Rebecca frowns at her watch. If she’s late for her reservation, she’ll have to fire her driver. It simply won’t do.
Thankfully, Rupert remembers a shortcut, leaving the freeway and fishing the long, black Rolls through surface streets until they pull into the secluded lot with nary two minutes to spare. From the outside, it might as well be any other warehouse, but a curious observer might notice the carefully polished brass plaque beside the double doors, inscribed with the words “Cassa del Gallo”.
Rupert puts the car in park and hurries around to open the rear door.
“Ms. Manchon”
“I dare say, Rupert. Not a moment too soon. I trust we can plan ahead better for future engagements.”
“Yes, ma’am”.
Taking his hand, she steps elegantly from the car. Rebecca Machon, heir to a fortune to old and diverse to easily describe. Suffice it to say, even when cousins were marrying each other in throne rooms across Europe, the Manchons were old money.
She’s wearing an evening gown, black and sleek. It was designed by someone you’ve never heard of and cost more than your house. She’ll wear it only this once. Her neck and hands sparkle with diamonds, and her fiery red hair is pulled back with broach that once belonged to the Pirate Queen of Mozambique, famed for commenting on the size of Genghis Khan’s harem as “quaint”.
Of course, the doors are opened by tuxedoed butlers, and she’s ushered to her private room immediately. They know her on site here, as she’s both a regular and one of the founding financial backers.
A waiter in a waistcoat helps her into a high backed chair and carefully lays a fresh linen napkin across her lap.
“Ms. Manchon, how are you this evening?” Dressed all in white, Madam Lowerton glides into the chamber. She was the obvious choice to captain this establishment and had proven her worth a million times over since opening the private club.
“Good dear. Just hungry.”
“Of course, of course.” Madame Lowerton is carrying a single sheet of parchment. The hand written menu is made daily, detailing the specials as curated by Madam Lowerton herself.
“I’m so glad you’re joining us this evening. We have some excellent options tonight. First, we have a very well regarded white. I hate to have repeats on the menu, but we simply get too many requests for me to say no. The texture is to die for and it’s more than a filling portion.”
Rebecca drops the menu to the table, bored.
“I think not. I was really hoping for something new.”
“Oh, of course, of course.” With practiced hands, the madame whisks the menu away.
“I have just the thing. It’s just in. Totally new. You’d be the first to have it. Again, quite the portion, dear. But I’m told the terrior is especially delicious. All fruit and vegetable diet, no meat or dairy at all. Totally clean, with a finish so sweet and smooth, you won’t believe it.”
At this, Rebecca’s eye grow wide. This is why she founded Casa del Gallo. This is why she comes. This is what life is for.
“Yes, yes.” She claps her hands in excitement. “I will absolutely have that, dear.”
“As you wish.” Madame Lowerton nods and gives a slight bow. She disappears backward through the door as Rebecca pulls her chair forward, closer to the small black circle on the wall.
In moments, the thin silk curtain draws up and the head of an already head cock pokes through.
Rebecca leans forward and plants her delicate red lips on the knob for a kiss. Taking in her choice and giving permission to enter further. Slowly, more of the hard cock emerges, inch by rock hard inch. Rebecca is more than pleased with her selection as 10 inches of shaft presses through the hole. But the time it stops, the circle of wall is tight against the base, its circumference meeting the limits of the portal.
Rebecca parts her lips and takes the tip of the ebony black missile inside. It’s hot and nearly impossibly hard. She can’t help but savor the way it slides over her tongue, smooth and musky.
Rebecca is no novice, and lifts a hand to grip the shaft around its base, or at least attempts to before learning that her fingers cannot close around its girth. She’s left holding it steady, moving her mouth in practiced movements.
Her mouth is stretched wide already and she’s not a third of the way down the beast. Improvising, she allows her drool to drip down its length. It isn’t hard, her mouth has been watering since the car.
With both hands, she strokes the shaft, feeling every veiny inch pulsing in her grasp. She suckles at the underside of the head, at that little piece of flesh marking the union of knob and shaft. As a reward, the monster blossoms with a single pearl of clear fluid, which the heiress quickly removes with her probing tongue.
*A fine vintage, indeed*, she thinks. After such an aperitif, she looks forward to the main course.
The head back inside her mouth, she moves more quickly. She still has to stroke most of the shaft, but the head presses eagerly forward to the opening of her throat. She has to lift off her chair, but she manages to take it. It fills her like nothing she’s had before, and throbbing in her mouth and gullet, she’s completely taken with this cock.
Her panties have soaked through, and the red velvet chair is likely ruined. In the small private room, her slurps and sucks echo obscenely, and she can hear a groan through the supposedly soundproof wall.
With that, she sees a small red light above the hole flash. Once, then urgently, on and off, on and off.
Rebecca withdraws so that the fat head of the beast rests on her tongue just in time for the explosion. A river of ejaculuate floods her mouth, sweet and smooth as promised. Lovingly, she coaxes it out, sliding her tongue over the sensitive tip even as she gulps mouthfuls of the copious cream. Somewhere amidst the firehouse of semen, Rebecca crests her own wave of pleasure. Ab muscles clench and she groans loudly enough that Madame Lowerton nods from the entry way.
Regaining her own composure, Rebecca realizes she’s missed a few drops as she feels cum dripping down her chin. The flood in her mouth slows to a trickle, and the heiress sucks patiently to retrieve every drop.
Satisfied, she sits back, and the cock disappears back through the hole. The small silk covering drops again, and Rebecca is alone.
Madame Lowerton enters again, beaming, with a waiter close behind. She’s carrying a small bowl of sherbert, which she offers to Ms. Manchon.
“Lovely, just lovely.” She smiles, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with the napping and wiping her hands dry. “I’m afraid I must decline dessert. I am positively stuffed.”
“So glad you enjoyed yourself. You’re car is waiting of course, and I must remind you of our anniversary celebration next week. If you can believe it, it will be 1-year next Thursday since we opened. Thank you again for your support and patronage. We’re offering a first – an all you can eat buffet. I hear it’s quite the rage with certain classes.”
Rebecca smiles as the waiter helps her from her chair.
“Delightful. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/9hul1o/the_fivestar_gloryhole_oral_interracial_rich_bitch