Having sex with the chubby college girl

The path was the same as always. The eternal shadow of the building, the dust in the air, the echo of her friends' footsteps, and the feeling that someone was devouring her with their gaze.

Conni adjusted the strap of her backpack, feeling the dress cling to her body with every movement. She didn't usually dress like this. She'd always had an ambiguous relationship with her image, with that body that made her stand out, even if she didn't want it to. Since she was a child, she'd learned that the ideal of beauty was different: perfect thinness, a tiny waist, subtle curves in just the right places.

But her body was not subtle.

She was a feast of flesh and curves, with thick thighs that brushed against each other when she walked, wide hips that always seemed ready to spill over any seat, and a belly with a roll that reminded her she'd never fit into those rigid molds. Her breasts, in particular, had always been a dilemma. Giant, heavy, DD cups, too difficult to ignore. Sometimes she hated them, sometimes she loved them, but they were always the first thing men noticed.

She knew she wasn't going unnoticed. She knew that, even though they often didn't say it in public, men desired her. And she knew it even more from the conversations she had in secret, on those apps where everything became easier, where she could flirt and be vulgar without the constraints of insecurity. There, she felt beautiful, powerful even. But in real life, when unfiltered gazes settled on her, her confidence vanished.

Except with him.

The construction guard was always there, like a statue of flesh and desire. Short, stocky, with worn boots and a dirty uniform, with that look that wasn't meant to be discreet. He didn't look at Valeria, with her perfect hair and magazine-worthy beauty. He didn't look at Camila, with her long legs and seductive smile.

He looked at her.

And Conni knew it.

That afternoon, for the first time, she had dressed for him.

She chose a long, black dress made of soft, form-fitting fabric. It didn't hide anything. It hugged her thighs, her hips, her stomach, not even hiding that little roll that sometimes made her hesitate in front of the mirror. But when she saw the result, the doubt evaporated.

It looked lush.

There was no need for plunging necklines or revealing clothing. Her body alone turned any garment into a provocation. And she knew it when they crossed the building and she felt the weight of that gaze on her.

The guard leaned against the bars, his cigar between his fingers, and his gaze descended slowly, shamelessly. From her face to her chest, from her chest to her belly, from her belly to her hips and further down, scanning her as if he were undressing her with his eyes.

Conni felt the heat creep up her neck. She felt something else, something deeper, a tickling, a sweet poison spreading in her belly.

She knew she shouldn't like it. She knew it was disgusting, that a man like that, with that hungry expression, shouldn't make her feel this way.

But he did.

And the worst part is that, for the first time in his life, he enjoyed it.

"How disgusting." Valeria frowned and crossed her arms as she walked. The wind lifted her straight, black hair, a perfect cascade that framed her angular face and her dark red lips. Her beauty was magazine-worthy: tall, slim, and with a natural elegance that made any garment look expensive on her.

"That old man doesn't even bother to hide it," Camila added, snorting. Unlike Valeria, she had a more vibrant energy, with her tanned skin and slender yet curvaceous figure, long legs that stood out with every step in her short skirt. She always had something to say, always laughed easily, but when something bothered her, her gaze could be sharp.

The two of them were a little ahead, as if they wanted to speed up their pace to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Conni, on the other hand, did not rush the pace.

She knew the guard was watching her. She felt it like a sticky heat on her skin, like an invisible breath running down her back.

"Are you okay, Conni?" Valeria asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes... yes," she replied, clearing her throat, as if she needed to clear something from her throat.

Valeria and Camila exchanged a quick glance, as if sharing the same thought. They knew their friend was beautiful. She always had been. But they also understood that Conni had never been completely comfortable with her body.

Since they were teenagers, they'd seen her struggle with her insecurities, with the feeling of not fitting into the mold society dictated. They knew she loved her femininity, that she adored the feeling of being desired, but that at the same time it terrified her. That's why they always encouraged her, why they always included her in everything, why they never left her behind.

"I don't understand how you can stand those kinds of looks, Conni. They give me the creeps," Camila said, shaking her head.

Conni smiled sideways, but didn't respond.

Because, unlike them, that look didn't bother her.

I turned it on.

Braulio spat on the ground, crushing the cigarette butt with his boot.

Forty years in construction had hardened his skin, bones, and character. He wasn't a man of subtlety. He'd never had to be. His world was filled with noise, concrete, smoke, and sweat. A world of rude men, foul mouths, and practical jokes. A world where he rarely saw anything as fucking beautiful as what lay before him.

