The elevator hums softly to the penthouse level of the city’s most discreet private clinic. Marble floors gleam under crystal chandeliers. Leather armchairs cradle us in the empty waiting room, scented with rare oud. Late hour ensures total privacy—our elite status guarantees it. The door opens. Dr. Marc, mid-thirties, chiseled jaw, tailored white coat, invites us in. His office: floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline, mahogany desk, supple leather exam table.
Martine—my wife, curves honed by personal trainers—complains of lingering groin pain. I accompany her, pulse quickening. She slips off her silk trousers. Panties hug her hips. He asks her to spread. Fingers probe her inner thighs. His cheeks flush. A bulge strains his slacks. She sighs, eyes half-closed. ‘Lower your panties, please.’ She arches, bares her neatly trimmed mound. He swallows hard, palpates deeper. Crimson-faced, professional facade cracks.
The Privilege
‘Not serious,’ he murmurs. ‘Massage with ointment.’ Playful, she teases: ‘Even during sex?’ He stammers, glances at me. My grin disarms him. She dresses. We leave with prescription—and electric tension.
Home, penthouse overlooking the bay. She devours me. Violent thrusts. She climaxes twice as I flood her. ‘His touch… so intimate,’ she confesses. ‘Would you have gone further alone?’ ‘No. But with you watching…’ Pain fades with my daily ointments. Monday, cured. Yet she craves return. ‘Imagine him taking me. You watching.’ I call. He slots us late.
She dons short skirt, sheer blouse—no bra. No panties: surprise. Clinic again. Empty. He greets instantly. Eyes widen at her outfit. ‘Pain persists slightly.’ On the table, skirt hikes. Bare, smooth-shaven pussy gleams—first time fully waxed for this. ‘No need for panties.’ He stares, entranced.
The Excess
Fingers explore. ‘Lower now.’ She spreads wider. He tastes her slick folds. I watch, hard. He dives in: expert tongue lashes her clit. She bucks, orgasms screaming. Grateful, she frees his thick cock. Sucks greedily—glans, shaft, balls. He groans. I finger her dripping slit from behind. He erupts, painting her tits. She cleans him, then me—swallows every drop.
On desk, he plunges deep. She cries out. I feed her my cock. Switch: I rail her, then ass. His fingers join in her pussy. She shatters again. He jerks me off onto her mound, sucks me clean. Stiff again, we alternate pounding her soaked holes. Orgasms chain through her.
Restaurant after: velvet banquettes, vintage champagne bubbling crisp. He confesses celibacy. First since breakup. We’re his inaugural married conquest. Back home, digestif in crystal. She emerges in sheer negligee. ‘Watch you two.’ His hand on my thigh. Kisses trail my body. Mouth engulfs me—deep, skilled. I reciprocate in 69. Mutual release coats us.
Her turn. Tongues worship her. Then doggy: he claims her ass. I throat-fuck. Double penetration seals it—cock in pussy, his in ass. She wails, convulses. I flood her cunt. He pumps deep in her bowels at her plea.
