I slammed the phone down in my corner office, tears stinging. Tenth voicemail to Anna. The blonde bitch ignored me since our scorching office fling. Leather seat creaked as I fired up the Bentley, fleeing the corporate tower’s glass facade. Colleagues buzzed below, oblivious. My husband called. Dinner at Le Cristal, our Michelin haunt. Touching. I hated myself more for betraying him.
Showered, I slipped into a short skirt, sheer blouse. His anniversary gift: black thong, silk against smooth skin. Didier arrived sharp. Valet parked the Porsche. Crystal flutes bubbled Veuve Clicquot, crisp pear notes exploding. Ocean view penthouse tables whispered elite secrets. I teased under linen cloth. Fingers traced his hardening cock through wool trousers. He gripped the stem, eyes dark.
The Privilege
Home’s marble foyer. He pinned me to the wall. Savage kiss. Skirt hiked. Thong shoved aside. Fingers plunged my dripping pussy. Guttural moans. Pants dropped. Thick cock throbbed free. ‘Turn around,’ he growled. Jupe bunched at hips. Thong yanked down. Gland breached my slick folds. Slow thrust. Hands mauled my tits. Rhythm built. Thumb circled my virgin-tight asshole. First knuckle popped in. I bucked. Waves crashed. He hammered deep. Cum jetted hot against my cervix. My orgasm clenched him dry. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. Semen trickled thighs. Shower hid my guilt.
Weekend blurred. Normalcy in our villa. Then 9 PM SMS lit my phone. Anna: ‘Tomorrow, skirt. Nothing underneath.’ Heart raced. Deleted. Slid beside sleeping Didier.
Monday boardroom. Post-meeting linger. Her smile wicked. ‘Panties?’ ‘Find out.’ Skirt hid bare truth—I’d ditched the thong at noon, nerves electric. Texts flew. ‘Kangaroo slip?’ ‘Love it.’ ‘My place, noon?’
Her penthouse door. City skyline gleamed through floor-to-ceiling glass. Silence thick. ‘Lift your skirt.’ Firm. I resisted. Game: her garment off, mine five cm up. Blouse shed. Cream bra cupped heavy tits. Skirt rose, thighs bare. Bra gone. Breasts free. Higher. Pussy lips peeked, shaved smooth. String dropped. Her blonde bush glistened. Skirt to hips. Cunt exposed, weeping.
‘Touch yourself.’ Fingers on her nipples. ‘Excited?’ ‘Check.’ Kneeling, breath hot on my slit. Tongue flicked clit. Sucked lips. Nibbled pearl. I flooded her mouth. Knees buckled. ‘No!’ Stayed upright. Orgasm ripped. Juices smeared her chin.
The Excess
Her bedroom. Sun-drenched king bed. Legs splayed. ‘Lick me.’ Knelt. Kissed thighs. Dove into blonde thatch. Tongue speared folds. She pinched tits. I stripped frantic. 69. Her mouth devoured my hanging lips. Fingers fucked her rough walls. She arched, screamed. Cum gushed.
‘Again.’ Drawer hummed. Vibrator buzzed clit, rimmed ass, plunged pussy. Fist-deep thrusts. I shattered.
Cuddled in silk sheets. Selfie: faces close, tits bare. Thong trophy. Left bare under skirt.
Friday archives. Dim basement glow. Pulled in. Wild kiss. Fingers hooked my cunt. Pinned. Fucked to brutal squirt. Up spiral stairs to deserted suite. Leather desk. She stripped. ‘Spank me.’ Palms reddened ass. ‘Eat my ass.’ Tongue probed ring as she fisted herself. She came howling.
Ghosted weekend. Monday: Anna fled to USA. Home: Didier’s face stone. Brown envelope. My thong. Selfie print. ‘Explain.’ Night of screams. Secret shattered.
