Red Confession: My Savage Afternoon with Innocent Jérôme
Late June 1989. Our living room in N. Sun filters through curtains. I’m alone with Jérôme, my son’s classmate. 34, married, kids. Wine from lunch buzzes my veins. Heart quickens. I flip through L’Express. Article on a marble statue. Nude boy. Fine face. Adorable pouch. Tiny cock. Warm flesh imagines pulsing in my palm. Heat floods me. I look up. Jérôme, cross-legged in his chair. Bermuda hugs his crotch. Soft bulge. Châtain hair tousled. Clear eyes. He smiles. Radiant. Belly twists. Point sharpens. Obsession grips. Must touch. Feel him harden. Grow. Our move looms. Solitude perfect. Now or never. Penthouse hidden under comics from Éric’s bed. I offer stack. Dash to shower. Water scalds. Pulse races. Pussy aches. Resist fingers. Peek back. He’s buried in it. Bermuda tents. Hard. Rosy cheeks. I linger. Dry quick. Cotton panties. Blue robe loose. Breasts peek. Nipples stiff. Back to salon. Hands on chair arms. Plunge view down cleavage. His eyes lock. Flush deepens. ‘Dry my hair?’ Voice husky. He fetches stool. Behind me. Towel moves slow. Shoulders bare. Robe slips. Thighs part. Panties flash. He leans. Eyes devour. Back arches. Press. His erection nudges. Firm. Hot. Through fabric. Forward. Tease. He shifts right. Breath ragged. ‘Soft hands, Jérôme.’ Silence. Thigh caress. Slow. Up. Inner. Balls brush knuckles. Heavy. Warm. He sighs. Leans. Hand ghosts shoulder. Down. Breast. Nipple pinch. Flees. I spin. Towel drops. Hands clasp. ‘Siesta? If you want.’ Voice strangled. ‘Yes.’ Room spins. Bedroom door shuts. Sit bed edge. He stands. ‘Hot. Shirt off.’ Obedient. Torso smooth. Hand palms thigh. Bold now. Crotch swell. Button pops. Zipper rasps. Boxer strains. Down. Cock springs. Pale shaft. Veins throb. Black curls frame. Freckles dot skin. Ravenous. Lay him. Eyes feast. Palm cups balls. Warm weight. Roll. Squeeze base. Stroke up. Down. Veins pulse. Young blood surges. Heart hammers. Skin feverish.
Bedroom air thick. Sweat beads. His chest heaves. I kiss belly. Wet. Trail down. Lips glide shaft. Tongue laps base to tip. Gland pink. Pearl dews. Savor salt. He gropes. Hand slips breast. Down. Panties edge. Pubis. Firm stop. ‘Not yet.’ Only him. Me. His pleasure. Robe falls. Tits free. Hard tips graze cockhead. Press between. Warm globes hug. He moans. Low. Cheeks blaze. Lips part. Sweat strands hair. Fingers quicken. Grip tight. Thumb circles gland. Other hand trails balls. To pucker. Circle. Press. Eyes roll. Groan rips. Shaft spasms. Cum jets. Hot ropes. Belly. Tits. Hand. Thick. Animal. Spread it. Slick skin gleams. Wipe brow. He shudders. Last pulses. Chest calms. Skin cools. Glow lingers. Ache fades. Unique burn. Forbidden mark. He rises. Kiss cheek. Whisper hot: ‘Super.’ Door clicks. Echoes. Reality creeps. But fire scars deep.
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