The bar at Hotel Union buzzed with midday chatter. Freshly dumped, scrolling dating sites during training breaks. Profile pimped: elegant, cultured guy seeking smiling lady for fun. Swipe right on Lucie. Sixty, teacher, voice like honey on the phone. ‘Meet for a drink? My treat.’ Heart pounds. This could be it.
Cross the quay to the terrace restaurant. No seats outside. Inside, just us. Gewurz wine flows cool. She’s blonde, long braid, pale blue eyes hiding sadness. Pale blue linen dress, slit up the thigh, low neckline. Legs nice. Trench hides the rest. Chat heats up. Cheeses, cold cuts. She teaches medicine, saves lives, eyes lit with fire. Utopian passion. Her life’s hell: cheating doc husband bangs nurses, pays with joint card. Ego monster. Twice beat cancer. Scars under those tits.
The Awakening: Sparks at the Hotel Union Bar
Hand in hand. Skip F1 or cheap motel. Sauna instead. Booked two hours private. Reception girl smirks, knows we’re heading to fuck. Dim lights, steam, jacuzzi. ‘Got condoms? No? Fuck it, I want you raw,’ she whispers.
Jacuzzi bubbles hot. Hands on her tits. Surgeon spared the shape, but scars pucker the skin. Soft mounds, sensitive nipples harden. She moans deep. Kiss her neck, lips. Cock throbs hard. Slide in slow, bare. Her pussy grips tight, wet heat. She sighs, bucks hips. Waves slap skin. Thrust deeper, her breaths ragged. No rubber between us. Pure, risky bliss. Cancer survivor riding my dick like fire.
The Secret Thrill: Back to Reality, Heart Racing
Back to city, promise more. Texts explode: ‘You make me feel sexy again.’ Lunches before saunas. Fingers in her slit, she cums hard. Cock buried deep, she claws my back. Loves my tongue on tits, but pushes head away from pussy. ‘No oral,’ firm. Doc germ phobia? Fine. Raw fucks only. Flower shop next door. Red roses for her lab, not home. Hubby might flip. ‘Never hit me, but close.’ She dances naked, curves swaying. Poetic texts from me. Her trips: Africa, US. Gaps widen.
She dumps the prick. ‘Need discretion.’ Silence grows. Poems ignored. Send hot story-emails. ‘Too steamy…’ Then blowup over another woman’s email in CC. Oops.
No regrets. Knew it’d end quick. Thought longer. Secret pulses in veins. That first plunge, her moans echoing steam. Forbidden fuck with marked beauty. Society blind. I taste her still. Thrill of the hidden rush beats all.