Adultery Sheeba adventures

[biggun777]

The Afterglow: A New Addiction Blooms
That morning after Raj, I floated back to my flat on wobbly legs, the city’s bustling streets a blur of honking taxis and coffee aromas that did little to ground me. My body was a map of conquests—purple hickeys dotting my neck like forbidden constellations, thighs sticky with dried cum and lube, my pussy still pulsing with aftershocks, a delicious ache that made every step a reminder of being utterly claimed. The $7000 burned in my purse, crisp Australian dollars whispering promises of more. I showered languidly, hot water cascading over sensitive skin, soaping my curves with deliberate strokes—fingers tracing the swollen lips of my labia, teasing my clit until a quick, shuddering orgasm washed away the fatigue. Dressed in fresh lingerie, a red lace set that cupped my heavy breasts like offerings, I checked my phone: Husband’s message glowed, “Baby, you’re amazing! Just bought that new TV with the extras. Miss you so much.” Guilt flickered briefly, a shadow in my chest, but it dissolved under the thrill—the power of my secret life funding our dreams, while I chased highs he could never provide.
Work that day was a haze; the hotel lobby’s polished marble reflected my flushed cheeks, and colleagues shot knowing glances, whispers of “Slut got laid” tingling my ears like foreplay. But I craved escalation. Two years in, my “side hustle” had evolved from desperate blowjobs to curated encounters, but Raj had cracked something primal—a hunger for the forbidden, the rough, the all-consuming. I upped my game: Updated my discreet online profile with teasing photos—me in a sheer negligee, ass arched high, breasts spilling over cupped hands, face obscured by shadows but lips parted in invitation. Bio: “Punjabi firecracker, 27, curves for days. $600/hour, overnights negotiable. Discretion assured, satisfaction guaranteed.” Inquiries flooded in—businessmen, athletes, even couples—but I vetted ruthlessly: Background checks via quick web searches, insisting on hotel meets only, my workplace a convenient cover.
That evening, post-shift, I snagged a high-roller: Marcus, a 45-year-old mining exec from Perth, silver-fox handsome with salt-and-pepper hair, a paunch hidden under tailored suits, but eyes sharp with predatory lust. He booked the penthouse suite—opulent with velvet dbangs, a king bed piled with Egyptian cotton sheets, and a jacuzzi bubbling like champagne. I arrived in a trench coat over nothing but stockings and heels, the coat’s belt loose enough to flash skin with each stride. The door swung open; his scotch breath hit me first, warm and peaty, mixed with expensive aftershave. “You’re even hotter in person,” he growled, pulling me inside, the door slamming with finality.
Foreplay Ignited: Tease and Torment We started slow, building tension like a storm. He poured champagne—bubbles fizzing golden in flutes—and we toasted on the balcony, city lights twinkling below like fallen stars. Wind whipped my coat open, exposing my naked form: breasts heaving with each breath, nipples hardening to pebbles in the cool night air, my shaved mound glistening under the glow. His eyes devoured me; hands followed, rough palms cupping my tits, thumbs circling areolas until they puckered, a low moan escaping my lips. “Dance for me,” he commanded, settling into a lounge chair, unzipping his pants to stroke his cock—thick but not monstrous, veiny with a slight curve, pre-cum already beading at the tip.
I obliged, hips swaying to imaginary music, the coat slipping off shoulders to pool at my feet. Turned away, bending at the waist to give him a view—ass cheeks parting slightly, pink pussy lips peeking, the faint scent of my arousal carried on the breeze. He groaned, fist pumping faster, the slick sounds rhythmic. I straddled his lap, grinding against his hardness through fabric, my wetness soaking his slacks. “Feel how wet you make me?” I whispered, nipping his earlobe, tasting salty skin. His fingers dipped between my thighs, parting folds—two digits plunging in, curling against my G-spot, the squelching wetness echoing as he finger-fucked me slowly, thumb pressing my clit in firm circles. Pleasure built like a wave, my hips bucking, breaths ragged; I came hard, juices squirting onto his hand, warm rivulets dripping down his wrist. He licked them clean, savoring the tangy sweetness, eyes locked on mine: “Sweet as honey, slut.”
