Monday morning. Printer hums. Coffee scent mixes with my perfume. I step into the office, heart pounding. André’s at his desk. Our eyes lock. ‘Morning, Sylvie. How’s everything?’ His smirk. ‘Fine,’ I mutter. Stomach twists. Sunday’s fuck flashes back—his thick cock splitting me. ‘Your husband okay?’ he probes. ‘No issues.’ Relief washes over. Day drags. Emails ping. Phone buzzes. Anaïs breezes by. ‘Hi.’ Normal. Like nothing happened. But my pussy throbs at his glance.
Tuesday blends in. Invoices stack. Coffee brews. Routine shields the secret. Wednesday. Anaïs is gone—trade show. Office empties. Clients out. Just us. Intercom crackles. ‘Sylvie, come up.’ Heart races. Stairs creak. Loft upstairs: lounge, kitchen, bedrooms, bathroom. ‘Where?’ ‘Here!’ Water rushes. He’s showering. Door ajar. Glass steams. ‘No big towels. Grab one from guest room closet.’ I fetch two. Men. Always unprepared. Back quick. ‘On the sink?’ ‘No, I’m out.’ Door swings. He’s naked. Water drips. I avert eyes, hand towel. He chuckles. ‘You’ve seen it before.’ Glance sideways. His cock—huge, even soft. Bigger than hubby’s hard-on. ‘Still like it?’ Arm snakes my waist. Pulls me close. Wet skin presses. Lips crash. Tongues tangle. He grinds. Cock hardens against my skirt. ‘Didn’t forget Sunday.’ ‘How could I?’ No regrets. He guides my hand to his balls. Wet, heavy. I knead. Nails tease shaft. It steels up.
The Mounting Tension
‘Your sweet lips now.’ ‘You’re pushing.’ Kneel. Mouth engulfs half-hard meat. Swells. Struggles to suck. Jaw aches. He groans. ‘Stop or…’ Pulls me up. Kisses devour. Hands squeeze tits. Fingers dive under panties. ‘So wet, Sylvie.’ ‘Just… natural.’ Skirt hikes. Spins me. Cock nestles ass crack. ‘No, not here! Anaïs?’ ‘Gone till tomorrow.’ ‘Employees?’ ‘Alone. Love you calling me André.’ ‘Your wife…’ ‘She’s with her lover.’ Shock. He thrusts. ‘Hubby doesn’t make you cum. Need real cock.’ ‘You think?’ Folds me. Knees hit tile. Back arches. Slam. Doggy. Fills me. ‘No!’ Lies. ‘Yes!’ Orgasms crash. Screams echo. Pounds brutal. Flips: missionary, reverse cowgirl. Juices squelch. Then—cock at my ass. ‘No! Too big! Hubby never!’ ‘Gonna own every hole. Make you my slut.’ Fingers pinch nipple. ‘Say it.’ ‘Fuck my ass!’ Gland pops in. Stretches. Burns sweet. Can’t take more. ‘Too tight.’ ‘One day, all in.’ Withdraws. Plunges pussy. Hammers. Cums deep. I shatter.
Collapsed. ‘What a whore I am.’ But loved it. Craved it. He showers quick. ‘Tidy up?’ ‘Secretary, slut, maid.’ Kiss lingers. Downstairs. I type letter. Printer whirs. He dresses, descends. ‘Pro conscience.’ ‘That’s my job.’ ‘Expanding skills.’ ‘You stretch good.’ Laughs. ‘Stay tonight? Dinner, then all night.’ ‘Dream on.’ Serious now. ‘Gonna ass-fuck you. Own you. Cuck your man.’ ‘Why?’ ‘You’re mine.’ ‘Reply by Friday. Be my official mistress.’ Door clicks shut. Alone. Pussy leaks. Hubby wants this. Do I?