Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 638: Emily’s Jealous Cunt

My eyes raked over Jasmine—her red dress clinging to her curves, the fabric stretched tight over her tits, her nipples still hard beneath the lace.

The hem rode up just enough to tease the top of her thighs, the glimpse of black lace panties peeking out—still damp from earlier. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twitching at her sides, her lips parted as if she knew I was watching—as if she wanted me to.

Fuck.

I wanted to ram my cock back inside her—right there, right now—bend her over the nearest surface and fuck the slutty moans out of her again. The way her dress hugged her ass, the way her hips swayed just slightly—she knew what she was doing. She wanted it.

But Emily stepped in front of me, blocking my view—deliberate, calculating. Her new dress molded to her body like a second skin, the black fabric hugging her waist, her tits spilling just enough to taunt. She rolled her hips, slow, exaggerated, her eyes locking onto mine as she pulled me forward—her fingers digging into my arm.

"Let’s go," she purred, her voice low, husky—but the edge in it betrayed her. "Otherwise we won’t be able to leave..." Her hand slid down, cupping her own hip, pushing it out just enough to emphasize the curve—a silent reminder of what she had that Jasmine didn’t.

She was jealous.

And I knew it.

The favorability meter flickered in my mind—Emily: 50/100. Not enough. Not yet. She hadn’t earned my cum inside her pussy—not like Jasmine had.

But right now?

Right now, I have bigger plans.l

Emily’s fingers tightened on my arm, her nails digging in just enough to sting. "Jack..." Her voice dropped, softer now, almost pleading—but not quite. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "We don’t have time for distractions..." Her hand slid up, cupping my chin, forcing me to look at her. "Not when Victor’s men could be here any minute..."

Liar.

She wasn’t worried about Victor.

She was worried about me—about where my cock was going to end up.

I smirked—slow, knowing—and let my gaze rake over her again, lingering on the way her dress clung to her hips, the way her tits pressed against the fabric. "Mmmmm— You’re right." My voice was a growl, low and amused.

Her eyes flashed—annoyed, jealous, hungry—but she masked it quickly, replacing it with a smirk. "Mmmmm— Good boy." She purred, stepping back—just enough to let me see the full view of her body again, her hips swaying as she turned toward the door.

"Now let’s go before I change my mind..." Her voice trailed off, just enough suggestion in it to make me wonder—was that a threat? Or a promise?

Jasmine stood there, her red dress clinging to her curves like a second skin, the fabric stretched tight over her tits, her nipples poking through the thin lace like two hard pebbles, begging to be sucked.

She shifted uncomfortably, her thighs pressing together, her fingers twitching at her sides, her lips parted in a soft, needful whimper.

Fuck.

She knew I was watching. She knew Emily was jealous. And she loved it.

Slut.

I turned to her, my voice a low, commanding growl—no room for argument, no room for doubt. "Wait for Margaret." My eyes burned into hers, dark and possessive, promising her exactly what she craved. "And don’t touch yourself." My lips curled into a smirk. "That pussy is mine now."

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching at the hem of her dress—like she wanted to rip it off, like she wanted to shove her hand between her legs and finger her sloppy cunt right there. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it, her eyes dark with need, with hunger, with the knowledge that she was mine—body, mind, and soul.

One look.

That was all it took.

Her breath stuttered, her fingers clenching the fabric of her dress so hard her knuckles turned white. Her lips parted, a thin sheen of saliva glistening as she licked them, her tongue darting out in a slow, obscene motion—like she was tasting the memory of my cock on her lips. "Y-Yes, Master..." Her voice was a whisper, broken and submissive, her body still throbbing with the aftermath of being filled, bred, and claimed.

And I would have her again.

Soon.

Emily led me to her car—black, sleek, expensive—the leather seats still warm from the sun, the engine purring to life beneath us like a fucking beast waiting to be unleashed.

She slid into the driver’s seat, her skirt riding up just enough to tease the top of her stockings, the black lace of her panties peeking out—still glistening with her arousal, the scent of her pussy filling the car.

She scoffed, her fingers tightening on the wheel—too tight, her knuckles white, her jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle tick. "Mmmmm— Tell me, Jack..." Her voice was sharp, jealous, the edge of a knife pressed against skin. "Was that bitch’s pussy tighter than a fucking virgin asshole?" Her eyes flicked to me, dark and burning, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

I chuckled—low, amused, my eyes raking over her body, lingering on the way her dress clung to her tits, the way her nipples pressed against the fabric, hard and aching.

"Haven’t you seen..." My voice was a purr, dark and knowing, taunting.

"...how her womb caught my cock..." I leaned back, stretching my arms behind my head, grinning as Emily’s grip on the wheel tightened—her fingers digging into the leather like she wanted to dig them into me instead.

"...inside? Not letting go?" I laughed, low and mocking, my cock twitching in my pants at the memory—the way her pussy had milked me, the way her walls had clung to me like a fucking vice. "And it’s true..." My eyes locked onto hers, cold, unyielding, possessive. "Her pussy was fucking tight."

Emily’s face twisted—her lips curling into a snarl, her nostrils flaring. "B-Bitch..." Her voice was a hiss, raw and venomous, her fingers clenching the wheel so hard the leather creaked.

"I will show her..." Her voice rose, her pride wounded, her jealousy boiling over. "My pussy can be tighter than hers..." She spat, her voice rising, her body tensing like a coiled spring. "H-How can I lose to such an old, used-up slut—?"

I smirked—slow, knowing, cruel. "Mmmmm— Jealous, Emily?" My hand slid over, cupping her thigh—slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric, the tension in her muscles.

"I just— I—" She swallowed, her throat bobbing, her eyes darting between the road and my hand—her mind racing, her pride warring with her need. "You are mine..." Her voice was a growl, low and dangerous, possessive.

"You will put your cock where I want it..." Her fingers tightened on the wheel, her grip almost painful. "...not in some fucking bitch who couldn’t even keep her husband hard!"