I glance in the penthouse mirror, late May heat shimmering beyond floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. My blue djellaba tunic, silk-lined with vibrant threads, drapes to the floor. Nothing beneath—for Alain’s thrill. Opaque silk conceals my bare skin, my secret pulsing with anticipation.
Maurice’s opulent penthouse buzzes with fifteen elite guests. Marble tables gleam under crystal chandeliers, platters of caviar and foie gras await. Laughter flows with vintage aperitifs in Baccarat glasses. I sip chilled Sancerre, feeling the fabric cling to my naked curves, nipples hardening against silk.
The Privilege
Drinks dwindle. Alain offers to fetch more. I follow to the sleek kitchen, black granite counters cool under lights. Door shuts. I pin him against the wall, hands around his neck, body grinding. His palms slide to my ass—then freeze. No panties. ‘Naughty slut,’ he growls, gripping firm cheeks, tongue invading my mouth.
Door swings open. Maurice. ‘What are you two up to?’ He peers behind, grins. Alain nods to my ass: ‘Feel Josette’s gift.’ Maurice’s hand roams silk, discovers bare flesh. ‘No knickers, you whore!’ He hikes the tunic, slaps my cheeks twice, kneels, kisses each sting. Heat floods me.
We grab bottles—Château Margaux, Perrier—return flushed. Dinner resumes, wines pour like liquid gold. Penthouse warmth builds despite AC hum. Sweat beads under my tunic. I slip to the marble-clad bathroom, peel off silk, step into rain shower. Cool jets cascade over breasts, down shaved mound.
Silhouette through frosted glass. Maurice opens wide. I feign shock, cover with hands. He tosses a plush towel. I dry, reach for tunic—he yanks it away. ‘My birthday, my rules.’ Wine buzzes. He taps my ass, pulls me naked into the dining room. Gasps. Blushes burn my skin.
Alain rises. ‘Better gift incoming.’ Table cleared, fresh linen laid. He backs me to edge, sits me, tips me back. Legs dangle, pussy exposed obscenely. Champagne bottle—Krug—pours cold fizz over tits, belly, pooling at cleft. He laps. ‘To your health!’ Guests hesitate, then tongues follow: nipples sucked, clit flicked, mouths probing.
The Excess
Bottle empty. Alain kisses me: ‘Good?’ I nod, wet and aching. ‘Now honor Maurice.’ Legs splayed wide. Maurice drops pants, cock rigid. He thrusts slow, deep. I spasm, clench. He pounds, hands on hips, unloads hot cum inside. I shatter, juices mixing.
Shower encore: I suck him hard again, deepthroat till he floods my throat, salty burst divine. Back nude for cake, city lights twinkling witnesses.
Paula whispers envy. I strip her in a guest suite—blouse, skirt, bra, panties gone. Full breasts, round ass. She blushes but yields. Return hand-in-hand. Her husband beams, parades her nude under spotlights. Dances ignite: hands on tits, cocks grinding thighs, blowjobs given.
Her on knees, devouring dancer’s long shaft, foreskin play, cum gulped. Then impales on husband’s cock, riding to screams.
Guests depart. Six remain. Master suite: king bed, Egyptian cotton. Hands everywhere—cocks stroked, pussies fingered. Maurice fucks me quick. Paula’s man deep-thrusts. Alain takes my ass, lubed slow, then slamming to his roar.
Dawn: naked breakfast, skyline golden. Paula kisses me deep in open bath—tongues dance. Secret sealed in glass walls.
