The clink of cutlery echoes like office printers humming. Coffee aroma mixes with my heavy perfume, thick in the air. Usual brasserie spot, far from work chatter. Wednesday lunch. Tight gray cotton dress hugs my curves—1m55, 70kg, 100D-70-100. Black belt cinches my waist. Underneath: black lace bra, satin thong, wide garter belt squeezing my round belly, smoky stockings, sky-high black heels. Red nails match my lips.
Boy seats me. One table left. Freeze. My bitch boss there, back turned. 55, tall, skeletal, buzz-cut brunette, flat chest, no ass. Hates my guts. Jealous of male stares I snag effortlessly. Lucky she doesn’t see me. Boy pulls chair, eyes dive into my deep cleavage—two top buttons undone.
Rising Tension
Order asparagus salad. Eyes wander. Spot her companion. Heart stops. Dead ringer for Michel Piccoli, my fantasy crush. Her husband? No way. Ugly hag scores this stud? Fury boils. But his gaze locks on me. Heat rises.
Tug dress hem over thighs. His eyes flicker—frustration. Intrigued. Bend for cigarette from purse. Glance up. He’s staring. Spine tingles. Light up slow. Shake red mane over shoulders. Puff smoke sensually. Eyes glue to me. Ignore her yapping.
Pick asparagus with fingers. Lick vinaigrette off lips. Tongue darts. His stares intensify. Cross legs. Skirt rides up. Stocking tops flash. Garter straps peek. He sees. I want him hooked.
Her phone rings. Long call. Perfect. Uncross, recross thighs. Guide his eyes. Spread slightly. Black lace thong triangle winks. Wetness soaks satin back. Pussy throbs. Tits swell in bra. Coffee arrives. Reapply lipstick slow, lips parting. She snaps at him. He ignores.
Heat pools between legs. Need release. Grab purse. Third button pops open. Cleavage spills. Rise. Lock eyes. Desire burns. Turn. Sashay to stairs. Heels click loud. Hips sway. Feel his stare on ass, thighs. Pussy lips swell, drench thong. Rush to ladies’ room. Lean on sink. Heart pounds. Door opens. Him. Locks it. Click echoes.
Explosive Release
Shh, he mouths. Smirks. I’m prey now. Thrilling. Forgets his wife. Breathes on my hair—he towers. Fingers fly to buttons. Opens dress. Eyes devour lingerie. Body ignites. Crushes mouth to mine. Lifts me off feet. Gropes belly to his hard cock bulge. Moan escapes.
Lifts me onto sink. Dress spreads, thighs wide. Ready. Whispers: ‘Quick. Pocket.’ Condom. Smile. He frees thick cock. Proud, rigid. Roll it on smooth. Size impresses.
Grips garter waist. Hoists me. Drops onto shaft. One thrust—deep in slick cunt. Cry muffled by kiss. Pounds hard. I claw shoulders. Writhing. Tits mauled. ‘Fuck my pussy,’ I gasp. Grunts. ‘Tight slut.’ Slams faster. Orgasms crash. I scream into his mouth. He roars, fills rubber.
Withdraws. Last kiss. Lingering. Slide down. Knot condom, tuck in purse. He grins. Vanishes.
Fix makeup. Button up. Descend. Heels echo. Place near empty. She spots me, shocked. Smile sweet. Pull used, cum-filled condom from purse. Drop on table. ‘Think this is yours.’ Saunter out. Vengeance tasted sweet. Triumphant.