I pulled up to Elodie’s cliffside villa, perched high above the crashing Mediterranean waves. Marble facade gleamed under the golden sunset. She opened the door, a vision. Dark-haired stunner, Sandra Bullock charm refined. That trumpet nose, now sharper on her slimmed face. Six months post her late forties pregnancy, pounds shed. Shocking erotic jolt. Short blue floral skirt hugged her hips. Natural sway in the open-plan kitchen, all polished Carrara marble and Sub-Zero chill.
Her two girls vacationed elsewhere. Baby napped in the ground-floor nursery. We prepped dinner amid clinking crystal. Husband due soon. Laughter flowed easy, our old rhythm. Terrace awaited: infinity pool edging the void, leather loungers soft as sin. Champagne popped, Veuve Clicquot bubbles sharp on tongue. Ocean vista endless. Simple joys, elite style. Husband ate, chatted, then bolted back to his deals.
The Privilege
Clearing plates, terrace breeze cooling skin. Back inside, her at the sink. Me beside, towel in hand. Eyes snagged on her ass. Skirt danced with each bend. Thighs flashed. Panties teased, almost glimpsed. Cock hardened fast. Years of pure friendship frayed. Salacious thoughts surged. Arms brushed. Tension thickened. Her moves slowed. Eyes darkened, ambiguous fire. She paused, hands gripping marble edge. Thinking.
Left hand landed soft on her right cheek. Fabric taut over plump curve. No recoil. Mouth parted. Gaze hardened. I kneaded firmer. Lifted globe to grind the other. Thumb hooked her panty elastic. ‘What are we doing?’ Her voice gravel-low. ‘Craving your ass,’ I confessed raw.
She hiked skirt slow. Blue cotton panties strained over generous flesh. Heart-stopping. I flanked behind. Hands claimed cheeks. Firm massage. Meat yielded lush. No kisses. No eyes met. Guilt fueled frenzy. Quick satiation only. Squatted low. Face neared. Thumbs probed crotch. Wet sounds rose. Musky scent bloomed. She soaked through.
Her fingers yanked fabric aside. Fat lips glistened. Pinched them swollen. She gasped. Two fingers plunged easy. Vast, slick channel. Deeper stroke as she arched. Ready. My erection throbbed awkward. Stood. Zipper down. Cock sprang free.
The Excess
‘No, not there.’ Hand stopped me. Grabbed Tuscan olive oil bottle. Uncorked. Offered blind. Tango time. Poured slick gold on shaft. She bared ass fully. Fingers oiled her pucker. One, then two. Primed fast. Gland nudged rosebud. She backed on, hands spreading cheeks. Controlled impale. Swallowed me balls-deep. Unreal grip.
Paused. Sphincters clenched. She rocked first. Tempo synced. Gripped shoulders under arms. Locked tight. One body now. Intensity crested. Piston strokes hammered. Full hilt every thrust. Buttery glide. She growled low. Hand dove front, frigging furious. I railed merciless.
Her quake hit violent. Orgasmed savage. Mine erupted seismic. Flooded her depths. Dumbstruck slump over sink. Withdrew. Zipped. She fled to loo, no glance.
I washed hands under copper faucet. Shower hummed next. Apprehension gnawed. She emerged flushed. Eyes met awkward. Mutual apologies tumbled. Frenzy unexplained. Total derail. Never again. Swore it.
Silence since. No visits. No texts. Her anal choice haunts. Excites. Elite secret sealed in glass walls, ocean guarding below. Contact? Unanswered thrill.