Of course, all three of them were a sight to behold. The skinny girl with long legs had her thing. The black-haired brunette had a haughty air, the kind that made you want to get off just imagining how she'd look moaning in submission in bed.

But the Gordita …

She was something else.

She was flesh.

Braulio wasn't a sophisticated man. He didn't use pretty words, nor did he bother to hide his desire. And when she walked past him, in that black dress that hugged every damn curve of her, with that belly that couldn't be hidden, and those thick legs that seemed made to wrap around a man's waist, he knew that day she had put it on for him.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Not when she already knew he was looking at her. Not when he saw her hesitate, when he saw that mix of nerves and fire in her expression every time their eyes met.

Braulio smiled sideways, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

—Just look... what a delicious thing, he thought.

He didn't say anything out loud, he didn't need to.

He saw it in her eyes, in the way her cheeks flushed slightly, in the way her breathing hitched slightly when she noticed him looking at her. She didn't need to speak, didn't need any confirmation. He knew.

She knew it.

And he loved that I knew it.

Braulio let out one last puff of smoke, watching her silhouette disappear around the corner. He ran his tongue over his teeth, amused, savoring the trail of nicotine and the latent feeling of desire she had left in him. "She'll play hard to get," he thought with a half-smile, "but she's already trapped."

He imagined it for a moment.

The heat of her skin, the resistance that would break as soon as he had a firm hold on her, her trembling body opening up to him.

He closed his eyes and let the image inhabit him for a moment longer.

And then, far away, the shrill sound of an alarm broke the silence of the early morning.

Conni stirred in the sheets before opening her eyes, disoriented for a few seconds. The room was dark, and the insistent echo of the alarm forced her to move, reaching clumsily for her phone to silence it.

It was still dark.

It was Monday, way too early, and only an early morning tutoring session could force her out of bed in this state of utter laziness. She sighed heavily, feeling the warmth of her own body enveloping her, a pleasant warmth that somehow felt familiar. She blinked a few times, trying to stretch, until suddenly the image of something—someone—crossed her mind with disturbing clarity.

His pulse gave a small jump.

No.

She shook her head, forcing herself to ignore it. She didn't have time for that now.

He rubbed his eyes and reached for his phone. Before turning off the alarm, he noticed the app was still open on the screen.

The messages from the night before were still there.

Boys she'd played with, men who'd started with a simple "hello" and ended up begging for details of her wildest fantasies.

The smile on his lips was inevitable.

She had sent photos. Some of her breasts, naked, enormous in the image. Others of her butt, round and taut, highlighted by the dim lighting in her room. Always careful not to show too much, but enough to drive them wild.

"God, woman, your body is perfect."

"Shit, I really want to bite you whole."

"You'd make me cum just by looking at you."

His words. His praise.

They were completely different from reality.

Outside of that screen, outside the safety of those anonymous conversations, she felt different. She never had the same confidence when she was face to face with a man. She never knew what to do with so much flesh, so much volume.

But they did know.

And they made it clear in every dirty message.

He sighed and placed his phone on the nightstand. He got up and walked to the bathroom, lazily stripping off his clothes.

She turned on the shower and let the cold water fall on her skin. A shudder instantly ran through her, waking her up, but also igniting something else inside her.

Her nipples hardened immediately.

She bit her lip.

The soap slid over her skin, his hands running over it with the familiarity of someone who knows every inch of their own body. Her soft abdomen, her pronounced waist, her thick thighs, her generous hips. Her femininity was excessive, and that had always made her feel insecure.

Except when it was like this.

Alone.

With the water running through her, with her hard nipples and her goosebumps.

She could be perfect for herself.

She stepped out of the shower and walked naked to her closet, her wet hair plastered to her back. She opened the drawer where she kept her lingerie and selected a lilac lace set. Delicate, feminine, and one of the few she could find in her size without looking like granny clothes.

When he picked up the garment, his gaze wandered to the back of the drawer.

The toys.

He kept them in a small velvet box. Just looking at it sent a chill down her spine.

He closed the drawer with a sigh. He didn't have time for that.

She dressed slowly, letting the clothes fit against her skin. The bra barely contained her breasts, the fabric giving way slightly to their size. The thong nestled between her buttocks in an indecently perfect fit.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

Her reflection returned the image of a lush woman, with curves impossible to ignore.

It was impossible for men not to notice her.

She chose her outfit carefully.

The weather was mild, but somewhat windy.

She chose a leather skirt that she remembered had been mid-thigh length, but when she put it on she noticed that it had shrunk in the washes, or perhaps she had gained weight again.

“Shit…” he muttered, smoothing the fabric with his hands.

