Solange’s hands plunged into soapy water in her aunt’s lavish kitchen. Crystal glasses gleamed under soft light. Her aunt dried them meticulously beside her. Solange’s full breasts swayed with each motion, straining her blouse. Leaning against the doorframe, I savored a slice of exquisite tart, its flaky crust melting on my tongue.
She claimed a serene forties, flaunting it provocatively: vibrant floral blouse with a jabot revealing creamy swells; tight rose skirt above the knee hugging wide hips; deep black pixie cut. At five-foot-seven, her slight plumpness and hooked nose only heightened her allure. She felt my gaze on her heavy chest, glancing back with delighted eyes before lowering them coyly.
The Privilege
Older by a decade, we’d bonded at her aunt’s aperitifs—my neighbor two houses down. Solange devoured my tales of Santorini, her dream escape from her aviaphobic husband’s Ardèche drudgery. Today, celebrating the aunt’s seventieth, family lingered. I’d chauffeured a folding bed in my spacious van.
Solange wiped her forearms vigorously. My cock stirred at the thick bush of dark hair under her right armpit. My kink: hairy women, promising lush pubes below. Her aunt knocked Solange’s rings off the counter in a clatter. I retrieved them gentlemanly. The sentimental one missing. Flat on cool tiles, I peered under cabinets. Solange squatted with a flashlight, thighs splayed wide.
Full frontal view: red heels framing muscular legs in sheer stockings, black garters leading to a ‘flat tummy’ girdle. Yellow satin panties edged in black ruffles peeked invitingly. She knew I ogled, yet held position. My hand grazed her knee, slid up bare thigh. She trembled. Bold fingers slipped under fabric, tracing her endless slit.
Her husband barked from the living room—he rushed to a cup match. I delayed bed delivery till seven, when he’d be gone. Solange’s complicit smile sealed it.
Garage door shut. I hefted the mattress; she wheeled the frame to a dim storeroom. Back turned, she positioned it. I kissed her neck wetly, hands on bare arms. No resistance as I cupped her soft left breast. Skirt hiked to waist. Fingers delved between parted legs into abundant bush. Index plunged her firm-lipped gash. She arched her ass against my hardening cock.
Panties lowered. She led me to the shadowed salon staircase, lit above. Three steps up, I halted her magnificent rear. ‘Scandal,’ I teased. She unzipped, wiggling. Thong back revealed plump cheeks split by black cord. Rare wear—husband deemed it vulgar.
I sat lower, yanked thong aside. Tongue lapped her dark pink folds, crests swelling. She lifted a leg higher. Dante’s view: splayed, gaping, hairy ass crack. Sucked her hardening clit; she gripped my head. Panties dangled; moans crescendoed. Finger in her tight asshole triggered her squirt—tart nectar flooding my mouth. She demanded more licks.
The Excess
Quick wipe with satin. Up to marital bedroom, condom from her hand. Breakfast remnants on nightstand: croissant, jams, honey.
She stripped me with sloppy kisses. I bared her blouse, bra. Nursed thick nipples on pendulous tits—she craved rough fondling. On all fours, I fed her my cock, swinging her udders like pendulums. Her hand massaged my balls expertly.
Answering machine blared husband’s rage. She ignored till screams peaked, lips slick. ‘Giving the neighbor a blowjob!’ she quipped. He fumed: record FR3 news—his interview at the stadium.
In vanity chair, thighs over arms, I slid condom-clad cock deep. She stifled bliss mid-instructions. Post-call, no cum. She mocked my stamina.
Vexed, I flipped her, honey-slicked two fingers in her ass. Protests: not her habit—unless paid. Cash-strapped cashier needed Santorini funds. Older gents paid well.
Kneeling, thighs spread: ‘Whenever you’re ready.’ Vexed yet hooked, I claimed her ass for 150 euros bonus. Grunts mixed pain, pleasure. I flooded the rubber.
Bathroom encore: straddling tub edges, her amazon piss arced from hairy mound, echoing on azure enamel. Joined her stream between thighs. She raged, hosed me icy.
Parted amicably. No repeats—occasional lucrative flings only. ‘Morality!’ she intoned.
