Tuesday evening at the upscale university pool, water laps like silk against my skin. My one-piece blue suit clings, modest yet molding every curve of my opulent 95C bust and hips. Antoine slices through lanes beside me, his swimmer’s shoulders rippling power. Nineteen-thirty. He surfaces near, eyes lingering. ‘Ready to stop, Marie?’ I smile, pulse quickening. ‘Fifteen more minutes. Energy to burn.’ He hesitates, knows the men’s locker closes soon. Promiscuity awaits.
We swim languidly. I emerge first, towel draped. Custodian bars the men’s door. ‘Ladies’ only, sir. Quick grab.’ Antoine stiffens, polite discomfort charming. Showers hiss steam. Hot jets soothe chlorine-kissed flesh. I face away, slip straps down, roll suit to waist. Back bare, I lather breasts fully, nipples hardening under palms. Rinse facing jet, profile offers him my proud swell. His Speedo tents obscenely. Adorable camouflage with foam.
The Privilege
I turn fully, tits exposed, water cascading over peaks. Knead them circularly, they bounce invitingly. His cock strains comically. Our eyes lock. ‘Causing quite the stir, young man.’ He grins. ‘Men can’t hide approval. Your breasts are exquisite. And you’re not hiding.’ He diagonals his shaft discreetly. I struggle suit lower, fail artfully. Shrug, peel it off entirely. Profile arched, gel-slick hand delves between thighs, offering indecent rear view.
He laughs, strips too. His athlete’s cock juts long, thick amid dark curls. ‘You’re in prime form.’ ‘Your doing, beauty.’ We rinse nude, gazes bold. I cleanse pussy lips; he soaps shaft gingerly, avoiding sensitive tip. Tempted to grip him, stroke to eruption. But pace it. He respects, assumes desire sans shame. We dry, dress in locker alcove, chat easing tension. ‘Your women’s portraits arouse without nudity. Model for you?’ ‘Delighted. You’re inspiring.’ Cheek kisses linger warmer.
Home, mentor’s toy plunges deep sans vibe. Antoine’s abs, delts, thighs ravage me to bliss.
The Excess
Next day, sun warms autumn air. Purple floral dress ties belted, fabric whispers thighs. Beside him in amphitheater, serious facade cracks at coffee machine. ‘Photo session holds?’ ‘Yes. Never posed.’ ‘Perfect light today. Your dress hugs perfectly. Whites underneath harmonize.’ Blush rises. Class ends four PM. His second-floor modern loft gleams: minimalist leather sofa, jasmine tea steeps in porcelain, cityscape through floor-to-ceiling glass.
Reflex on tripod, navy carpet plush underfoot, LED spots glow warm, umbrella reflector unfurls. Poses flow: hands on hips, arch bust; lean chair, curve ass; lift hem teasingly. Flash pops. Pro directions flatter. ‘Leg up, robe higher… panty flashes. Good.’ Break: screen shows me sublime, curves exalted. ‘More? Ditch undies.’ He pauses, gentleman exits for tea. Bra, thong off; robe readjusts.
Nude beneath, poses intensify. ‘Open neckline… areolas peek. Nipples peak fabric.’ Leg flexes, hem rises: ‘Pussy glimpse.’ On floor, thighs part, robe frames mound. ‘Belt loose, half-breasts bare.’ I seize reins: robe falls, tits cupped, tweaked. ‘Band?’ ‘Little.’ Thighs splay, fingers part fur, reveal pink wings. Four paws, self-touch. ‘Irresistible.’ Camera drops.