She turned around and checked her butt in the mirror. It covered just enough. Barely.

Good.

She completed the ensemble with a blouse that perfectly matched the skirt in tone and texture. The neckline wasn't exaggerated, but on her body, it gave off a provocative look.

Black leather high heel boots and an open jacket completed the look.

She styled her hair in two ponytails, leaving her round, angelic face fully visible. Her blue eyes, pale skin, and full lips created a deceptive combination: a face of innocence on a tempting body.

Treacherous exuberance.

Before leaving, she sprayed her favorite perfume and grabbed her purse.

The usual route.

From your house to the bus stop.

Like every morning, the driver looked her up and down when she got in, his attention divided between the road and the tightness of her blouse, the way her breasts bounced with every brake. Conni noticed it, as she always noticed furtive glances, the way some passengers pretended to be distracted but ended up resting their eyes on her, on the curves her tight clothing brazenly outlined.

She held onto the handrail and felt the fabric of her skirt rise dangerously high up her thighs with the movement of the vehicle. The light touch of the cold air against her bare skin made her shudder. She couldn't let it rise any higher. Subtly, without losing her composure, she slid her fingertips along the edge of the fabric and pulled it down, feeling the resistance of the fabric as it adjusted again against her legs.

A chill ran down her spine. Not from the cold, but from the awareness of what had almost happened.

Her thighs were still warm, still sensitive.

She held the skirt in place with the palm of her hand, pressing it lightly against her body, making sure it wouldn't slip again. But she couldn't completely stop it. With every bump, every jolt, the fabric rebelled again, forcing her to repeat the action, again and again, feeling the eyes on her, feeling her own skin respond to the situation in ways she didn't quite want to admit.

The ride felt long, and when she finally got off the bus, the city greeted her with its usual bustle. The construction was still there, eternal, as if it would never be finished.

And so does he.

Braulio was outside, leaning against the fence next to a sign marking accident-free days. The cigarette dangled from his lips, releasing wisps of smoke that floated in the air as lazily as his gaze. He didn't seem to be waiting for anything, didn't seem to be looking for anyone.

And yet, Conni knew he was there to see her.

Her heart leaped. She stood a few feet away, caught between two opposing impulses: pretend she didn't see him and continue on her way as if nothing had happened, or stop and make herself noticed. Something inside her screamed at her to move forward, not to be stupid, not to stand still as if she had something to fear.

But I did have something to fear.

Her blouse, stretched taut over her body, made it clear that the bra she'd chosen that morning wasn't enough to fully contain her. She felt the lace brush against her skin, the way her breasts adjusted with each breath, too obvious, too exposed. And her skirt... shorter than she remembered, too tight, too easy to hike up if someone had the right hands. Her knee-high boots gave her an upright posture, made each step feel firmer, more rhythmic, as if she were marching without meaning to.

She took a deep breath and moved forward, alone.

She didn't have her friends by her side to ease the tension. There was no one to cushion the sense of danger. Only her shadow stretched across the pavement and the rugged man waiting for her, even though she didn't know it yet.

When he was a few meters away, Braulio looked up.

He saw her.

There was no surprise in his expression, only a subtle change, a more focused attention, a gaze that scanned her with the slowness of someone savoring an image, of someone who knows how to look. He didn't smile, he didn't make any gesture to soften the moment. There was no courtesy in his expression, nor the kind of smile other men use to hide desire. He just watched her and blew out the cigar smoke with the same calmness with which he uncovered her with his eyes.

Conni felt her stomach clench. She could have walked on, pretended nothing was happening, pretended he hadn't noticed the way he was devouring her with his gaze.

But instead, he stopped.

—Good morning… —Her voice came out lower than she intended, as if her own body was doubting what she was doing.

Braulio raised an eyebrow and brought the cigar to his mouth.

"Me?" he asked with that insolent half-smile, with the certainty of someone who already knows the answer.

Of course, for him. There was no one else.

Conni felt a pang of shame. She tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag and swallowed.

-Yeah.

Braulio let out a low laugh, more of a guttural growl than a real laugh, a sound that made her flinch and, at the same time, shudder.

"What an early riser," he commented, looking at her with more impudence than she was prepared to bear. His eyes dropped from her face to her undisguised cleavage, appreciating the way the lace stretched taut over her breasts, the soft ridge of her nipples poking out beneath the fabric. He lowered himself even further, his gaze scanning her with the precision of a predator until it settled on her thighs.

Conni felt heat on her face.

He wanted to speak, to say something, but his throat closed.

