I met her at a late-night lounge downtown, the kind where the bass hits low and the lights stay dim. She was tall, dark-skinned, with curves that filled out her tight red dress like it was painted on. Her name was Jasmine, and she had that confident walk that said she knew exactly what she wanted. I bought her a drink, we talked for twenty minutes about nothing, and then I told her straight up what I wanted. She smiled, leaned in, and whispered, "Let's go."
We barely made it to my apartment before her hands were on my belt. I kicked the door shut and pushed her against the wall. Her lips tasted like cherry gloss and heat. I grabbed her ass, squeezing those thick cheeks, pulling her hard against my cock already straining in my jeans. She moaned into my mouth and ground back.
"Get this dress off," I said, voice low. She peeled it down, revealing full tits with dark nipples already stiff, and a shaved pussy that looked wet even in the low light. I dropped my pants and let my dick spring free. She dropped to her knees without being told, wrapped her soft lips around the head, and sucked me deep. Her tongue worked the underside while one hand stroked the base. Spit ran down my shaft as she took more, gagging a little but not stopping.
I fucked her mouth slow at first, then harder, holding her head. She looked up at me with those big eyes, mascara starting to smear. When I pulled out she gasped, strings of saliva connecting her mouth to my cock. "Fuck me," she said. "I want that dick inside me."
I lifted her onto the kitchen table, spread her legs, and rubbed the head against her slick folds. She was dripping. I slid in one long stroke, bottoming out in her tight heat. Her pussy clenched around me, hot and wet and perfect. I started thrusting, deep and steady, watching her tits bounce with every slam. She wrapped her legs around me, heels digging into my back.
"Harder," she begged. I gave it to her, pounding so the table creaked. Her juices coated my balls. I reached down and rubbed her clit with my thumb, feeling it swell. She came fast, back arching, a raw cry tearing out of her throat. Her walls pulsed around my cock, milking me.
I flipped her over, bent her across the table, and drove back in from behind. That ass jiggled with every thrust. I slapped it once, twice, watching the handprint bloom red on her dark skin. She pushed back to meet me, greedy for it. "Fill me up," she said. I grabbed her hips and fucked her like I meant it, balls slapping, the wet sounds loud in the room.
When I was close I pulled out, spun her around, and stroked myself over her tits. Thick ropes shot across her dark skin, painting her nipples and cleavage. She rubbed it in with her fingers, then licked them clean while I watched.
We didn't stop there. An hour later she was riding me on the couch, grinding slow then fast, her pussy squeezing every inch. I sucked her nipples, biting just enough to make her gasp. She came again, shaking, then dropped to all fours so I could take her that way too. By morning we were both sore and sticky, but she left with my number and a smile.
That was the first. There were more after her, different girls, same raw hunger. Each one brought something new, but the hunger stayed the same.