Marie had always been the epitome of French elegance, her lithe body curving like the Seine under moonlit bridges. At thirty-two, married to a dependable but dull Parisian banker named Henri, she found her days blending into a monotonous rhythm. Her skin was porcelain smooth, her breasts full and firm with pale pink areolas that begged for attention. But it was her secret desires that led her to Luca, the rugged Italian sculptor with a body chiseled from marble and eyes that promised forbidden adventures.
They met at an art gallery opening in Montmartre, where Luca’s gaze lingered on her like a predator sizing up prey. Henri was away on business, leaving Marie free to indulge in the thrill of danger. That night, she slipped away to Luca’s loft, her heart pounding with anticipation and guilt.
In the dimly lit bedroom, Luca pulled her close, his strong hands roaming her body. “You are a goddess, Marie,” he whispered in his thick accent, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered, her nipples hardening under her silk blouse. He kissed her deeply, tasting of red wine and passion, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that made her knees weak.
Luca undressed her slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Her skin was warm and silky, flushed with arousal. He cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her shallow pink areolas, making her gasp. The scent of her perfume mixed with the faint musk of her growing excitement filled the air.
He laid her on the bed, parting her thighs to reveal her satin-smooth mound. Her labia were plump and tender, glistening with anticipation, her clit a swollen pearl begging for touch. Luca’s cock was already rigid, veins pulsing along its thick shaft, the purple-red head slick with precum.
Foreplay began with his mouth on her neck, trailing kisses down to her breasts. He suckled her nipples, the salty-sweet taste of her skin intoxicating. Marie moaned softly, the sound echoing in the room like a siren’s call. His fingers dipped between her legs, stroking her wet folds, the slick sounds of her arousal mixing with her breathy whimpers.
“Luca, please… I need you,” she begged, her voice husky with desire, fitting the thrill of her marital betrayal.
He positioned himself behind her on the bed, entering her from the rear in a doggy style that felt primal and illicit. The insertion was slow, his thick cockhead parting her tender labia, sliding into her tight, wet heat. She felt every inch, the friction against her inner walls’ velvety folds, the way her vagina clenched around him like a vice. Deeper he went, until he nudged her cervix, a deep fusion that made her cry out in ecstasy.
The rhythm built from slow thrusts to fervent pounding, the slap of skin on skin resonating, wet squelches accompanying each withdrawal and plunge. Her scent—musky arousal mixed with sweat—intensified. Luca’s grunts mingled with her moans, the air thick with the aroma of their passion.
As climax approached, Marie’s breathing quickened, her vaginal walls fluttering in prelude spasms. Love juices flowed copiously, coating his shaft. Then the peak hit: her body convulsed, vagina contracting fiercely like a fist squeezing him, waves of pleasure crashing as she screamed, muscles tensing then melting. Fluids gushed, mixing with his precum. In the afterglow, her passage pulsed gently around him, their combined essences warm and sticky, a soul-deep satisfaction washing over her as he held her close.
They lay entwined, whispers of “I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop” escaping her lips, before desire reignited.
For the second encounter, Marie straddled him in a facing cowgirl position, taking control of her forbidden pleasure. She lowered onto his erect cock, feeling the slow engulfment, her tight channel wrapping him in slick warmth. The friction was exquisite, her inner pleats massaging his veined length as she rocked.
“Ride me, my married temptress,” Luca urged, his hands on her hips.
She bounced with varying speeds, from teasing grinds to rapid rises and falls, the wet smacks and her gasps filling the room. The taste of his sweat on her lips as she kissed him, the scent of their mingled fluids potent.
High tide built: breaths ragged, her walls twitching, fluids surging. Orgasm exploded—tremors racking her frame, vagina clamping down in powerful squeezes, screams piercing the night, body arching in release. Post-climax, gentle throbs enveloped him, their essences blending in warm unity, a forbidden bond sealed.
Afterward, they moved to the bathroom for a steamy shower, water cascading over their bodies like a cleansing ritual for her sins.
In the third act, against the tiled wall, Luca took her from behind again, the water amplifying every sensation. His cock, slick with shower gel, entered her yielding pussy, the deep penetration hitting her core, simulating that uterine merge.
“You’re mine tonight, even if he claims you,” Luca growled, thrusting with abandon.
Rhythms shifted from gentle to ferocious, the slap of wet flesh, her cries echoing off walls, scents of soap and sex intermingling. Taste of water-kissed skin as he nibbled her shoulder.
Climax prelude: gasps accelerating, spasms starting, juices mixing with water. Peak: violent shudders, vaginal vise-grip milking him, ecstatic yells, floods of release. Aftermath: soft pulsations, sticky warmth persisting under the spray, a lingering fusion of souls amid her whispered regrets and thrills.
As dawn broke, Marie dressed, the weight of her betrayal both heavy and exhilarating. She returned to Henri, but the whispers of Parisian nights with Luca lingered, promising more forbidden escapades.