Sweat drips down my back in the art studio. Gilles’ eyes lock on mine during class. His hands guide my brush, fingers brushing my thigh. Heart races. Paul’s away, I think. I whisper, ‘Come over tonight.’ Forbidden heat surges between my legs. Twice before, we almost fucked—Rita interrupted once, voices the other. Now, alone at home. Door clicks shut. His mouth crashes into mine. Rough. Hungry. Skirt hikes up. No panties. He growls, ‘You’re soaked, slut.’ Fingers plunge in, wet squelch echoes. I gasp, nipples hardening under his teeth. Couch creaks as he shoves me down. Cock thick, veined, throbbing. Pushes in raw. No condom. Stretching me wide. Thrusts brutal, hips slamming. ‘Fuck me harder,’ I moan. Clit throbs. Juices drip down ass. Build-up insane. Cyclone of lust. He pins wrists, pounds deep. Cervix aches. Orgasm rips—screaming, walls clenching his shaft. He grunts, floods me. Hot cum spurts inside. Pulsing. Overflowing. Legs shake. Bliss.
Naked, spent. Door bursts. Paul and Sylvie. Fury. Clothes ripped off us. Forced to sign confessions. Cravache whips air. Tied loosely. They leave us alone. Fury boils. ‘Bastard, you promised love,’ I hiss. He laughs. ‘You’re number 124, whore. Hundred conquests. Dripping after first kiss. Begged for it.’ Insults fly. ‘Frigid wife, you said. Marry me after divorce.’ ‘Lies to fuck you. Others wait—Alain, Karim, Maurice. Blackmail next.’ Rage peaks. ‘Paul fucks better. Best at home.’ He spits, ‘Slut, hysteric. Born whore. Sexy skirts scream it.’ Envelope on chair—his note: ‘Thanks for the pussy, little cunt. Not love. Go find others.’ Humiliated. Vow revenge.
The Burning Temptation
Paul returns. Cassettes play our filth, then our hate. Coughs. Every cruel word exposed. Mortified. He offers morning-after pill. Kitchen. Swallow? Flush? Back. Bidet flush—semen gushes out. Shame burns. He listens more. Hears my praise: ‘Best at home.’ Hope flickers. Kiss tentative. Trust fragile. Envelope gone—I hid it. Caught lying. Note worse: premeditated dump. On his lap, bodies press. Heat stirs, but wary.
Threaten to denounce? No, shame. Paul pushes letter to director. Details affair, threats, copies enclosed. Post it. Maurice spies outside. ‘Tomorrow, commissariat.’ Cling to Paul. Poubelle—condoms inside. Proof of more lies? Divorce hits. Paul leaves for Sylvie. Regret chews. Thrill faded. Wreckage remains. Craved forbidden fire. Burned house down. Secret weighs. Thrill lingers in ache.