Late September 2019. Heat lingers. Indian summer clings to Provence. Our Drôme hillside villa gleams—Pierre’s architectural masterpiece. Vast glass walls frame endless lavender hills. Private. Impenetrable hedges shield us. Pool shimmers azure. I swim laps nude. Family naturists. Clothes banished when sun allows. Twins at uni: Aline in Lyon, Louis in Montpellier. Pierre cycles 100km with mates. Alone. Perfect.
I lounge on the teak sunbed. Skin caramel-bronzed. Grab monoi bottle. Spray mists. Oil slicks legs. Muscled from daily bike commutes to my boutique. Calves tense under firm palms. Knees’ hollows spark. Thighs quiver. Slow. Luxurious. Smile curls. Time stretches. No rush. Pubis bare. Smooth for sun, water, Pierre’s deep thrusts.
The Privilege
Stand. Oil ass cheeks. Firm. Tender. Pierre kisses them aflame. Hips sway feminine. Back arches. Breasts offer to sun. Pear-shaped. Firm at 43. Hand-filling. Nipples harden. Pinch. Electric jolt to core. Seated now. Towel plush cotton cradles. Belly undulates. Legs bent. Hands climb chest. Oil sheens tits. Knead. Roll. Pleasure bolts. Left hand lingers. Right dives to mound.
Lips part eager. Blood-swollen. Center commands. Fingers tease outer folds. Soften. Invite inner sanctum. Clit throbs. Urgent.
Flashback ignites. Last night. Pierre beneath me. Both supine. My soaked pussy slides his shaft. No penetration. Clit grinds frenulum. He growls restraint. Fingers dance belly. Thumb circles clit. Whispers hot in ear. My fantasy. A woman joins. Evening dance. Her white sheath clings. Slender. Perky tits. Brunette cascade. Green eyes glow. Lambada sways us. Her thigh wedges mine. No panties. Mine bare too. Skirt hikes. Cunts grind bare. Juices mingle rhythm.
Clothes shed. Naked frenzy. Hips buck. Tits clash. Lips seal. Tongues duel. Sofa sinks us. She devours breasts. Sucks nipples raw. Trails fire to pubis. Lips claim clit. Explosion.
His tale syncs strokes. Fingers piston. Clit mashes. His cock swells inside. We shatter. Cum floods.
Now solo. Fingers plunge. Recall propels. Cunt clenches. Gushes. Bomb detonates. Waves rip. Toes curl. Body arcs. Scream silent. Taste nectar. Lick fingers. Clit hypersensitive. Twitches. Giggles erupt. Straw hat shades. Drift to torpor. Drapes damp temple.
The Excess
Ding-dong. Shrill. Intruder. Visiphone: gendarme duo. Uniforms crisp. Grave faces. Dash. Joggers on. Barely decent. Gate buzzes.
Salon cool. Marble floors gleam. Captain Élise D., soft voice. Adjudant Sylvain M., stone gaze. “Mrs. Lou G.? Wife of Pierre G., architect?”
Panic surges. Hands shake. “He’s cycling. Back soon.”
“Accident. Group hit. Several injured. Two dead.”
Scream. “Hospital? Where?!”
She grips arm. Eyes wet. “Your husband… deceased on impact.”
World spins. Gut knots. Legs buckle. Black.
