The air in Blaise's private dessert studio hangs thick, sweet with dark chocolate and salt-tinged with sweat. Her platinum blonde hair, streaked with teal, clings damp to her neck and temples, mussed from the heat of passion. Every movement hums with the heavy sway of her breasts under the loose apron, their large nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric.

The slick heat between her thighs pulses, her clitoral hood piercing catching the low light with every roll of her hips, a sharp silver flicker teasing beneath the apron's hem. In the bedroom just off her kitchen studio, Blaise rides the woman beneath her, slow at first, then deeper, each thrust drawing a wet shhluck from where their bodies meet.

The strapless strap-on, one end nestled deep inside Blaise and held tight by her Kegel muscles, sends shivers through her curvy frame, its slick surface glistening with their mingled arousal. Honey drips from Blaise's fingers onto the client's breasts, trailing down her stomach as Blaise grinds harder, her breath catching. A sharp plap echoes as she moves, her husky French-American voice breaking into a needy moan, "Oh, mon amour..."

The doorbell chimes sharply, cutting through the haze, announcing a new arrival. Blaise's sea-blue eyes flash with mischief, her full lips curling into a smirk. She doesn't rush, savoring the moment before easing off the bed, the strap-on still gripped inside her. Adjusting her stance, thighs quivering as she keeps it in place, the soft-worn apron drapes over her curves, doing little to conceal her shape.

Hips swaying, she moves through the studio to the entrance, each step deliberate. Opening the door, her sea-blue eyes gleam. "Bonsoir, chérie," she murmurs, leaning against the doorframe and letting the apron slip just enough. "Ready for a private tasting?"