I cracked one eye open in my penthouse suite, the city skyline glittering beyond floor-to-ceiling glass walls. 5:59 AM. Saturday. No plans, just silk sheets caressing my bare skin. Ex stretched out seven months ago with some bleach-blonde bimbo. Fuck him. I swung my legs off the king-sized bed, padding to the marble bathroom. The mirror reflected my long black hair tumbling over pale shoulders, full tits with dark nipples begging attention, endless legs, and that silky black bush framing my pussy. Memories of his tongue on them hardened my tips. I slipped under the rain shower, hot jets pounding my body. Soaping up slowly, hands gliding over curves, I teased my clit. Back on the bed, legs spread wide, fingers plunged deep. Two inside, thumb on my swollen nub. Hips bucked. Breath ragged. Orgasm ripped through me, pussy clenching, juices soaking the Egyptian cotton.
Nuisette in sheer silk barely hid my curves. Coffee machine hummed, filling the air with rare Ethiopian beans. Doorbell. Annoyance flickered. I opened it topless almost. Gaétan, the building’s silver-fox concierge, held my repaired designer chairs. Mid-fifties, muscled, 6 feet tall. His eyes devoured me through the fabric—tits, bush, ass. ‘Early, but I heard you,’ he stammered. I blushed, let him in. Offered coffee. He sat, legs apart, staring as I stood. Transparency teased him: dark nipples erect, black triangle damp. Bent over chairs, ass to him, I knew he throbbed. ‘How much?’ Straightening, spotting his bulge. ‘You, if you’ll have me.’ Timid. I smiled, slipped straps off. Naked. He pulled me onto his lap. Rough hands roamed my skin, pinching tits, probing thighs. I lit a cigarette, shared the smoke. His cock pulsed against me through shorts. Fingers found my soaked slit. ‘You’re dripping.’ ‘Masturbated after shower.’ Coquettish grin. He fingered me slow, clit circled. I came hard, crying out, gripping his shoulders.
The Privilege
My turn. Stripped him. Thick cock sprang free, veined, throbbing. Kneeled. Lips kissed the head, tongue swirled glans, sucked deep. Bobbing, teeth grazing shaft. He groaned, hands in my hair. ‘Gonna explode.’ I deepthroated, milking him. He erupted, hot spurts filling my mouth. Swallowed, rose. Coffee, toast, jam. Naked chat. ‘Not a slut, just horny.’ ‘Mutual pleasure.’ Cigarette shared again. ‘Tip time.’ Legs spread, his fingers back in. Then table edge. Laid me out, legs over shoulders. Tongue devoured my pussy, lapping nectar. I thrashed, orgasming violently. Cock hard again. ‘Fuck me deep.’ He thrust in, slow then pounding. Grunts, slaps. He came inside, pulsing. Carried to bed. Promised lunch.
Slept. Woke to cart: salad, ribeye, garden veggies, vintage Bordeaux in crystal. Ate in bed, laughing. Siesta. Fucked again under his sheets. Afternoon delight: rode him slow. All weekend: sex, feasts, champagne toasts overlooking the city. Monday, entering lobby, mower in hand, chatting with the nosy upstairs hag. Complicit wink. ‘Thanks for chairs. Got two more?’ ‘Saturday. Price is you.’ Her: ‘Charming tenant.’ He smirked inwardly. Penthouse walls of glass hid our secrets. Pure elite indulgence.
