Crystal flutes clink in my quay-side loft. Veuve Clicquot fizzes sharp on my tongue, golden bubbles mirroring the Seine’s gleam through floor-to-ceiling glass. Colleagues roar approval for my €10,000 bonus. Leather sofas cradle us, my silk dress whispering against thighs. I crushed the market—insider whispers traded for weekend fucks with a sex-friend, his cum still echoing as I launched at dawn.
Blackout. Eyes flutter open. Gentle latex-gloved fingers stroke my face, feather-light. Upside-down gaze pierces: deep, smiling, familiar. CHU Rouen reanimation. Tube chokes my throat, machines beep. Doctor Raillard, crisp white coat, nods elite care. Heart attack at 30—clogged artery from booze, smokes, amps fueling 12-hour days in shark-infested trading pits.
The Privilege
Blonde ambition in man’s world. 1.65m firecracker, tits firm, ass taut. Loft solitude: panoramic views, no chains, no kids bloating perfection. Used curves for edges—never colleagues, always targets.
Recovery swift. Family jets in, colleagues lavish gifts. Dreams haunt: those eyes caressing nightly. Addictologist probes gently. ‘Meet him?’ Heart races. Léonard Algan, ASH badge gleams. High school tutor. Stats savior. Teased him then—cleavage deep, thigh flashed, hand on my wet panties, promise of bac glory sex. Lied. Ghosted.
Now giant frame towers. Night cleaner in reanimation’s core. Unmarried, alone. My hand grips his bulge through white pants. Firm. He flees.
Stalked him nights. Ambush post-shift. Arms crush his torso, tears soak shirt. ‘Need you.’ Mini Cooper’s leather wheel slick under palms, his bulk folds in laughing. Dawn pulls up to humble farmstead.
Shower steam rises. Nude, I press tits to his muscled back. Hands snake ’round, grip thick cock. Two fists pump under cascade. Veins pulse. He groans, jets thick ropes across tiles.
The Excess
Spooned in sheets, his heat spoons mine. Alarm blares noon. Straddled prone, lips trail shoulders, spine, ass cheeks spread wide. Tongue dives labia, clit sucked. Orgasms rip: first wave crashes, pussy floods. Tongue fucks deep, nose buries in crack. Explosions chain, body quakes.
Rolls me. Cock slides slow, forearms brace. Alternates tender thrusts, brutal pounds. Cum paints belly hot.
Flannel shirt drapes loose, Crocs slap dirt. Tartine heaven: butter gold as sun, ham smoky, cheese melts. Farm air pure luxury. His dream: pedagogical haven, cash-strapped.
Six months blaze. Quit bank, sell loft—fat profit. Pour him. Us. Company booms. Salaries pocket change; life paid.
Evening kitchen glows. His chest molds my back, lips nibble neck. Palms cup belly. ‘I love you.’ Knees buckle, tears free. ‘Me too. But share soon. Three now.’ Spooned in quiet vastness, glass walls shield our secret ascent.
