The hallway creaks under my heels. Post-dinner haze, brother’s dragged the prissy sister to his room for fake art talk. Salon empties, parents hit the beach with the old farts. Jean-Didier lingers, eyes glued to my ass in that tight evening dress. I brush past him toward my bedroom door. His breath hot on my neck. ‘Isabelle…’ he slurs, Armagnac heavy. Hand grazes my hip. Floorboards groan softly. Light from the salon spills under the doorframe, golden sliver. Neighbors’ villas dot the coast, windows aglow. One wrong moan, and the whole quartier knows. I turn, smirk. ‘Wanna see my room?’ His nod’s eager, cock already tenting. Heart thuds. Push the door ajar.
Inside, sea breeze whispers through half-open shutters. Waves crash distant, masking our steps. Door clicks shut, but not latched—risky. He lunges, lips sloppy on mine. Puke breath. I shove back, peel off the dress. Naked underneath, skin prickling in cool air. Crawl onto bed, ass up, fingers diving into my wet pussy. He fumbles pants, zipper rasps loud. Too loud. Parquet cracks as he stumbles closer. Fingers probe my asshole, rough, dry. ‘Filthy slut, you crave this tight hole wrecked.’ I arch, moan bitten back. Villas so close—curtains twitch next door? His digits twist deeper, I grind back, clit throbbing. ‘Fuck me there, give it.’ Cock pokes, thick but wilting. Slips. He panics, deflates. Mutters ‘whore, diseased easy bitch.’ Dresses frantic, zipper snags. I flip, legs spread wide, fingers plunging pussy, chasing orgasm alone. He slams door—boom echoes. Shutters rattle.
The Contact
Cum shudders through me, muffled gasp into pillow. Body slick, sheets twisted. Hair mussed wild on purpose. Slip dress back, no panties. Hallway dark now, parents’ voices drift from terrace. Heart hammers like thief caught. Creep out, parquet sighs under bare feet. Cross the salon—his dad leers, nostrils flare at my pussy scent. Gropes my ass ‘goodnight,’ sausage fingers lingering. Son averts eyes, tail tucked. Brother winks from stairs, sister’s giggles trail. Beach wind carries salt and sin. Neighbors’ lights flicker off, oblivious? Secret burns hot in my core. Tomorrow, whispers maybe. But tonight, I own the thrill.