I shouldn’t be here. Friday noon. Usually, power lunches in the executive cafeteria, trading deals with C-suite peers. But Chloé’s teases nailed me. That intern, Richard’s 19-year-old daughter. Called me ‘Uncle Hervé’ in my corner office atop the glass tower. Mini-skirt barely covering her ass. Nipples flashing through a plunging top. ‘I’m lesbian,’ she smirked. ‘All women are, a bit. Yours too, maybe.’ Sent her secretary for coffee. Demanded professional attire. No harassment suits in this boardroom jungle.
She dropped files. Bent over, legs spread. Skirt rode up. Black thong split plump cheeks. String vanished into her dilated anus, framed swollen pussy lips. She straightened, one perky pear tit slipped free—pink strawberry nipple erect. Tucked it back casually. Secretary Lydie stifled shock. Then on all fours for a stray paper. Full moon again. Muscled ass, sheer gusset clinging to her slit. I hid my raging hard-on behind the mahogany desk. Leather chair creaked under me. Chloé’s game lit a fire. Needed to fuck my wife, Louise. Ditched lunch. Limo whisked me home to our penthouse aerie.
The Privilege
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city sprawl. Marble floors gleam. Silk drapes billow. I slip in quietly. Bedroom door ajar. Paralysis hits. There, on our king-sized bed—Egyptian cotton sheets rumpled—Louise in lace bra and panties. Facing her: Nora, blonde neighbor widow, same skimpy lingerie. Kissing fiercely. Oblivious to me. Chloé’s words echo. Not ‘maybe.’ Proven.
Our elite world: power couples, discreet vices. Penthouse whispers secrets to the skyline. No interruptions. They kneel, embrace. Lips graze cheeks, eyelids, necks. Vacuum sucks on skin. Tongues duel slow, tender. Hands roam. Fingers pinch bra cups, knead hidden tits. One slips under lace waistband. Fabric shifts. Thumb circles clit. Louise shudders. Penthouse hush amplifies her moan.
Nora behind her. Breasts crush Louise’s back. Lips nibble nape, shoulders. Unhooks bra. Frees my wife’s firm globes. Pinches hardening nipples. Saliva-slick fingers rub them erect. Louise collapses, pulls Nora down. Endless kiss. Thighs part. Nora’s knee grinds lace-clad mound. Slow thrusts. ‘I love you,’ they breathe. Light kisses pepper faces.
The Excess
Nora descends. Tongue laps collarbone, tits. Sucks areolas. Fingers press vulva through panties. Pulls aside. Index traces slit, dips in. Three fingers plunge. Thumb mashes clit. Louise bucks. ‘Yes!’ Orgasms crash. Nora feeds her pussy-glazed digits. Louise sucks her own juices.
Switch. Louise rips Nora’s thong. Sixty-nine frenzy. Tongues spear cunts. Fingers probe asses. ‘Eat my sloppy pussy, you slut!’ Crude now. ‘Finger-fuck my shithole!’ Pubes grind. Scissoring finale. Cunts clash. Hips slam. Roars echo off glass walls. Climax. Collapse.
Kisses linger. Rendezvous Monday. I retreat. No confrontation. Hunger gnaws—stomach, cock. Limo waits. Penthouse guards their secret. Mine now too. Elite discretion reigns. City lights twinkle approval.
