Puta

The whole world stood still when the word left my mouth, like the moment before the rain starts. I watched her run through a dozen emotions: an instinctive, ingrained fury; uncertainty; doubt; apprehension.

Something beyond physical washed through the room as she landed on her final emotions.

"Yes, Papi?" Her eyes blazed with arousal even as her whole face glowed with shame.

She wanted this, I told myself. And yet that moment had felt a little like the results of loaded dice. I had a weapon up my sleeve, the help of my Guardian Angel.

"Get over here."

Obediently, she stood, stepping around the trays, and stopped by my leg, her head down.

"Get on your knees. I want you gagging on my cock while your stomach is still empty. Can't fuck your face too hard once you're full, can I?"

"Papi, can't we just--"

I was surprised she objected. With my little helper, she should have been willing to do things she normally wouldn't. And she was already submissive. This was too much? Either way, I interrupted her, pressing just once more.

"Is your Mexican stomach more important than my white cock?"

Again, that wash through the room, a feeling like a tide of brighter color.

"Of course not, Papi," she said. She sank to her knees, and unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. Thankfully, the TV tray was just big enough for her to fit under, if she was careful. Soon those bright red lips were wrapped around my mostly-hard manhood.

She obviously had a lot of practice. Pleasure engulfed my entire length as she swooped up and down, taking more each time. Before I could remind her, she took me up to the back of her mouth, where she gagged and coughed, but didn't relent. Soon she had pushed me in past her gag reflex and into her throat.

"Good wetback bitch." Smiling to myself, I started on the food.

If you've never had home cooking from a Hispanic woman eager for your dick, you haven't lived. And if you can get her to fuck her own face on your cock as you eat it, I do recommend. I'd be lying if I said I couldn't tell you whether the food or her mouth was better. Her nasty little glucks and the drool leaking down my balls was the best thing I'd felt in a long time, maybe ever. But her cooking was nothing short of divine.

She'd wanted to impress me. I doubted she thought it'd be in this way.

For the most part, I ignored her, as if the food were far more important than her ****, slutty efforts to please. It wasn't just to demean her further, though--not just. Every time I watched her looking up at me with those big brown eyes, I felt myself lurch closer to coming.

The last time I looked, her nose was running, and makeup was smearing from her tears. Still, she watched me, just waiting on a single compliment. Wanting to be told she was enough.

My whole body clenched, locking down against my orgasm.

"That's enough, you brown cocksucking whore."

She pulled off my length, coughing, drool mixed with precum running down her chin to stain her dress. Taking long gasping breaths, she just watched me.

"Get up here and eat. Don't want your tacos growing cold."

Looking confused, she backed out from under the tray and stood. She started to reach for paper towels she'd brought with the food, but I stopped her.

"If you don't want to eat your meal looking like a little spic streetwalker, you can stand here and use the skirt of your dress to wipe off."

Our eyes met, sharing the knowledge of all that action would mean. Again I felt the whatever-it-was, overpowering her defenses.

Slowly, deliberately, she grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it to her face.

Bare skin slipped from beneath her dress, up her thighs, over her hips, past her belly button. The only cloth left to cover her was a frilly pair of pink panties. The crotch was darkened from pastel to hot pink where she'd gotten wet.

When she dropped the dress, I was disappointed, until I took in the whole picture again. Her face was almost clean, with small smears of makeup and little sheens of sweat or drool left behind. She looked younger, without her makeup, less like a slut in her twenties and more like a college girl in over her head. Her wide eyes, still tearful from **** on my prick, helped with that. And yet her dress was streaked and smudged all along the skirt with red and black and brown, damp in places. It would never come clean.

This is where a normal guy might feel guilty. My cock throbbed, hard as ever.

"Good," I said. "Now eat your meal before it grows cold. But reach over here. That's it, keep one hand around my cock as you feed yourself. Can't let a little spic forget what's really important in life."