The old presbytery looms over Lake Geneva, its gray stone now gleaming under fresh limewash. We pull up in the hybrid BMW, tires crunching on white gravel. Stéphanie squeals, dashing to the iron gates. I step out, heels sinking into the manicured lawn, the air crisp with alpine pine. Jérôme’s hand grazes my lower back, possessive. Inside, the bishop’s dining room unfolds: oak panels polished to mirror sheen, crystal chandelier dripping light onto a mahogany table set for seduction. Champagne pops, Veuve Clicquot bubbles cold on my tongue, fizzing like foreplay. Lake views through tall windows—snow-capped Mont Blanc piercing the dusk. This is our empire, bought for a steal from a trembling priest. No tourists here. Just us, elite whispers in velvet armchairs. His eyes devour my lace blouse, nipples hardening under sheer black silk. Stéphanie’s tucked away in her room, cartoons humming. We sip, fingers intertwining. ‘This is ours, Anna,’ he murmurs, breath hot on my neck. Leather sofa creaks as I straddle him, skirt hiking up. Cotton panties damp already, protector slip soaked from his seed last night. Luxe cocoon, power pulsing.
His mouth claims mine, tongue thrusting deep, tasting champagne and hunger. I grind against his bulge, zipper straining. He rips my blouse open—buttons ping off parquet. Breasts spill free, heavy, pink tips begging. Fingers pinch hard, twisting until I gasp. ‘Fuck me like you own me,’ I growl, Danish fire in my veins. He flips me, face-down on cashmere rug. Skirt shoved to waist, panties yanked aside. His cock springs out, thick, veined, pre-cum glistening. No condom—I’m on the pill, craving his flood. He spits on my ass, thumb circling that tight ring we’ve trained. ‘Beg for it,’ he commands. ‘Fuck my holes, Jérôme. Ruin me.’ Lubed plug from our games discarded; he’s bare now. First, pussy—slams in balls-deep, stretching my walls. Wet slaps echo off stone walls. I buck back, clit grinding rug. Then he pulls out, slick with my juices, presses to my ass. Slow burn, then pop—I’m impaled, fuller than ever. Pain blooms to ecstasy, waves crashing slow, building. He fingers my clit, relentless. I scream, body convulsing, ass clenching his shaft. He roars, pumping hot ropes deep inside, marking his territory. Cum leaks out, mixing with my squirt on luxury wool. We collapse, sweat-slick, lake breeze cooling us through open panes.
The Privilege
Dawn breaks, Léman glittering like diamonds. I slip into Egyptian cotton sheets, his arm heavy across my waist. Cum crusts my thighs, a secret badge. Shower hisses—marble enclosure steaming. He soaps me slow, fingers probing filled holes. Breakfast on the stone terrace: fresh croissants, coffee steaming, views endless. Stéphanie chatters, oblivious. Our glances lock—shared filth under pristine calm. Walls of glass shield our sins, grilles dipping to private shore. No one sees the stretched pussy, the gaped ass. We own this discretion, power’s velvet glove. Mornings, I swim nude in icy waters, nipples peaked, body renewed. Evenings, more excess awaits. This palace, our lust fortress.
