Hanzo interrupted Phoebe dressing for the Sunday brunch. He undressed her, all but her pearls and stockings, and ravished her.

Lying in bed after, Phoebe said, “Oh, Hanz, you fucked me so good. You filled me so full. Gosh, I think if I even breathe the wrong way it will all gush out.”

“Let’s see,” Hanzo said.

“No, I’m too shy,” Phoebe protested.

“Okay,” Hanzo said, getting his camera from the top of the chest of drawers. “I can wait. You’ve got to get up sometime if we’re going to make that brunch.”

“You’re mean,” Phoebe said.

“You’re cute,” Hanzo said. “Come on, get up. I want to see my cream come out.”

Phoebe sat up.

“Is it coming?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Hanzo said. “Maybe if you squeeze your cunt.”

“I feel like my cunt’s all squeeze out from coming,” Phoebe said.

“Maybe if you touch yourself.”

Phoebe brushed her nipples with her fingertips. “You’re horrible.”

“You’re lovely. Keep touching. That’s it. Come, sweetie, come.”

Phoebe came, and so did Hanzo’s cum, flowing slowly at first and then more and more at the crescendo of her orgasm.

The sight aroused Hanzo. They missed the brunch.