Footsteps echo in the hallway. Parquet creaks under my socks. It’s Friday afternoon, Paris 15th. Vaugirard building, modern, upscale. I’m alone, revising in my room. Door bell buzzes. Heart skips. I know it’s him. Julien. Key in his pocket, but he rings. Wants me to open. Peek through peephole. His eyes, desperate. Darker than last time.
I crack the door. Whisper: ‘Come in.’ He slips inside, grabs me. Arms tight. No words. Heat from his body. Breath smells of whiskey. Hallway light filters dim through frosted glass. Distant neighbor’s TV murmurs. We shuffle to his office. Door clicks shut. Soft. Careful. Parquet groans faintly.
The Contact
He pulls me close. Face buries in my chest. T-shirt stretches. I stroke his hair. Feel his sobs vibrate. ‘She’s fucking him again,’ he mutters. Michel. Her dad’s friend. Raw details spill. Wife on all fours, ass up, taking it deep. Brutal. Begging. My cheeks burn. Pity mixes with heat between my legs.
I kneel. Lips brush his tears. Salty. Tongue darts. He offers his face. I lick. Slow. Intimate. Hands cup him. Alcohol loosens him. But it’s real. I stand, lead him. No, he leads. To the small couch. Sits me down. Kneels now. Eyes lock. Tension thick. Parquet crack under shift.
Pulls my shirt up. Bra off. Breasts free. Firm, young. Nipples harden. His mouth latches. Sucks. Tongue swirls. Fingers pinch the other. I gasp. Muffled. Bite lip. Walls thin here. Neighbors next door. Old couple. Always peeking. Pleasure shoots down. Pussy wets.
He stops. ‘Can’t abuse you.’ Bullshit. I strip top fully. Climb his lap. Skirt hikes. Bare thighs on his pants. Feel his cock throb. Hard. Thick. ‘Touch me,’ I whisper. ‘Like he did her.’ Panties slide off. Wet fabric drops. Ass cheeks part slight. Exposed.
His finger traces crack. Hesitant. ‘First time,’ he breathes. Circles my hole. Tight. Virgin there. I arch. Shiver. Electric. Push back. He probes. Gentle at first. I unzip him. Cock springs. Veiny. Precum beads. Girthy. Smells musky. Animal.
The Indiscretion
Suck him deep. Lips stretch. Tongue laps underside. He groans low. Fills mouth. Salty skin. I guide his hand. Finger slips in. Burns. Then pleasure. Deep. I bob faster. Slobber. Gags quiet. His digit fucks slow. Stretching.
I pop off. Gasping. ‘Fuck my ass. Like her.’ Position me. On knees, office rug. Skirt waist high. Ass up. Cheeks spread. Door light seeps under. Shadows dance. He spits. Rubs cockhead on pucker. Pushes. Raw. No lube. Tears sting. ‘Quiet,’ he hisses.
Inches in. Rips me. Pain explodes. I whimper. Muffle in arm. He thrusts. Deep. Grunts stifled. ‘You love it. Boss’s cock in your slut ass.’ Pounds. Balls slap. Wet smacks echo soft. Parquet creaks with rhythm. Sweat drips. I push back. Pain to bliss. ‘First time. Deeper!’
Fingers claw tits. Pinch nipples hard. Fucks savage. Office walls paper-thin. Neighbor coughs faint. Terror spikes thrill. Moans escape. Choked. He rails. ‘Cum for me, whore.’ I shatter. Ass clenches. Waves crash. He floods. Hot spurts deep. Pulls out. Cum leaks.
Collapse. Panting. Bodies slick. He whispers, ‘Like Céline.’ Heart hammers. Bureau clock ticks loud. Wipe quick. Dress hasty. Kiss forehead. ‘Go rest.’ Slip out office. Hallway empty. Creep to my room. Lock clicks. Bed. Pulse races. Walls silent. Secret safe.
Stairs later. Cross old lady. Smiles vague. Did she hear? Giggles inside. Door shuts. Night falls. Quarter sleeps. I buzz. Filthy thrill lingers.