Braulio wasn't like the men she talked to online, the ones who showered her with compliments and called her a goddess behind a screen. He didn't try to make her feel comfortable or embellish his desire with empty flattery. He simply looked at her as if she were his.

"Do you always go out alone at this time?" she asked, dropping the cigarette butt and crushing it with her boot.

"No… I usually go with my friends," she replied, suddenly feeling small.

-Not today.

It wasn't a question.

She shook her head.

Braulio gave another crooked smile and looked toward the construction site.

—I have coffee inside. And some free time.

The comment floated in the air between them, so simple and everyday that anyone else would have taken it without ulterior motives. But Conni wasn't stupid.

It wasn't an invitation.

It was a trap.

She knew it from the sparkle in his eyes, that glimmer of a man who already imagined her inside, in his space, in his territory, where no one else could see. She knew it from the way his tongue moistened his lower lip with an automatic gesture, like someone savoring something before tasting it. From the brazen calm with which he waited for her, with the certainty of someone who knows he won't be rejected.

Everything about him was rough, rustic, lacking the sweetness with which men usually sweeten their desires. He didn't promise flattery or pretty words. He wasn't a man who offered romantic illusions.

I wasn't offering him coffee.

I was offering to cross a line.

And the worst part was that she knew it.

The silence between them stretched for only a second, but it was enough for her body to betray her. Her breathing became heavier, her thighs pressed together tightly, and a dark heat spread through her belly until it pooled just between her legs.

He should leave.

But Braulio didn't give him the chance to think about it too much.

With all his rudeness, with all his overwhelming presence, he simply raised a hand and, without preamble, hooked two fingers into the hem of her skirt.

A touch. Just a brush.

But it felt like a direct jolt of electricity to the skin.

His breath caught in his throat.

He didn't raise it, he didn't lower it, he did nothing more than hold it between his calloused fingers for a second. But that was enough.

The message was clear.

She could feel the texture of his fingers on her skin, the heat of his rough, experienced hand too close to where it shouldn't be. And, worse, she could feel her own body reacting in the dirtiest, most shameful way possible.

Braulio let go of her immediately, as if it were a game, as if he was just measuring how far he could go without her running away.

She froze, unable to move, unsure whether to take a step back or forward.

He, on the other hand, smiled with that expression of a man who already knew the answer before asking the question.

-Come on.

Conni swallowed.

She felt a strange vertigo, a mixture of panic and excitement running through her body. Her head screamed at her to turn around, to get away before she did something she might regret. But her legs didn't obey her. They moved on their own, carrying her ahead of him, deeper into the construction site, into that narrow, shadowy, concrete hallway where no one else would see them.

Each step seemed heavy, as if the dense air surrounding them was trying to hold her back, as if space itself knew what was about to happen. And behind her, Braulio walked calmly, unhurriedly, enjoying the spectacle.

Because that's what it was for him. A damn spectacle.

I could feel it.

His hot, shameless gaze ran down her back, descending shamelessly, lingering on the sway of her hips, on the short skirt that barely covered what it was supposed to cover. The leather clung to her skin with every movement, and she knew what he was thinking. She knew it because she'd thought it herself when she'd gotten dressed that morning, because when she looked in the mirror before going out, she knew that outfit was provocative.

And now he was paying for it.

She pressed her thighs together tightly, feeling the growing dampness between them, an insidious heat that made her want to close her legs and, at the same time, open them even wider. She swallowed and inhaled deeply, trying to regain control, trying to convince herself that this was nothing, that it was just a dangerous game she could stop whenever she wanted.

Nobody's going to find out, he told himself.

When he looked over his shoulder, he found it exactly as he imagined.

Braulio didn't have the cigarette, but he still had that expression of pure malice on his face. His crooked smile, his narrowed eyes, that expression of a man who's already won, who already knows he's got her where he wants her.

"You know that's dangerous..." she murmured, her gaze fixed on the skirt that was barely lifting in the wind, threatening to reveal more than she herself was ready to show.

Conni felt a spasm in her stomach.

For a second, she imagined his rough hands brazenly pushing up on her, his raspy voice telling her exactly what he intended to do to her.

And she hated herself because, instead of scaring her, the idea made her boil.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

He just kept going, as if he hadn't quite heard what he'd heard, as if he hadn't understood what she really meant.

But he understood.

And so, when they reached the door of the small room Braulio occupied within the construction site, his pulse was racing.

Braulio opened the door and walked in first, as if he couldn't even believe this was happening.

