Saturday night, nine sharp. I step into our penthouse atop the glittering city skyline. Marble foyer gleams under crystal chandeliers. Air hums with 80s disco from the Bose system—kitsch pop on channel 177. Wife’s probably gaming or scrolling, but tonight, the beat pulses strongest from home. I hum along, shedding my loafers into the custom shoe cabinet. Spot unfamiliar designer sneakers. Rack the jacket. Unknown cashmere blazer hangs beside mine. Eyes drop: man’s jeans crumpled against Armani boxes. She’s not alone.
Amused, I detour to the kitchen. Black marble counters, espresso machine steaming fresh brew. Note by my cup and Leica camera: ‘Sip and scroll, darling.’ Obedient, aroused, I pour, sit. Savor rich arabica while flipping images. My fiery redhead: porcelain skin, blue eyes wicked, smile seductive. Red dress clings—plunging neckline, backless. Lace bra pushes her heavy tits higher. I drown in cleavage. Next: dress hiked to hips, soft belly curves, long legs spread. Freshly shaved pussy bare, lips pink and inviting. No panties. She dressed slutty to prowl.
The Privilege
Enter him: thirties, tall brunette. That blazer, those jeans. Groomed perfection—dark eyes, chiseled jaw. Her type: pretty boy with edge. Entrance shots: hands groping, sloppy licks, her pinning him to gilded mailboxes, tongues tangled. Elevator: pressed tight, kisses deep. She frees a pale tit; he swells in his pants. Hallway: him suckling her nipple, her hand stroking his freed cock—thick, veined length.
Selfie gold: her crouched, jeans at ankles, lips nursing his tip. Eyes half-lidded, smirking at lens. Kitchen finale: her on counter, dress up, tits spilling, legs wide. Him kneeling, face buried in her slick cunt, hands kneading ass.
Cup drained, cock throbs. Refill in hand, camera gripped, I glide to the living room. ‘Born to Be Alive’ drowns my steps. Push glass doors silently. City lights sparkle beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. Italian leather sectional dominates. He’s nude on it—lean muscles taut. Clothes strewn. She kneels between thighs, bra down, massive white tits swaying. Hand pumps his shaft; tongue flicks glans. She gulps his load—grimace, swallow every drop. I stroke discreetly.
Enter calm. She locks lips on him, trapping. Winks wickedly. He startles. ‘Olivier. Glad you met my wife.’ Shock ripples his face. ‘Maxime. Enchanted… surprised.’ She unzips me, strokes. Pushes me beside him. Kneels astride, hands working both cocks. I pass camera. ‘Shoot what you want. Unleash.’ He relaxes, snaps her slurping me, ass arched—pussy dripping, anus winking.
The Excess
He kneels behind, fingers her holes. Plunges into her soaked slit. I photograph. She deepthroats me harder. He snaps his cock half-buried. We trade shots: her stuffed, us railing.
She rises, grabs cocks, jerks furiously. Mounts him reverse—impales slow, moans muffled. Tits bounce; he mauls them, sucks nipples. She beckons me. Sucks me sloppy, arches back. I claim her ass—tight ring yields, full stretch. Double-filled, she quakes. We thrust synced; she bites lips, clenches, cums silent. I flood her depths; he unloads inside.
We slump. She kneels, cleans cocks tenderly. Rises, smirks. City twinkles discreetly beyond glass walls.
‘A glass of champagne before the bedroom?’
