Printer hums in the open space. Mouse clicks echo. Coffee aroma blends with my floral perfume. Top-floor penthouse office, sea view endless. Last floor of the beachfront high-rise. Our new paradise after selling the big house. Kids gone, just Martin and me. Ambitious VP, I thrive on hierarchy stress turning to heat.
I rummage naked in my private dressing nook. Pick the flowery dress, light, short. Hold it up. “Like this, love?” Martin’s eyes devour my firm tits, deep cleavage. Skirt flutters at a breeze. “No panties. Perfect.” I slip it on. Bare feet patter to the terrace door. AC gusts under, caresses shaved pussy, ass cheeks. I spin. “See anything?” He lies. “Nope.”
The Building Tension
Market run—weekly cafeteria break. Wind whips relentless. Skirt lifts. Strangers glimpse my smooth slit. Flush of shame, thrill surges. Back two hours later. “Felt exposed,” I confess. “Loved it?” Martin grins. “Don’t change next time.”
Month in, neighbor office buzzes. I knock. HĂ©lène answers—stunning widow, our age, curvy, smiling. No kids, solo in mirror penthouse suite. Instant bond. Girls’ lunches, terrace coffees. I imagine us scantily clad, mature curves swaying. Martin’s beach walks leave us giggling.
One night, post-meeting, I cuddle into him on the couch. Silence heavy. “HĂ©lène’s hands wandered during outfit try-ons. Tits, ass, everywhere.” Fear, then reciprocity. Woman-love sparks new fires. Bisexual secret her ex hated. I guilt-trip. Martin hardens. “Love it if you’re happy.” I dive under sheets, suck deep. He flips me to 69. My ass grinds his face. I swallow every drop.
Habits form. My trysts with HĂ©lène heat up. Dinner meeting tonight—us three. Cognac sips. Music pulses: “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” Duo strip-tease. HĂ©lène’s nude glory: firm body, swaying perfect tits, bald mound. Adeline behind, ass spread, anus winking.
The Wild Release
Door to conference room locks. Click. Sealed. Tension peaks between dossiers. Open-space glances lingered all day. Now, her finger rims my hole. Two, three. Clit rubs. I buck, moaning loud. Printer outside drones cover. Her ass to my face—no, she pulls back. “Lick yours only.” Guides Martin to my lifted cheeks on table. Tongue swirls my ring. Grows frantic.
She strips him. Jerks cock, balls, probes his ass. Leads him in. Buried deep, no resistance. Pounds hard. She begs tit slaps. Reddening breasts bounce. I finger her clit. Orgasms crash—mine anal-clenching, his flooding, hers squirting.
We collapse sweaty. Hugs tight. She admits masochism—slaps, spanks fuel her. No clubs for her; vulgar crowds. We install playroom gear later. She moves in, rents her suite nightly.
Skirt smooths down. Dress adjusts. Tits tucked. Lipstick fresh. Coffee breath masked. Door unlocks. Click. Out to next meeting. Smiles professional. Legs shaky, pussy dripping cum. Adrenaline high. No one suspects. Hierarchy intact, lust hidden. Paradise.