Fake Boyfriend Night: From Supermarket Flirt to Double Anal Ecstasy
Here in my Private Locker, the vault cracks open. Tuesday, August 14th. Exhausted after days installing furniture in my new Paris apartment. Hot shower cascades over me, easing the ache. I dress slow, savor the cool evening air. Head to Monoprix for dinner. Spot her: brunette, slim, thirties. Classy but bland clothes, cold vibe. Frozen aisle. She’s muttering, pissed. I break ice. ‘Can’t find what you want? Try this salmon timbale.’ She snaps, eyes severe. Then tears. Explains: friends coming over, expect her fiancé. He doesn’t exist. Lie to stop their nagging about her single life. I smile soft. Offer myself as fake boyfriend for the night. She hesitates. I leave my card. Vincent. Phone rings soon after. She calls back, thanks me, doubts. Flirt a bit. She laughs—first time. Rings again. ‘Honey, where are you? Guests here.’ Game on. Address texts. Dress sharp: gray slacks, silk blue shirt. Five-minute drive. Enter her place. Door ajar. Boom: ‘Bonsoir!’ She rushes, tense. I drop bag, hands on hips, pull her close. Lips meet. Soft, wet, hungry. Tongue slips in. She wraps arms around neck. My cock stirs hard against her. She feels it, grinds once. Blushes crimson. Guests watch. I excuse, scout rooms. Her bedroom: lingerie clues. Back to salon. Meet Luc—scrawny, sloppy. Sylviane—bleached blonde, tight outdated suit, vulgar. Easy marks. Pull Lisa onto lap. Arm around, kiss neck. ‘Ploucs,’ I whisper. She giggles. They probe meeting story. I amp it: her firm tits, perfect ass bending over freezers. Hand under shirt, caress hip. Sylviane fumes. I defend: photographer, see beyond facades. Lisa’s hidden fire. Undo her top buttons. Trace neck vein. Sylviane seethes. Luc admits she’s hot. Tension builds. Sylviane calls her prude. I send Lisa to change: white lace corset. She returns: sheer, nipples hard. Flat abs, tiny thong. Bend, show ass, pussy lips peeking. Luc drools. Sylviane denies. Dinner: she serves in lingerie. Touches constant. Post-meal, Sylviane demands proof. I recount anal prep, first ass-fuck, club DP fantasy. Lisa grinds on thigh. Bonnets off: perky tits free. Dance strip. Sucks Luc’s long cock. I rim her pulsing hole. She mounts him. Sylviane masturbates, bushy cunt out.
Deep in the vault now. Intimacy explodes. Finger Lisa’s ass while she rides Luc. Sylviane blows me slow. Ready. She begs anal. Guide over her ring—tight, yielding. Full hilt. Slow, deep thrusts. She syncs with Luc’s cock filling pussy. Grips both holes. She cums screaming, anus gaping. Luc takes Sylviane’s virgin ass rough. Girls 69: Sylviane tongues Lisa’s clit. I re-enter ass. Pound hard. She demands: ‘Fill my ass!’ Cum floods her depths. She orgasms anally—pure bliss. Luc blasts Sylviane. Bodies collapse, slick, spent.
Opening the Private Locker
Vault seals. Guests leave dazed. Alone with Lisa, naked, eyes locked. Kiss fierce. ‘Anal orgasm?’ she whispers. Grin. Secret shared, adrenaline fades. Confidence surges—for her, me. Locker clicks shut. Light, free. Wildest night locked away… until now.