The interior was stifling, chaotic, permeated with his presence. The table was covered with food scraps, cigarette butts crushed out in an overflowing ashtray, tools forgotten in a corner, clothes carelessly thrown on the unmade bed. Nothing in that space showed the slightest attempt at order; everything smelled of him, of his rough life, of his unsubtle, manly routine.

Nothing there was for her.

Nothing made sense.

But there it was.

The door closed with a loud click, and before she could process it, she felt his hand. A firm grip on her waist, large, heavy, with rough fingers that didn't ask permission, digging into her flesh with the possession of someone without hesitation. Her skin reacted instantly, sending a shiver down her spine.

The air thickened.

I could smell it.

Sweat, cheap perfume, tobacco soaked into his skin and the wrinkled clothes still lying on the bed. All mixed with something rawer, more intimate. The scent of a man who doesn't try to hide who he is.

She felt trapped, as if that room were a world apart, a space where rules didn't exist, where there was only skin, warmth, and contained desire.

Braulio leaned forward slightly, breathing close to her neck.

—Look where we are, fatty…

The phrase hit her in the stomach.

Her body trembled, her thighs clenching together in a futile attempt to contain the wave of heat that ran from her belly to her legs.

He was in no hurry.

He didn't let go of her.

He took his time, enjoying the feel of her soft, warm body in his weathered hands. Playing with the idea that she wasn't pulling away.

Because if one thing was clear…

Conni wasn't going to stop him.

He ran his calloused palms over her, exploring every curve, every generous volume, with a brazen slowness that contrasted with her rustic nature. From her waist, he moved down to her hips, sliding his thumbs in a rough caress over the fabric of her skirt, as if gauging the quality of the garment, as if mocking how elegant it looked against his hands. Then, without hesitation, he took her buttocks in both hands, squeezing them with possessive force, as if they were his, as if he had been waiting for them all his life.

"Just look what you're hiding..." he murmured, his deep voice filled with a shameless morbidity.

Conni pressed her lips together, feeling the heat on her skin, a mixture of discomfort and pleasure. She should have pushed him away. She should have put an end to it all before it was too late. But instead, she stayed there, motionless, trapped in a cloud of excitement and contradiction. Her body betrayed her, reacting with a heat that made her feel exposed, vulnerable.

The skirt rose with effort, the tight fabric resisting, refusing to reveal more than necessary. But Braulio was not a patient man.

—Turn around. I want to see that properly.

The brazenness in his voice made her shudder. She knew what he wanted. She knew it wasn't a request, but an order.

And without understanding why, he obeyed.

Lips parted, face flushed, she spun around and leaned against the table, pushing plates and food scraps aside with a clumsy movement. Her trembling hands found purchase on the surface, her nails digging into the wood, while her heart pounded with a painful intensity.

As she bent over, her hips instinctively arched, and her generous rear end jutted out provocatively without her fully noticing. The posture enhanced it even further, accentuating the round, inviting volume that Braulio couldn't stop devouring with his gaze. The fabric of her skirt stretched dangerously taut, boldly outlining every curve, turning her silhouette into a silent invitation he wasn't about to ignore.

And then he felt it.

Somewhat warm. Humid.

An unexpected contact made her arch her back even more, unwillingly offering herself, and stifle a moan in her throat.

Braulio had buried his face between her buttocks without warning, without subtlety, with animal-like voracity. He parted her lilac thong with his fingers, leaving her privates completely exposed to his devouring gaze, and without the slightest hint of shame, he plunged his tongue into the cleft of her rear end.

Conni gasped, her body convulsing with shock, with the intense sensation, with the lack of air as she realized what was happening. Her skin burned, every nerve ending reacting to the wet warmth of his tongue, to the brush of his stubble against her sensitive skin.

"Cunt..." Braulio breathed against her, his warm breath making her skin crawl. "What a beautiful ass, chubby."

His words, so insolent, so crude, made her tremble even more. At any other time, in any other context, they would have made her feel dirty. But there, in that messy room, with the smell of tobacco and sweat permeating the air, with her body trembling and her belly throbbing with desire, those words only managed to turn her on more.

Braulio's tongue traced every inch of her exposed flesh, warm and moist, a perfect contrast against Conni's soft skin. He held her lilac thong roughly aside, stretching the thin fabric while his mouth eagerly claimed every corner. The effort to keep her that way only increased her arousal, revealing the full and provocative shape of her butt, the true texture of her skin, the small stretch marks that crisscrossed her hips and, far from detracting from her beauty, added to her morbidity. He held her firmly, digging his rough fingers into her flesh with shameless possession, as if he wanted to leave a mark, as if he needed reassurance that this was real and not a recurring fantasy from his lonely nights.