Deep Dive: Oral Obsession Back inside, heat rising, he pushed me to my knees on the plush rug—fibers soft against my skin, contrasting the hardness of his cock as he fed it to me. I savored every inch: Tongue tracing the underside vein, pulsing hot under velvet skin, then engulfing the head—sucking with hollowed cheeks, the salty pre-cum coating my palate like fine wine. He fisted my hair, silky strands wrapped around knuckles, guiding deeper until his pubes tickled my nose, throat convulsing around him in rhythmic gags. Tears streamed, mixing with saliva that drooled down my chin, pooling on my breasts. “Choke on it,” he grunted, hips thrusting, balls slapping my chin with wet smacks. I hummed vibrations around him, hands massaging his sack—heavy orbs tightening, the musky scent intoxicating. When he pulled out, strings of spit connected us; I gasped for air, lungs burning, but begged for more.
He flipped roles: Hoisted me onto the bed, legs spread wide, cool air kissing my exposed core. His mouth descended—tongue flat and broad, lapping from ass to clit in long strokes, the scratch of stubble abrading inner thighs. He sucked my labia, pulling them gently with teeth, then plunged inside, tongue-fucking with fervor, nose buried in my mound. Fingers joined: One probing my pussy, another circling my asshole—slick with spit, pressing in knuckle-deep, the dual penetration sending electric shocks through me. I writhed, sheets bunching in fists, hips grinding against his face, coating his beard with my essence. Orgasm crashed—body arching, a guttural scream tearing from my throat, squirting again, this time arcing onto his chest, warm and sticky.
Pounding Peaks: Multi-Position Marathon Condom on—latex snapping taut—he entered missionary first: Slow, deep thrusts, his weight pinning me, cock stretching walls with each inch, the fullness making me gasp. Hips rolled in sync, clits grinding against his pubic bone, friction building heat. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, sweat dripping from his brow onto my tits, salty drops I licked off. Pace quickened—bed creaking, skin slapping like applause, my nails raking his back, drawing welts that beaded blood.
Flipped to cowgirl: I rode him hard, breasts bouncing wildly, his hands slapping them with stinging echoes, red marks blooming. Leaned forward, he captured a nipple—sucking hard, teeth biting until milk-like fluid seeped (lactation kink from hormones? Who knows, but it drove him wild), the sweet taste on his tongue. I ground circles, clit rubbing his base, inner walls clenching like a vice.
Doggy next: Ass high, face buried in pillows muffling moans. He spread cheeks, spitting on my hole—warm glob sliding down—then plunged in, balls deep, the slap of flesh hypnotic. One hand fisted hair, yanking my head back; the other spanked rhythmically, each crack sending jolts to my core. “Take it, whore,” he barked, thumb pressing my clit. Pressure mounted—anal finger added, stretching both holes, the burn exquisite. I shattered, squirting profusely, soaking the sheets in a pungent flood.
Anal Ascent: Forbidden Depths He wanted more: Lube poured—cool and viscous, dribbling over my rosebud. Fingers prepped, scissoring gently, the intrusion turning from sting to crave. Then his cock: Head pressing, slow breach—ring yielding inch by inch, the fullness overwhelming, a deep ache blooming into bliss. He held still, letting me adjust, then thrust—slow at first, building to pounding, balls smacking pussy. I reached back, rubbing my clit furiously, the dual sensations colliding: Waves of pleasure-pain, body trembling, another orgasm ripping through, ass clenching around him like a fist.
Kink Cascade: Toys and Ties Midnight break: Room service—chocolate-dipped strawberries, sweet juice bursting as he fed me mid-fuck, crumbs on lips he licked clean. Then toys from his bag: Vibrator buzzing against clit while he railed, the hum amplifying every thrust to ecstasy. Blindfold next—silk darkness heightening senses: Ice cubes trailed over skin, melting rivulets cooling heated flesh; feather tickles turning to belt whips, leather cracking on ass, welts rising hot and throbbing.
Dawn’s Drain: Final Floods Rounds blurred: Swallowed his loads—cum thick and bitter after hours, coating throat in ropes; pussy filled again, creampie fantasy with condom off (trust built, tests shown); shower finale—water pounding, bent over tiles, taken rough, echoes of slaps and moans filling steam. Exhausted, we collapsed, bodies entwined in sticky sheets, air thick with cum, sweat, and satisfaction.
Parting: $8000 total, slipped into my bag with a wink. “Best night ever.” I left empowered, body sore but soul ignited. Funds wired home: “Bonus season!” Husband’s joy: “Love you, queen!” The cycle fueled my fire—next target already pinging my phone.