Sophie Has an Itch
by acguy
Copyright© 2025 by acguy
Erotica Sex Story: Sophie Has an Itch and only Chef can scratch it. A Story in the Sophie's Stories World.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Heterosexual Fiction .
Sophie was in a mood.
That specific kind of slow-burning, overstimulated itch that no amount of toys or teasing could quite scratch. She needed cock. And not just one. Two. Simultaneously. Fully used. Completely filled. Every angle of her body taken, touched, stretched.
She’d been thinking about it for days.
So she sent the text. You busy Friday? Wanna help me shoot a scene? Bring lube and a clean dick. JC replied within two minutes: I’m in. No surprise. He was reliable like that. Not charming. Not interesting. But consistent.
In her head, she didn’t even call him by name anymore. Just Cock. JC. That was all they shared.
She didn’t tell Chef.
That morning, he arrived right on time with a tote of fresh ingredients, hair damp from the shower, tight charcoal shirt hugging his shoulders. Sophie greeted him in an oversized robe, tied just barely at the waist.
“Lunch, yeah?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” she said innocently, turning so the robe split just enough to reveal the swell of her ass. “Something light. Just a salad. Sandwiches, maybe. For three.”
He paused.
“Three?”
“Mm-hmm.” She turned back, biting her lip. “Friend stopping by. Hope that’s not a problem?”
Chef’s jaw flexed, subtle but unmistakable. “If you want privacy, I can come back later.”
Sophie stepped closer, brushing past him with a smile. “Don’t be silly. I want you here.”
Then she disappeared down the hall, the robe parting more with each step.
The next hour was a carefully choreographed tease.
She’d slip into the kitchen under the pretense of grabbing water or asking something mundane—only to “accidentally” flash her tits when she stretched, or let the robe hang wide enough to show the smooth line of her bare pussy as she leaned over the counter.
Chef said nothing.
Not at first.
But the tension built with every glance, every raised brow, every tightly exhaled breath he gave while slicing heirloom tomatoes or toasting thick slices of sourdough. She felt his restraint in the air like static.
By the time she came back through the kitchen for the fourth time—nude, pretending not to notice—he spoke.
“Sophie.”
She paused mid-stride. “Yeah?”
“Keep that up and I’m going to bend you over the counter before you get a chance to finish whatever it is you’re planning.”
Her smile was slow and dangerous. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
Then she disappeared again.
He heard the rustling. Tripods. Light stands. The faint mechanical click of her remote shutter triggering the camera. He knew the drill. She was setting up the studio.
He didn’t ask questions. Just finished lunch, plated it all neatly, and set it on the counter under a clean linen cloth.
That’s when the doorbell rang.
He heard her answer it. Heard the deep male voice. Then the thud of footsteps heading down the hallway. The sound of the studio door creaking open—then staying open.
More voices. Indistinct. A rustle of clothes. Laughter. The squeak of a mattress.
Chef stood still, his back to the hall. He didn’t need to see it. He knew.
She was filming.
His jaw tightened. Hands resting on the edge of the counter.
After another minute, he called out—voice steady. “Sophie. Lunch is ready. I’m heading out.”
She didn’t answer at first.
Then: “Wait! Chef—I need a hand.”
He hesitated.
“Sophie—”
“Come on. Please?” Her tone was sing-song. Teasing. “I really do need you.”
Another pause. He exhaled. Then walked down the hall.
The studio door was wide open. Lights glowing. One camera on a high mount, another on a slider track. In the centre of the bed, JC was already nude, lean and semi-hard, leaning back on his elbows. Sophie was between his legs, also completely naked, her skin flushed, hair wild, lips curled into a feral grin as she stroked his cock slowly with one hand.
She looked over her shoulder at Chef.
“Oh, good. You’re here.” Her eyes glittered. “I have a problem.”
Chef stood in the doorway, jaw set, arms crossed.
“My pussy’s empty,” Sophie said sweetly. “And I need your cock.”
Then she turned her head and wrapped her lips around JC’s cock, sliding it slowly into her mouth, eyes locked on Chef the entire time.
She moaned low and filthy around it. Pulled off with a wet sound.
“Fuck me while I suck this cock,” she said, still looking at him. “Please, Chef. I need it.”
Chef stepped forward without a word, stripping in silence. T-shirt. Belt. Pants. Cock already hard. The studio lights cast everything in soft, gold heat.
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