Braulio couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted something like this. He felt his own cock throb, squeezed inside his clothes, almost painfully stiff. Every movement of his tongue, every involuntary contraction of Conni's body, every gasp she tried to stifle, made him more aware of how incredibly lucky he was at that moment. The difference between them was obvious: the freshness of her skin contrasted with the weathered roughness of his, her youth with her decadence, her delicacy with his masculine brutality. But there she was, leaning against the table in their makeshift room, trembling, panting, unwittingly offering herself to him with every involuntary spasm of her body.

The room was a reflection of its owner: chaotic, neglected, dominated by strong odors and traces of a life lived without grace. Wrinkled clothes on the bed, tools forgotten in a corner, cigarette butts scattered in an overflowing ashtray. Everything was a testament to his routine, to his masculine, rustic world where Conni had no place, and yet there he was, moaning stifled, clutching the table as his body reacted uncontrollably.

And just as the intensity was taking her to the edge, just as her thighs were shaking and her breathing was becoming erratic, Braulio stopped.

The emptiness his mouth left on her skin made her tremble with frustration. She barely had time to catch her breath when she heard him moving behind her, the sound of clothes falling to the floor, the belt buckle sliding with a metallic clink. She turned, her face flushed, and saw him.

Naked.

His skin was tanned by the years and the sun, his muscles still firm but marked by time. His torso was broad, hairy across the chest, with scars and traces of a hard life. The sparse hair on his head didn't detract from his presence; on the contrary, it only accentuated his imposing appearance. And his cock... thick, erect, shamelessly displayed as he lay on the rumpled bed, with insolent confidence.

Braulio leaned back brazenly, one hand on his erection, stimulating himself with slow, steady movements. He watched her from below, his eyes half-closed, a crooked smile radiating defiance and lust.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice raspy and deep.

Conni felt a chill run down her spine. She hesitated, her mind still caught in the limits she had to impose. But then she looked around. That space, that moment, everything about it screamed that there was no room for modesty or decorum. Just a minute ago, Braulio had his face between her buttocks without a hint of shame.

And she had enjoyed it.

Braulio lay on the unmade bed, his bare torso barely illuminated by the yellowish lamplight. His rough hand continued to run over himself in a slow, deliberate rhythm, enjoying the sight before him: Conni, standing at the side of the bed, her leather skirt still wrapped around her waist, her lilac thong awkwardly tucked in, the damp, sinful sheen between her thighs, her chest heaving with every breath, her nipples hardened to the point where they surely ached against her bra.

"Come here," he growled, his voice cracked by tobacco and age. "Suck it."

Conni felt a spasm in her stomach. The way he said it, without hesitation, without giving her a chance to refuse, only further ignited the vortex of sensations coursing through her. The order struck something deep within her, that instinct that had brought her here, that part of her femininity that overflowed into that chaotic, masculine space.

She let out a shaky sigh and, without taking her gaze off Braulio, moved her hands to her blouse, unbuttoning it with calculated slowness. She wanted him to see. She wanted to feel his gaze fixed on her skin, on every inch that was revealed.

Her lilac bra, with its delicate black detailing, barely hugged the fullness of her breasts, containing them with an almost futile effort. The thin, translucent fabric stretched taut against her warm skin, while the firm straps barely supported the generous weight of her bust. Her nipples, hardened with arousal, stood out shamelessly beneath the lace.

She took off her blouse, but left her bra on, allowing Braulio to enjoy the sight: the delicious tightness of the lingerie on her figure, the slight sway of her breasts with each labored breath, the promise of soft, warm skin that barely escaped from the edges of the garment.

Braulio grunted softly, almost to himself, his eyes fixed on the full curve of her breasts.

She reached for her skirt, but Braulio shook his head.

—Like that. Leave it there. You look good like that.

She obeyed. She didn't take off her skirt, leaving it wrapped around her waist, accentuating the nakedness of her upper body and the sensuality of her still-half-off clothes. She played with her hair, with the two ponytails she'd made before leaving the house, a gesture so naive that now, in this environment, it seemed perverse. She ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them, preparing herself.

She bent down and climbed onto the bed, leveling herself with Braulio's body from the side. His skin smelled of sweat, cheap perfume, and tobacco soaked into his clothes. But none of that stopped her. None of that made her back down.

Her small, delicate hand replaced his. Braulio let out a husky sigh as her fingers wrapped around the hot hardness of his erection. It was the perfect thickness to fill her mouth.

