Printer whirs in the corner. Mouse clicks punctuate the open-space hum. Coffee aroma clings to the air, mixing with my floral perfume. Provence summer heat seeps through the windows. Seb arrives two weeks ago. 18-year-old son of my husband’s Paris client. Internship in our small insurance firm. Shy at first. Thinks we’re old fogeys. But he warms up. Handles files with eager smiles. Courteous. Brings flowers for me one day. Charming. At home, my husband and I talk. Sean’s body teeters between boy and man. Promising muscles. Sharpening jaw. ‘Handsome soon,’ husband says. ‘Bet he’s virgin.’ We laugh about old rituals. Mothers initiating sons. ‘No sacrifice with him,’ husband grins. ‘Notice his stares? At your tight blouses, those 85C curves.’ I catch him glancing. In breakroom, I bend for coffee. He turns quick. Hides tent in pants. His cock looks thick. Promising. Tension crackles. Unspoken.
That Friday afternoon. Conference room. Door clicks locked. Husband calls us for ‘progress review.’ Sun bathes the table. Cicadas chirp outside. Casual vibes. Chilled rosé. Seb sweaty from errands. Changes in bathroom. Towel slips as he grabs shorts. I glimpse it. Full young cock. Heavy balls. He blushes. ‘Sorry, Mary.’ ‘No biggie. Seen plenty.’ Eyes lock. Smile shared. Husband pours special mix. Juice. Vodka. Sweet burn. ‘Girlfriend, Seb?’ Husband probes. He stammers. Paris girls complicated. Husband pushes. ‘Ever fantasize fucking a real woman? Like Mary?’ Seb freezes. Eyes dart. Husband grabs his wrist. Forces hand on my thigh. Skin hot under short dress. Fingers clench. I freeze. Look at husband. He nods. Fierce. I guide. Interlace fingers. Slide up thigh. Inner softness. Press together. Then part. Fingers brush panty edge. Wet already. Push fabric aside. Onto blonde bush. Slippery lips. He explores. Clumsy. Instinctive. Dips one finger. Then two. Twists. Finds clit. Circles. I gasp. Back arches. Moans escape. His free hand grabs tit. Squeezes too hard. ‘Gentle,’ I whisper. He softens. Hooks bra. Exposes nipple. Sucks. Tongue swirls. I buck. Husband watches. Cock strains in slacks.
The Rising Tension
I grab Seb’s bulge. Through shorts. Hard as steel. Fish it out. Precum beads. Thumb smears. Stroke slow. Firm. He groans into my neck. Fingers plunge deeper. I ride them. Tension coils. I spin. Yank shorts down. Cock springs free. Mouth waters. Lick gland. Suck deep. Balls in hand. Knead. He thrusts. Fucks face. But holds. I straddle conference table. Legs spread. ‘Fuck me, Seb. Now.’ Husband nods. Seb positions. Gland nudges pussy. Slick. I pull hips. He slides in. Tight. Deep. Fills me. ‘So good. Pound my cunt.’ Eyes lock. Husband strokes himself. Seb hammers. Table creaks. Slaps echo. Printer drones on outside. I wrap legs. Grind clit. ‘Harder. Make me cum.’ He grunts. Veins pulse. ‘Can’t hold.’ ‘Cum inside. Fill me.’ He erupts. Hot jets. I clench. Orgasm crashes. Waves. Scream muffled. He collapses. Kiss tender.
Cum drips. I wipe quick. Adjust skirt. Button blouse. Nipples poke. Flush cheeks. Husband zips. ‘Good job, team.’ Door unlocks. Click. Back to open-space. Mouse clicks resume. Smiles exchanged. No one suspects. Seb’s eyes glow. Proud. I sip coffee. Perk on lips. Meeting in five. All business. Pulse still races. Secret thrill lingers.