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Authors: Cassandra P Lewis
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right hand.
His fingers made their way inside my underwear, and he hummed in appreciation of my arousal, I was hot and soaking, for him. I gasped as he pushed a large finger inside me and then spread the moisture up to my clit.
The door started to open to the corridor, but he didn’t stop. Two fingers circled over the top of my clit as my knees started to buckle, and he just said ‘Out’ firmly, to whoever it was coming in. The level of authority in his voice just added to how turned on I was at that moment, and I started to breath heavily. “Look at me.” He commanded, and I complied, looking up into his intense, desire-filled eyes as he started to rub harder and faster inside my lace panties.
I bit my lip and started to pant as my orgasm washed over me. I bounced up and down, as my knees, now nothing but jelly, gave in to the pleasure controlling my body. I was moaning, a little too loudly for a public place on Friday lunchtime, but I didn’t care.
As my climax subsided, he reached further down and pushed two of his large fingers deep inside me. Instinctively, I pushed against them, wanting more as he leant into my ear and spoke, his voice gravelly. “We’re going to have a lot of fun you and me, just you wait.”
I felt empty as he withdrew his hand and pulled out the silk square from his suit jacket pocket. He used it to wipe my wetness from his fingers, before smelling it and smiling, never once taking his eyes off mine. Holy shit, he was hot.
Before leaving me standing in the corridor, Simon handed me his business card and told me to send him my number. He was the managing director of an advertising firm in the city, ‘among other things’, he had said playfully. I sent him my number as soon as I got back to the table and watched as he smirked at his phone, before looking at me and raising his fingers to his nose; the dirty fucker… I loved it!
A week after meeting Simon, I found myself waking up in an apartment in Montmartre, Paris with his head between my legs and a freshly opened bottle of champagne in a bucket next to the bed.
“Oh god, don’t you ever just sleep.” I breathed as I tipped my head back and enjoyed the sensations.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, baby,” he said, semi-seriously as he crawled up my body and plunged into me without warning. Fair enough, I suppose.
At the time, I was twenty-three, and Simon was forty-two, but he was in incredible shape and had more stamina than any other man I had shagged. I didn’t go home at all that first week; we just spent every night at his apartment, fucking, literally all night. We’d both go to work the next day and then do it all over again; fuck, sleep, work, repeat.
Simon was loaded, and impulsive. When on Friday we couldn’t get a reservation at his favourite French restaurant, he drove us to the airport and booked the first business class seats to Paris that were available. Within four hours, we were in the City of Light sipping champagne and eating exquisite food, naked, in a penthouse. It was wild.
My career at this point was as strong as it had ever been. My work was in Vogue and Esquire, on billboards worldwide and I was even exhibiting in galleries, selling my photos for thousands. I was doing good, I had a name for myself, but Simon was obscenely rich. He had been born into money but wasn’t content with resting on his laurels and worked his arse off to have his fingers in a number of lucrative pies.
He worked hard, and played harder, and back then, he was playing with me.
We spent the weekend drinking, eating, shagging and drinking some more. We took a private boat trip along the Seine, and I gave him a blowjob in the shadow of Notre Dame. It was exhilarating. Being with Simon set me alight, finally, someone who could keep up with me and wanted nothing more than to do just that.
Within a couple of months of seeing each other, Simon and I had been to Paris, Vegas and Rome. I wasn’t seeing much of anyone else, but I
His fingers made their way inside my underwear, and he hummed in appreciation of my arousal, I was hot and soaking, for him. I gasped as he pushed a large finger inside me and then spread the moisture up to my clit.
The door started to open to the corridor, but he didn’t stop. Two fingers circled over the top of my clit as my knees started to buckle, and he just said ‘Out’ firmly, to whoever it was coming in. The level of authority in his voice just added to how turned on I was at that moment, and I started to breath heavily. “Look at me.” He commanded, and I complied, looking up into his intense, desire-filled eyes as he started to rub harder and faster inside my lace panties.
I bit my lip and started to pant as my orgasm washed over me. I bounced up and down, as my knees, now nothing but jelly, gave in to the pleasure controlling my body. I was moaning, a little too loudly for a public place on Friday lunchtime, but I didn’t care.
As my climax subsided, he reached further down and pushed two of his large fingers deep inside me. Instinctively, I pushed against them, wanting more as he leant into my ear and spoke, his voice gravelly. “We’re going to have a lot of fun you and me, just you wait.”
I felt empty as he withdrew his hand and pulled out the silk square from his suit jacket pocket. He used it to wipe my wetness from his fingers, before smelling it and smiling, never once taking his eyes off mine. Holy shit, he was hot.
Before leaving me standing in the corridor, Simon handed me his business card and told me to send him my number. He was the managing director of an advertising firm in the city, ‘among other things’, he had said playfully. I sent him my number as soon as I got back to the table and watched as he smirked at his phone, before looking at me and raising his fingers to his nose; the dirty fucker… I loved it!
A week after meeting Simon, I found myself waking up in an apartment in Montmartre, Paris with his head between my legs and a freshly opened bottle of champagne in a bucket next to the bed.
“Oh god, don’t you ever just sleep.” I breathed as I tipped my head back and enjoyed the sensations.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, baby,” he said, semi-seriously as he crawled up my body and plunged into me without warning. Fair enough, I suppose.
At the time, I was twenty-three, and Simon was forty-two, but he was in incredible shape and had more stamina than any other man I had shagged. I didn’t go home at all that first week; we just spent every night at his apartment, fucking, literally all night. We’d both go to work the next day and then do it all over again; fuck, sleep, work, repeat.
Simon was loaded, and impulsive. When on Friday we couldn’t get a reservation at his favourite French restaurant, he drove us to the airport and booked the first business class seats to Paris that were available. Within four hours, we were in the City of Light sipping champagne and eating exquisite food, naked, in a penthouse. It was wild.
My career at this point was as strong as it had ever been. My work was in Vogue and Esquire, on billboards worldwide and I was even exhibiting in galleries, selling my photos for thousands. I was doing good, I had a name for myself, but Simon was obscenely rich. He had been born into money but wasn’t content with resting on his laurels and worked his arse off to have his fingers in a number of lucrative pies.
He worked hard, and played harder, and back then, he was playing with me.
We spent the weekend drinking, eating, shagging and drinking some more. We took a private boat trip along the Seine, and I gave him a blowjob in the shadow of Notre Dame. It was exhilarating. Being with Simon set me alight, finally, someone who could keep up with me and wanted nothing more than to do just that.
Within a couple of months of seeing each other, Simon and I had been to Paris, Vegas and Rome. I wasn’t seeing much of anyone else, but I
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