September 19th, early evening. Martial’s penthouse atop the city. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls frame the glittering skyline. Cool Italian marble bites my knees. Hands flat on the tiles, I tremble. Suffocate. Lungs crushed. Guts knotted. Chills rack my body. Atropos panics inside me. ‘Dissociate body from mind!’ I gasp it. Over and over. No fear anymore. Not after the Shock. Six months of these attacks. ‘Fuck off, bastard! Dissociate! Think of something else!’ Vision blurs. Tiles snake. Walls tilt. Floor sways. I teeter on collapse. Blackout would free me. But that’s defeat. A presence looms. Silent. Judging. Impatient, I shut my eyes. Think of Martial. His wandering hands. Hot breath on my neck. Hard cock pressing my ass. Fingers trace my sides. Tease nipples through silk. Stroke belly. Dive to my soaked delta. Part lace lips. Graze my swollen clit. Heat blooms. Fire between thighs. Muscles loosen. Air rushes in. Victory. I won. Amélie triumphs. Atropos fades. Phone rang minutes ago. Lachésis. I stayed strong. Reassured her on the plan. Hung up. Crumbled. But conquered. First time. I rise. Stiff but electric. Mirror door reflects perfection. Thirty-four. No cellulite. Smooth legs. Armpits flawless. Pussy bald except landing strip. Rip open the package from the post. 90C balconette. Nipples bare. Irresistible. Matching string? Tiny. Ties short. Panels vanish into plump lips. Strip peeks out. Razor time. Integral shave. Smooth as silk. Rarely this naked. Feels impudently bare. Arousal stirs. Back to shower wall. Legs spread. Basin forward. Golden tan frames white mound. Nipples harden. Dark, rubbery peaks. Pinch. Twist. Sparks shoot to core. Lips swell. Pink lace unfurls. Canyon floods. Fire births the river. I crave the slow build. Lovers must map me. Neck to toes. Strum my Venus mound. Delve petal folds. Avoid rough clit tease. Drown in my torrent. Then unleash. Pound my hole. Wreck it. But Martial? One more chance. Fingers hover. Stop. Doubt chills. Re-tie string. Silk blouse. One button at navel. Barely covered. To the kitchen. Marble counters gleam. Crystal flutes wait. Champagne chills.
He arrives. Door clicks. Martial. Tall. Commanding. Eyes devour. Champagne pops. Bubbles fizz on tongue. Silk whispers off. Balconette stays. String snaps. His hands. Real now. Grip flanks. Nipples twisted hard. Cock grinds. Kitchen island. Bent over cool stone. Legs wide. Fingers plunge shaved slit. Soaked. Three deep. Pump. Clit circled. I buck. ‘Slow,’ I hiss. But he knows. Builds it. Tongue laps ass. Dives pussy. Sucks lips. Fingers curl G-spot. I shatter. First wave. He flips me. Counter bites back. Cock thick. Veins pulse. Rams in. Bare. Balls slap. Fucks relentless. Pulls hair. Slaps ass. ‘Take it.’ I do. Claw his chest. Heels dig shoulders. Deeper. Skyline spins outside glass. Champagne spills. Sticky on tits. Pounds harder. I explode again. Squirts flood marble. He roars. Fills me. Hot jets. Collapse. Excess pure.
The Privilege
Back to calm. Satin sheets in master suite. City lights pulse beyond glass walls. Secrets safe. Murs de verre guard all. Tomorrow, the 21st. 18:58. Veillefonds wakes blind. Naked in stone duct. Ball-gag bites. Panic pure. Crawls blind. Bats graze stone. Heart hammers. No light. Rapes elbows raw. Bats swarm. Wings buffet. Claws rake. Falls into icy pool. Chest deep. Bats flee. He gropes ledge. Stumbles guano-slick. Finds tunnel. Runs. Rope trips. Our trap holds. Lachésis, Atropos, me. Elite game. He suffers below. We sip champagne above. Discretion absolute. Power throbs.
