The Palais des Expositions gleamed under crystal chandeliers. Marble floors echoed heels. I smoothed my silk gown, badge pinned taut over my breasts. Roland’s stand pulsed with elite energy. Crystal flutes bubbled with vintage Dom Pérignon, crisp and golden on the tongue. Leather armchairs invited whispers among tycoons in bespoke suits. Air scented with oud and ambition. I approached, heart pounding. His eyes locked on mine, dark with surprise. ‘Christiane, you radiant siren.’ His hand grazed my waist, warm through thin fabric. We clinked glasses. Bubbles danced, effervescent like forbidden promises. He introduced me to Saudi princes, Japanese moguls. Their gazes lingered on my curves, but his touch lingered longest. Mayumi slinked by, her miniskirt a provocation. I seethed. After her assault in the toilets—her fingers invading me, tongue forcing mine—I burned to claim him. ‘Walk with me,’ he murmured, guiding me to a velvet-curtained VIP lounge. Plush sofas sank under us. Private. Exclusive. His cologne enveloped me, sandalwood and power. Fingers brushed my thigh. Seduction hummed, electric.
Jealousy erupted. ‘That Singapore slut attacked me. Said you’d fuck her tonight.’ His face hardened, then softened. ‘She’s nothing. Ambitious viper.’ He pulled me close. Lips crashed. Hungry. Demanding. Hands ripped my gown’s neckline. Breasts spilled free, nipples hardening in cool air. He sucked one, teeth grazing. I gasped. ‘Mine,’ I hissed, palming his cock through wool trousers. Thick. Throbbing. We tumbled onto leather chaise. Zipper rasped. His shaft sprang out, veined and rigid. I straddled him. Slid down, wet folds engulfing him. Inch by inch. Stretching me. Filled. He gripped my ass, nails digging. Thrust up, brutal. ‘Fuck me like you own me.’ Pounding. Sweat-slick skin slapped. Champagne spilled on my tits; he lapped it, salty-sweet. Fingers found my clit, circling vicious. Orgasm built, savage. I rode harder, grinding. His balls tightened. ‘Come inside me.’ He roared, flooding my pussy. Hot jets. Pulsing. I shattered, walls clenching, milking every drop. We collapsed, breaths ragged. Cum leaked down my thighs, sticky proof.
The Privilege
Limousine waited outside. Blacked-out windows. Calfskin seats cradled us. He poured chilled Krug from ice bucket. Silky on lips. City lights blurred through tinted glass. No words needed. His arm around me, possessive. We arrived at his penthouse suite, Eiffel Tower vista through floor-to-ceiling glass. Egyptian cotton sheets awaited. I showered first, steam veiling marble bath. He joined, soaping my curves. Gentle now. Secrets sealed in opulence. No traces. No scandals. Back in bed, bodies entwined. Dawn gilded the skyline. Roland stirred. ‘Stay.’ I traced his chest. Our world, private. Untouchable. The elite’s code: indulge, then vanish into luxury’s embrace.
