The elevator hums softly to the penthouse floor. Brigitte’s keycard beeps. Door swings open to floor-to-ceiling windows framing Paris skyline. Leather sofas gleam under crystal chandeliers. Air scented with jasmine and her perfume. She called in sick at 9 AM sharp. I took the afternoon off. No excuses needed in our world.
Brigitte pours Veuve Clicquot into flutes. Bubbles dance like our hidden desires. Her silk robe slips, revealing lace panties— the ones we picked together. ‘Rosa, finally alone.’ Her voice husky. I step close. Leather of her discarded pants still warm on the floor. Our game ends here.
The Privilege
She traces my collarbone. Fingers dip into my blouse. Buttons yield. My breasts spill free. Nipples harden instantly. Hers too, through thin silk. We sip champagne. Glasses clink. Eyes lock. No words. Just heat building.
I push her against the window. Cool glass on her back. City below oblivious. My lips claim hers. Tongues tangle fierce. Hands roam. I squeeze her heavy tits. Perfect 90C handfuls. She moans into my mouth. ‘Touch me, Rosa.’
Her robe falls. Naked now. Skin flawless. I kneel. Kiss down her belly. Inhale her musk. Legs part. Pink folds glisten. Wet for me.
The city lights flicker as dusk falls. Penthouse cocooned in luxury. Our elite bubble. No husbands. No colleagues. Just us.
She leads to the bedroom. King bed draped in Egyptian cotton. Mirrors everywhere. Reflecting our sin. Champagne forgotten. Desire rules.
I strip slow. Her eyes devour. My dress pools at feet. Thighs slick already. She pulls me down. Breasts crush together. Nipples rub. Electric.
Her mouth finds mine again. Hands grip my ass. Fingers probe. I grind against her thigh. Soaking her skin.
‘Taste me first,’ I whisper. She obeys. Pushes me back. Legs wide. Her tongue dives in. Licks my clit. Sucks hard. I buck. Fingers in her hair. ‘Yes, Brigitte. Eat my pussy.’
The Excess
She laps greedily. Tongue fucks deep. Juices coat her chin. Orgasm builds fast. I come hard. Shuddering. Flooding her mouth.
My turn. I flip her. Face down. Ass up. Spread cheeks. Dive into her dripping cunt. Salty sweet. Tongue circles asshole too. She screams. ‘Rosa! Fuck me!’
Fingers plunge in. Three at once. Curl to hit G-spot. She squirts. Soaks sheets. I drink it all. ‘My slut. My dyke.’ She begs. ‘Yes! Yours!’
We sixty-nine. Cunts grinding. Tongues relentless. Clits swollen. Orgasms chain. Endless waves.
Scissoring next. Legs locked. Pussies slap wet. Friction burns divine. Sweat slicks us. Nails rake backs.
Hours blur. Toys from her drawer. Vibrators hum. Strap-on waits. But hands suffice. Raw. Primal.
Exhausted. We collapse. Sheets ruined. Bodies marked. Champagne refills. Sipped naked.
Penthouse wraps us in silence. Walls of glass guard secrets. City sleeps. Our affair sealed. Discreet. Eternal.
Tomorrow, back to suits. But this—ours. Elite privilege.
