Phone shrieks. Vibes wild on nightstand. Seb’s hand cups my tit soft. Dream lingers: him tweaking nipples to noon, breasts chiming. I groan. Answer. Lieutenant Paul. Urgent. 128 Rue Vernet. Bois Sanssoif. High-end hell. Stars’ turf. My precinct’s claim to fame. Wake Seb. Stroke low belly. Kiss deep. ‘More,’ he begs. ‘Work first.’ Dress fast. Sirens wail outside. Heart races. Adrenaline hits.
Paul waits by mansion. Aglaé joins. Luxury stack: senator floor one. Reality TV slime floor two. Minister couple three. CUL boss four. Penthouse: Childéric and Cunégonde de Crapougnac. Son advises ex-prez Bromure. Terrain miné. ‘Discretion. Prudence. Delicacy,’ I snap. Seb smirks. Hallways reek tension. Cameras spy every angle. Resident eyes pierce doors. Open-space paranoia. Elevator hums like printer spitting reports. Porte clicks shut on fifth. Locked tight.
The Tension Builds
Screams inside. ‘Don’t touch! Demonic thing!’ Crash. Agony howl. Keys turn. Guns out. Vestibule trashed. Bibelots smashed. Salon wrecked. Lamps tipped. Curtains ripped. Cunégonde curls in leather chair. Nightgown clings to plump curves. Trembles. Eyes wild. Childéric nude on coffee table. Eyes bulge. Hand claws gut. No blood. She babbles ‘peulougue.’ Aglaé finds box. Jumbo anal plug. Silicone beast. ‘Fullness sensation.’ Green. Christmas special.
Her tale spills over cognac. Hubby obsesses Vendôme ‘art tree’ vs. cock. Buys plug. Drunk horny. Fantasizes her asshole. Wants her stuffed. Compare textures in rectum to his dick. Fight. He trips. Sits full pucker. Base peeks. Ass quivers red. My pussy twitches. Nipples peak under blouse. Seb’s glance burns. Risk thrills. VIP scandal. Cameras roll. Coffee whiff from kitchen mixes my perfume. Musk rises. Tension coils. Door stays bolted.
Samu doc storms in. Blonde powerhouse. ‘Epidural needed.’ Spots remote. Aglaé flips. Buzzzz. Jingle remix. ‘Vive le vent.’ His cheeks jelly-shake. Hoouuuls like bitch in heat. We crack. Giggles erupt. Fesses dance. My clit pulses sync. Pure filth contrasts badge. Pure rush.
The Raw Release
Ambulance hauls them. Keys to gardienne. Aglaé invites. Her pad. Door verrouillée. Châteauneuf flows. Stale coffee stench blends her floral parfum. Mouse clicks on laptop. Printer drones corner. Semantics debate. ‘Anal stopper.’ ‘Ass cork.’ ‘Enculoir.’ My line: ‘Nothing beats flesh matraque.’ Kiss Seb hungry. Hand grips cock bulge. Paul-Aglaé eye-fuck. Air thick. Hearts pound.
Push Seb to kitchen counter. ‘Desk’ for us. Skirt hikes. No panties. Slut pro. ‘Ram me, sub. Stretch like that jumbo.’ He unzips. Cock springs thick. Slams in wet cunt. Table bangs. Short thrusts. Fierce. ‘Fuck your boss pussy. Deeper.’ Grunts echo. Clit grinds. Coffee mug rattles. Perfume sweats salty. Cum builds. Explosion hits. He floods. I spasm. Quick. Intense. Adrenaline peak.
Pull off. Cum trickles thigh. Wipe quick. Blouse smooth. Skirt drops. Sip wine cool. ‘Case closed. Files tomorrow.’ Smile pro. Lust hides. Door unlocks. Night duties call. Mask perfect.