The penthouse gleams under city lights, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline. Plush leather sofas cradle my body, cool against my fevered skin. Yesterday, Jules gifted me the keys, tied in purple ribbon. Tonight, I thank him my way—raw, unfiltered. No panties, as always. New order arrived: crimson garter belt, sheer black stockings, vinyl microskirt riding high, open-cup bra under tulle top, 10cm stilettos. Mirror shows a vulgar vixen. Glossy red lips pout. Nipples strain. Pubis waxed bare, flashing with each step. His car hums below. I perch by the door, heart pounding.
Key turns. Not Jules. Marcus, tall, smirking. ‘Evening, miss.’ Jules bursts in: ‘Fuck, babe, you’re death-hot.’ Shock freezes me. Arms cross over tits. I bolt to change. Jules chases. ‘Don’t. I love it.’ His cock throbs under my palm. Heat floods back. He gropes my ass. ‘Let him watch. Turns me on.’ Back in the living room, leather sighs under us. Champagne pops—crisp, golden bubbles on my tongue. I serve, bending low. Cleavage spills for Marcus. Skirt hikes, exposing garters, slit. Foam overflows. ‘Lick it clean, slut.’ Tongue swirls glass, eyes locked on Jules. Marcus stares, bulge straining.
The Privilege
Talk turns filthy. Old fuck-buddies, sharing sluts. Irène, his wife—nympho queen, gangbang organizer. My pussy clenches at tales of cum-drenched nights. Jules beams pride. I straddle him, kiss deep. Skirt rides up. Marcus eyes my ass. Bending to pour again, thighs tense, Jules fingers my wetness. Foam spills on tits. I lap it lewdly, legs spread, exposing shaved cunt. ‘Touch her pussy,’ Jules urges. Fingers tease. I beg: ‘Please, sir, finger my slut hole.’ Knees buckle. I collapse, gasping.
Wealth whispers discretion—thick walls, no neighbors. Leather sticks to sweat-slick skin. Bubbles fizz forgotten flutes. City pulses below, oblivious.
The Excess
Marcus’s pants drop. Thick cock springs free—wider than Jules, veined monster. I undress him, inhaling his musky cologne. Kneeling, I stroke both shafts. Playlist hums low. I dance, top falls, skirt slithers off. Stockings cling. They jerk, eyes feral. Marcus grinds against me. Jules from behind. Cocks slide thighs, pussy lips. Fingers probe ass, cunt. I squirt, screaming ‘Slut! Puta!’ Collapse to knees.
Mouth devours. Alternate cocks—salty pre-cum, throbbing veins. Jules in pussy, Marcus in mouth. Switch. DP: Jules ass-fucks slow, Marcus pounds cunt. I howl: ‘Fuck your whore!’ Holes stretched, filled. Cum blasts—Jules paints tongue, Marcus face and tits. I convulse, fingering gush. Filmed in haze.
Exhaustion claims us. Leather cushions spent bodies. Plaid drapes me. Jules cuddles close. Marcus grins: ‘Irène will envy.’ Laughter fades. He leaves. We climb to bed, bodies entwined. ‘More surprises?’ ‘Every night, my slut.’ Penthouse seals our secret, glass walls reflecting sated smiles.