She looked up at him, her eyes alight with lust, her cheeks flushed, and then she opened her mouth slowly, letting the glans brush against her tongue before she wrapped her lips around it.

She concentrated. It wasn't the first time, she wasn't new to this, but something about the situation, the context, the masculine scent that enveloped her, the weight of his gaze on her, made her perfect her technique, hone her audacity, and let herself go completely.

Her tongue played with the tip, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, running her wet mouth over it, taking more and more. Just like she'd fantasized about the night before in the chat room with strangers, just like when she'd touched herself in the privacy of her bedroom using her toys. But this wasn't a game. This was real.

And Braulio felt it.

He gripped her pigtails firmly, tangling his fingers in the soft strands, pulling just enough to make her gasp. The faint pain vibrated in her scalp, stirring something dark inside her, something that made her shudder between pleasure and submission. It awakened in him a primal sense of dominance, of possession, as if she belonged to him at that moment. Like in those fantasy movies he watched on cold nights, but now it was real, now he felt it on his skin.

“That’s it, doll… Deeper…” he growled in a raspy voice, his heavy hand marking the rhythm without subtlety, pushing her to take him as he wanted, like a seasoned man without patience.

Conni obeyed. She took him deeper, slower, feeling him tense beneath her. His moans, rough and stifled, made her shudder. The way her entire body reacted to his mouth, his tongue, his surrender, turned her on even more.

Braulio didn't hold back. He didn't have to. He issued crude, vulgar commands, enjoying her more intensely than he expected. It wasn't just the physical pleasure, it wasn't just the perfect oral sex. It was the thrill of seeing her like that, at his feet, with that skirt still around her waist, with her hair tied back in those playful pigtails, with her tongue sliding expertly, with her submission implicit in every movement.

"Swallow it, come on..." he whispered, barely pushing his hip against her mouth.

Conni moaned, vibrating around him, letting herself go. She had completely immersed herself in that decadent, masculine space. And in that moment, only the two of them existed.

Braulio felt her warm mouth surrounding him, sucking clumsily and hungrily, her tongue running over him with unexpected devotion. But he wasn't a man to let himself be carried away so quickly. Even though he had her there, kneeling, her cheeks flushed and her lips glistening with saliva, he didn't want to end up like this, didn't want to waste himself in her mouth when he had the chance to possess her completely.

He grabbed her hair, tugging at those pigtails that gave her an air of ingenuity and provocation at the same time. His husky voice broke the air, heavy with desire:

—Get on me. Ride me. I want to feel you suck my cock.

Conni looked up, her expression a mixture of submission and pleasure. She was panting, her breath coming in short gasps, her nipples brazenly protruding through the fabric of her bra. Her thighs trembled as she sat up, climbing on top of him, her trembling hands pushing aside her lilac thong, which refused to come off her damp skin.

The contrast between them was almost morbid. Her full body, her soft, warm skin, rested on Braulio's, who greeted her with a dark, contented gaze. The bed groaned under their combined weight, the thin mattress barely cushioning the impact. The disheveled sheets and the scent of sweat and tobacco permeated the air, turning the scene into something raw, dirty, and real.

And then, he dropped his hip.

Braulio gritted his teeth as he felt her swallowing him whole in one go, her warm, tight flesh enveloping him without reservation. A growl escaped his throat, his rough hands gripping her thick thighs, squeezing the flesh, sinking into the soft skin. There was nothing subtle about that movement, nothing delicate. Only pleasure and need.

—Shit… Like that, move it, he ordered, his voice deep and authoritative.

She threw her head back, drowning in sensation, her body rocking against his, her movements clumsy at first, but increasingly bold. She arched, bringing her hands behind her back, effortlessly unclasping her bra, and tossing it over her head without a second thought.

The effect was immediate.

Her breasts were completely exposed, freed from the constriction of the garment, bouncing obscenely with every movement. Large, heavy, with soft skin and a delicate brown areola crowning each one. Neither her hands nor Braulio's were enough to contain them. They were a complete vision of unbridled femininity, of shameless pleasure.

—That's it... show me well, stay like that, he growled, holding onto her hips, forcing her to follow the rhythm he wanted.

Conni's moans filled the room, too loud, too blatant. If anyone happened to pass by, they could easily hear the sound of the bed creaking, the clash of their bodies, their uncontrolled breathing. But she didn't care anymore. She felt full, satisfied, alive. And she saw it in Braulio's eyes, in his expression of absolute power and delight.

Conni gasped above him, feeling him dominate her even from below. His thick hands guided her with a roughness that only fueled her desire, setting the pace, forcing her to move as he wanted. The friction was unbearable, a delicious tension building in her belly as her own voice, breathy and filthy, bounced off the walls of the room.

