked panties to the side. Two fingers sink straight into her cunt while she stares Dante down, daring him. He hesitates, but her free hand is already tugging his belt open. She leans in, lips brushing his ear, and tells him the only lesson she's taking today is how fast she can make him lose it. Dante's cock springs free, thick and heavy. Evelyn drops to her knees on the tile, tattooed shoulder moving as she wraps her lips around the head and sucks him deep, drool running down her chin. She bobs fast, gagging on every third stroke, then pulls off to jerk him while she fingers herself again, three knuckles deep now, pussy glistening. When she stands and bends over the counter, ass up, she reaches back, spreads herself, and tells him to fuck her birthday present into her. Dante grips her hips, slams in to the hilt, and starts pounding—short, mean strokes that make her small tits bounce and her moans echo off the cabinets. She comes first, clenching around him, then drops to her knees again to finish him in her mouth, swallowing every drop with a wicked little grin.