Sun pours through floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, bathing the marble floors in gold. City skyline sprawls below, a playground for the elite. Saturday morning, 10 AM. I’m topless in panties, satin kimono loose, finishing makeup after a steamy shower. No plans. Shopping? Cinema? Doorbell chimes. Through the peephole, a petite blonde. Carole Tévelot, insurance rep. Forgot the appointment. Slip on the kimono—short, plunging V-neck, barely covering my ass. Colleagues call me ‘Miss Cleavage’ or ‘Miss Thigh-High.’ I smile. Reputation intact.
Open the door. She’s tiny on stilettos, short blonde bob framing bright eyes, genuine smile. Mid-twenties. Tailored light suit hugs modest curves. Surprise flickers at my outfit. ‘Forgot our meeting. Vacations wiped my brain.’ She offers to reschedule. No way. I hate flakes. Lead her to the living room. Plush Italian leather sofa, low glass table. She passes; wide hips, short legs, full ass. Not model-perfect, but sensually off-kilter. Charming.
The Privilege
We sit opposite. Sun beats down. ‘Hot by the window. Lose the jacket.’ She does, relieved. Blouse strains over small tits. She launches into financial jargon—life insurance, short-term placements. Brochures spread. I lean in, kimono gaping, heavy pear-shaped breasts spilling into view. Catch her eyes locked on my cleavage. Tongue darts over lips. I tug the belt higher, opening wider. Lean again. Full globes dangle, dark areolas peeking, nipples hardening.
She stares, transfixed. Sweat beads her brow. I rise for my maracas—Sabrina’s Portugal gift, finely carved wood. Stand beside her, bend low. Kimono falls open completely. Breasts swing free, prominent nipples brushing satin. Shake them. ‘Hear the rattle?’ Tits bounce rhythmically, fabric teasing peaks. Her eyes bulge, tongue lapping lips. Voice trembles: ‘Yes, unmistakable.’ Heat surges through me, pussy tingling.
Thirsty. Offer my homemade cassis nectar—deep purple, exquisite. Kitchen detour: yank thong deep into slick folds, lips engorged, trimmed bush peeking. Return with tray, kimono loose. Pour glasses, bend for another cleavage dive. Sit deep in armchair, legs parting as I grab brochures. Skirt rides up. Two hand-spans between knees. Thong devoured by cunt, wetness gleaming. She squirms, hips rocking subtly, eyes glued.
Spill nectar on her skirt. Violet stain blooms. ‘Off with it! I’ll rinse.’ Between women, right? She hesitates, then unzips. Pale red cotton panties, damp crotch. Rinse in marble bathroom, hang to dry by open window. Return: she’s legs tight on sofa. Wipe floor spill— glimpse her soaked gusset. Knock over her bag. Papers scatter. We scramble. Me bent, ass cambered, legs spread. String splits puffy labia, juices dripping. She stares at my devoured slit.
The Excess
Squat facing her, thighs wide. Cunt bare, lips bulging shiny. ‘What makes your panties wet?’ Silence. ‘You’ve ogled my tits and pussy all morning.’ Hand on her knee, slide up. She parts legs. Eyes blaze. Undo kimono fully—breasts free, nipples rigid. Pinch one; electricity shoots to core. She grabs my hand, presses to her sopping crotch. ‘This old slut Catherine drives you wild?’
Fingers stroke through cotton, pressing hard. She moans, collapses sideways, legs splayed. Kiss her fiercely, tongues dueling. Yank off panties. Straddle in 69 on wide leather. Her pussy blooms wet, blonde fuzz above. Fingers plunge, clit circled. She bucks, cums hard, crying out. Hands maul my hanging tits, mouth sucks nipples. I grind back on her finger.
Shift: hover cunt over face. She yanks thong aside, tongue dives deep. Fingers spread me, lapping clit, probing. I knead tits, scream as orgasm rips. Collapse entangled.
Legs intertwine. Smiles exchanged. ‘Would’ve hated missing that.’ She kisses tenderly. ‘Thank you… immense pleasure.’ Another hungry kiss. I’ll sign anything. Sabrina never knows. Penthouse walls of glass seal our secret, city oblivious below.