Braulio couldn't stop staring at her. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction and raw lust. That was how he'd imagined her when he'd seen her walk past outside the construction site, with her short skirts and that generous ass now bouncing against his pelvis. He'd fantasized about her being submissive, surrendered, with her makeup smeared and her breathing in a mess. And now he had her exactly like that, riding him wildly, lost in pleasure.

But I wanted more.

He grunted and held her hips firmly, halting her movements. She protested with a stifled moan, her legs trembling and her body about to rupture in ecstasy.

“Get down,” he ordered, his voice thick and relentless.

She hesitated, but her prickling skin and the warm emptiness between her thighs made her obey. Her feet barely touched the floor when Braulio sat up and easily turned her around, forcing her to lean against the unmade bed.

"That's how I loved you, fatty," he whispered behind her, pushing her with his body, making her arch.

The sensation of dominance made her gasp. Her legs trembled, her skin was a field of chills. She barely had time to hold on when he entered her, thrusting into her with brutal depth.

Conni stifled a scream against the mattress.

Braulio cursed under his breath. Now he had her the way he wanted her, open, surrendered, her skin warm and trembling beneath his rough hands. He watched her, fascinated. Her leather skirt was still wrapped around her waist, her thong barely parted, leaving her flesh exposed in the dirtiest and most delicious way. Her breasts hung heavily, swaying with each thrust, her white skin turning red where he held her tightly.

It was his fantasy come true.

He quickened his pace, grabbed her hair, forcing her head up.

—Tell me what you like. Tell me.

"I-I like it..." Conni stammered, lost in pleasure.

“Harder,” he insisted, his voice husky against her ear, his hand slipping under her belly, finding the exact spot to make her scream.

And he screamed.

The orgasm hit her with a force she hadn't experienced before, her body shaking as Braulio held her tighter, burying himself deep inside her, spilling his cum with a wild grunt against the back of her neck.

For long seconds, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths, damp skin against damp skin, the mattress creaking under their weight.

Braulio leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear.

"You'd better get used to it," he whispered with a satisfied smile. "Because you're my female now."

After a few seconds—or perhaps minutes—of unconsciousness, Conni slowly woke up, still wrapped in Braulio's warmth. He didn't move immediately; he simply stayed there, running his fingertips over her skin, unhurried, unurgent, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize every curve of her body. There was shamelessness in his caresses, yes, but also something else… something that touched a deeper chord in Conni, one that had more to do with desire than just desire.

Without fully understanding why, almost instinctively, like a cat seeking shelter, Conni raised her face and searched for his mouth.

Braulio let her. It wasn't a rough or hungry kiss, but a firm, secure one, with an unexpected warmth that enveloped her. Conni sighed against his lips, feeling something new, different. For a moment, she felt light, protected.

And just as her mind began to process that sensation, her consciousness fully awakened, bringing her back to reality. She internally cursed the moment her reasoning returned. If only she could let herself go… if only she could stay a little longer in that bed, tangled up in him…

But I couldn't.

With an apologetic grimace and not daring to look at him for too long, she hurried to find her clothes, her legs still shaky and her skin burning. She adjusted her skirt with clumsy hands, her fingers trembling as she smoothed the leather over her hips. She reached for her bra, tangled in the sheets, and put it on with difficulty, still feeling Braulio's presence in every inch of her skin.

He checked his cell phone.

Eight missed calls.

Her friends. The tutoring session. It hadn't arrived.

But instead of feeling guilty, she bit her lip with a smile, still feeling the lingering tingle between her thighs.

He didn't care.

She shifted her gaze toward the bed, where Braulio was still naked, his masculine, rugged body resting in apparent tranquility. His half-closed eyes watched her with an intensity that made her skin crawl, his hairy chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his slow, contented breathing.

And then, with that deep, raspy voice that seemed to surround her, she let slip a comment:

—Next time… I want you on your knees. And without those fucking pigtails. I want to grab your hair like a real woman.

Connie felt a whip of heat run from her belly to her legs. She tried to look away, to ignore the blush that lit her cheeks, but the burning between her thighs betrayed how deeply that promise affected her.

He swallowed. He hurried to straighten his clothes, but his fingers were trembling.

Braulio smiled, satisfied.

-

Dear reader,

I hope you enjoyed this new story and that, at least for a moment, it offered you an escape from reality. I especially appreciate everyone who wrote to me worried about me; the truth is, I'm fine, just with less time to write.