It’s 6:40 PM. L Bar gleams under soft amber lights, velvet stools whispering against thighs. Not crowded yet. I claim a table by the stage, prime for the local lesbian band’s show. Straight from work, changed in the office bathroom. No time home. Black silk dress flows above knees, barely clinging, back plunging deep to bare my spine’s curve. Heels click sharp on marble floors—my signature. Eyes devour me: blue azur piercing blond waves.
Two Pink Ladies down. Gin bites crisp, champagne fizzes luxurious on tongue, raspberry liqueur sweet sin. Émilie sweeps in, brunette curves pulsing confidence. Real estate queen of penthouses and yachts. Kisses exchange, cheeks flushed. ‘Early?’ she teases. I laugh. ‘Direct from desk. Jacket hid the skin—colleagues trance at a glimpse.’ We order sushi, makis glistening fresh. Another round. She spills on Katy: cinema fondling, skirt hiked, fingers delving wet in dark.
The Privilege
Band tunes up. Guitarist androgynous rock edge. Goth singer, black lips venomous. Pianist—my prey. Mid-height, black bob framing sharp face, emerald eyes hypnotic. Faded jeans mold thighs like second skin, short black top bares ripped abs. I stare. She bends, ass thrust our way plugging in. Heat pools low. Émilie grins. ‘Your type.’ Lights dim. Music throbs. Her drink arrives—Pink Lady gift. I toast her smile, sip fizzing fire. We dance wild, bodies slick.
Intermission. I slip outside, cool air nips skin. Cigarette glows. She’s there, lighter flame dancing. Lara. Too close. Breaths mingle tobacco-sharp. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ ‘Your eyes provoke. Captivating.’ I crush lips to hers. Soft, hungry. She challenges: ‘Again.’ I spin her, pin to brick wall. Tongues clash—cigarette ash, gin tang. Hands roam: my back nude under her palms, hers grinding my heat. Fingers tease damp cores. Lost in lust bubble, ready to strip raw against stone.
Singer interrupts. Pause over. We part, eyes promising carnage. Back inside, Émilie eyes me wicked. Concert pulses electric. End roars applause. She’s at bar with waitress, bodies fused. Émilie vanishes to cold room—ice to melt. Lara scans, misses me. I smoke out back, torn: chase her fire or bank it home? Note scribbles: my number. ‘If the urge lingers. XOXO L.’ Gone.
The Excess
Home silent. Husband Tom, son asleep. Shower steam caresses, water silk on fevered skin. Naked to bed, press against his back. Hand snakes to cock, strokes velvet steel waking. He turns, kisses deep. I pump harder, dive under sheets. Mouth engulfs, tongue swirling salty pre-cum. Groans rumble. He hardens iron.
Can’t wait. Straddle, impale on thick shaft. Ride savage, hips slamming. He thrusts up, matching fury. Pulls me down, chest to chest. Hands grip ass, arch me high. Pounds brutal, balls slapping wet. I scream, walls clench. Spasms rip—orgasm crashes mutual, floods hot inside. Collapse panting.
‘Good night?’ ‘Band hot. Émilie fun. Teased the pianist outside—kiss, grind. Saved the ache for you.’ ‘Love your fire.’ Cuddled safe, sleep claims. Secret sealed in our glass-walled haven, city lights guarding sins.
