She had started collecting her gentlemen a few years ago. Every time one of these ultra-rich wives left their husbands at home for some exotic vacation or a long spa getaway, she would find an excuse to visit, whether dropping off some unnecessary gift, or popping in to “see if the kids were home,” knowing full well they were not. She would wear something extremely revealing, which always seemed to catch the man of the house off-guard, knowing she was typically so modest. With a low cut shirt, or bare midriff, she’d start off playing coy, asking to see some art they loved or asking questions about whatever their hobby was. She paid attention, and knew all the right ways to pique their interest. She’d stare at them in wonder, doe-like, always touching their arm, and making sure her lips were parted just so. Giggling at the right times and seeming embarrassed, she would compliment them, pretending to blush and unintentionally touching her chest to draw their eye. Most of them took the bait. She would wait for that quiet awkward moment, where she would be breathing heavily, gazing into their eyes, and then she would close in for a kiss but pull away, embarrassed and apologizing. Which made them put an arm on her bare shoulder to comfort her and say it was okay, there was no harm done. And that was all she needed. She would stammer out how she’d always been attracted to them but she knew it was wrong because they were married and she needed to leave, she had just needed to know if they’d felt it too. Sometimes she would bite her lower lip and touch their face gently. If they were silent she would lock eyes with them and without a word, slowly unbutton her shirt, letting it fall to the ground revealing her bare breasts. They’d let her expose herself first, that way she was the one who’d started it. Eager to prove her commitment to this, she would slip off her own shorts, displaying her little patch of feminine pubic hair. She couldn’t have made it more clear. She was willing to take the blame for this because she was the one who reached for their belt buckles and undid their pants. With her firm breasts staring back at them and her shorts around her ankles, she would have her fingers on their zippers, looking at them questioningly, her eyes begging for approval to proceed. She stood before them naked in their private sanctums, giving herself to them fully. There would be a long pause of sexual tension, followed by passionate kissing, and then their clothes would join hers on the floor.
Only one time had she stood naked before a gentleman who seemed to shake his head in disbelief and she thought he was going to deny her, until she had said “please,” with pleading in her voice, “I need you to make it stop.” Overcome with desire, her hand had trailed down to the v between her legs to show him how wet she was. She won him over and actually cried tears of joy as he had fucked her right there in his library, shoving books and papers to the floor to make room for lust.
The first times were usually brief. Sometimes their clothes never even made it all the way off, there would be fumbling and grunting, ending with profuse apologies. That’s only how it started though. That was never how it ended. As they undoubtedly tried to beg forgiveness for their mistake, she put a finger to their lips, stopping them and kissing them slowly. Ever so slowly. With passion building, slipping her tongue in to draw out their desire. Reminding them they were desirable men. Telling them she wanted them. She wanted this, more of this. And standing before them with her soul and body bared, she would take their weathered hands and place them on her, and tell them she wanted nothing but to give them pleasure. She didn’t need love or money. She told them plainly, they could use her however they wanted. She wanted to give them the pleasure their wives denied them. She wanted only to give herself to them, and she wanted nothing in return. Looking from the outside in, she understood what someone would think of her. But she selected her men carefully. She did her homework before approaching any of them. She made friends with them and their wives, getting a feel for the relationship and whether they still cared for each other. She had a rule to never interfere in a happy home. Happy being relative for rich people. She only looked for men whose wives had abandoned them physically and emotionally. Someone who needed happiness without the threat of destroying their homes. That was where she came in.
They needed her as much as she needed them. That particular gentleman in the library, he frequently made her relive their first time, with him in a position of power, and her pleading to end her agony of desire. He was fond of playing the principal and making her the naughty student; or she was the teacher who got caught masturbating in the school shower and would do *anything* to not get fired; or his new secretary who had accidentally deleted the student roster and was desperate to keep this position or *any* position he wanted. You get the idea. Maybe he felt powerful fucking a much younger woman, or telling her what to do. But she felt just as powerful, if not more so, to have a rejected husband’s tongue in her asshole as she screamed in delight. Those stupid bitches had no idea what she would let their husbands do to her. She had made them come, hot and heavy, grunting in satisfaction as they had pulled her hair and slapped her ass. They had ravaged her on their kitchen counters and in their studies. She had spread her legs for them in their pool houses and on their dining room tables. She had been bent over their Ferraris and their Bentleys. She would do whatever they wanted and without complaint, with no headaches or demands. She had played out every sexual fantasy she could ever imagine and received more pleasure at the practiced hands of these fine men than anyone could conceive. It may have made them feel powerful but she got to give them that power. It wasn’t about owning them or holding it over their heads; she didn’t need anything from them, except the sexual freedom and openness she couldn’t get from their ridiculously muscled, boring sons. She had no desire to date their pathetic offspring and sit through pointless dates while some young buck sat there posturing, believing she should be impressed with his very existence. Her parents would continue to chide her about being single and she made talk about finding the right guy like they wanted her to; but in the meantime she talked a good game, showed up to all the right places, and got to have all the no-strings-attached sex a girl could ever want.
to be continued…
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jhh3vf/excerpt_from_filthy_rich_sex_with_older_married