Michael’s penthouse overlooks the city skyline, glass walls framing diamond lights. Leather sofas sink under us, cool and supple against bare thighs. Common friends introduce Klaus—tall, sharp-suited, eyes devouring my short skirts and innocent smile. He probes Michael about me. ‘Just Myriam,’ he says. I play coy, loyal to my distant boyfriend, bed cold for years.
Billard room gleams: polished mahogany table, crystal decanters of aged whiskey. I fumble cues, beginner’s luck. Klaus jokes, ‘Myriam and I are getting married!’ I laugh, entering the game. Later, across the felt, ‘You distract me.’ I snap back, too quick. He wants me. I pull him aside, spill my story—fiancée far away. He frowns, hurt. Desire stirs in me, faint heat.
The Privilege
Email apology. I reply: can’t cheat. Principles. Next billard night, tension crackles. Frôlements—arm brushes, waist grips, ass to thigh. Eyes lock. Everyone sees.
Party at Michael’s: caviar canapés, vintage champagne bubbling on my tongue, sharp and cold. I sip from Klaus’s flute. ‘Where we’re at…’ Mouths almost touched. Slow dances in the marble-floored salon, his hands knead my ass, low back. Body molds to his hardness. Heat pools. I pull away, tease. On the leather divan, his palm strokes my thigh, slow fire. Thoughts whirl—boyfriend, guilt. I flee to the terrace, city winds cooling flushed skin. Michael consoles: ‘Live, you’re young.’ Back in kitchen, glass of iced water trembles in hand. Klaus corners me. Whispers, ‘Let go.’ Arms wrap my waist. I turn, back to his chest. Lips brush. Passion explodes—tongues devour, wet and urgent. I push away, conscience clawing.
Tease continues: wandering hands, fevered stares. End of night, alone. Final slow: bodies grind. ‘Think of your pleasure.’ Resistance crumbles. Savage kiss. He lays me on divan, hands claim breasts. ‘So long since a man touched you.’ I arch, fingers claw his shirt. Michael’s interruption saves us. Secret sealed.
Next day, email: body awakened, can’t focus. Weekend call: ‘Come over.’ His luxury suite: candlelit, silk rugs, panoramic view. Casual clothes, plain panties—no seduction ploy. Sofa chat, cheek kiss. Silence thickens. Heat rises from my cunt. Light kiss ignites fury. Hands ravage. ‘Condoms?’ He pauses: no penetration, just touch. Deal.
The Excess
Clothes rip away. Naked on his king bed, sheets like liquid silver. Skin burns. He worships tits—licks, sucks, eyes hungry. Panties down, stares at my slick folds. I free his thick cock, worship with mouth, tongue swirling base. He fingers me deep, clit throbbing. I shatter, screams echo off glass walls. Multiple orgasms. I suck harder, he watches, groans. Pulls out, jets cum on my chest—hot ropes, intimate mark. Fusion perfect.
Morning fuck, same fire. Breakfast: no promises. I leave changed, craving more. Few repeats, spaced. He gets Julie. I dump boyfriend, explore.
Sébastien: love at first. Tender sex compensates his limits. I confess Klaus’s pull. He shares fantasies—threesomes. We spice: anal, spanking, ties. Outings with Klaus (solo often). Sparks fly. I provoke, channel to Sébastien—public kisses, his hand on my breast. Exhibition thrill dawns.
Our party: penthouse thrums, champagne flows. I escalate—devour Sébastien before all, body writhing like fucking. Klaus watches, frustrated alone. His game poem seals it: chose Julie. Fantasy dies.
