Naughty Surrender: The Realtor’s Forbidden Craving
Links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Echoes of Last Night’s Heat 🔥
The humid ocean breeze slapped against my skin as I stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse suite. Salt in the air, mixed with the faint tang of expensive cologne lingering from previous guests. This wasn’t my first time here at the Azure Towers, but today felt different. My pulse thrummed like a distant drum, echoing the waves crashing below. Marcus Hale, the tech mogul with that infuriating smirk, had booked this oceanfront suite for our “property walkthrough.” Bullshit. We both knew it was more.
I smoothed my pencil skirt, feeling the lace of the thong bite into my hips—the one he’d sent me, black silk whispering naughty promises against my slick folds. Why had I worn it? Subconscious sabotage? My nipples peaked under the sheer blouse, traitorous peaks begging for attention. Last night replayed in fragments: his thick shaft pulsing on my tongue, that salty flood down my throat. I’d denied him everything else, teasing him with my married heat before bolting. No release for me then. Only later, alone in the shower, fingers plunging deep while steam choked the bathroom, chasing shadows of satisfaction that never quite landed.
The door clicked open before I knocked. Marcus stood there, tall and lean, dark hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of conquest. Not the squat creep I’d half-expected in my fantasies—no, he was chiseled danger, green eyes sharp as shattered glass. “Elena,” he said, voice even, professional. He waved me in without a lingering gaze. No scan of my curves, no predatory lean. “The manifests are on the table. Let’s verify the custom pieces.”
I followed, heels sinking into plush carpet that muffled my steps like secrets. The suite sprawled: floor-to-ceiling windows framing the endless blue, modern furniture in stark whites and chromes. Boxes everywhere—art installations, erotic sculptures he’d commissioned for his beach estate. Our deal? No flirting during business. I’d sucked him off to seal it, thinking it’d neuter his pursuit. Now, as he led the way to the balcony overlook, going first up the spiral stairs instead of ogling my ass from behind, doubt gnawed.
“You do many private viewings like this?” he asked over his shoulder, casual, like we hadn’t shared bodily fluids hours ago.
My breath hitched. Here it comes, the bait. “Only for clients who overpay for the privilege.” I infused it with smoke, expecting his eyes to darken.
He chuckled lightly, no heat. “Fair enough. Just making sure I’m not getting VIP perks I didn’t earn.”
At the top, overlooking the crashing surf, I loomed close, heart hammering. Nipples ached against lace, pussy clenching on nothing. “And what perks did you have in mind, Marcus?” My voice dipped low, challenging.
He blinked, genuinely puzzled, then nodded to the crates. “Priority shipping? You seem off, Elena. Everything alright?”
He brushed past, leaving me stranded in a fog of my own arousal. That bastard. Acting like my mouth on his cock was yesterday’s coffee. Insulting. I wanted him feral, not this ice wall.
Chapter 2: Crates of Temptation
Down in the main room, we unpacked methodically. His fingers pried lids with efficient snaps, wood splintering faintly under pressure. The air thickened with polished oak and faint varnish, tickling my nose. I knelt beside a crate, skirt riding up, thighs parting just enough to hint at the damp lace clinging to my swollen lips.
Marcus consulted his tablet, barely glancing. “This one’s the marble torso—verify the vein patterns match the specs.”
I lifted it out, cool stone smooth against palms, heavier than expected. Modeled hips curved realistically, thighs splayed, a shadowed cleft begging invasion. Proportions? Eerily like mine—wide hips, pert cheeks. His “display throne” for pilfered panties. The thought twisted jealousy and lust in my gut.
“Perfect,” he murmured, eyes on screen. Not me. Not my ass arched as I bent deeper, swaying hips in silent invitation. Minutes ticked. Sweat beaded between my breasts, blouse sticking.
Frustration boiled. He’d pressed that rigid length against me weeks ago during a beach property tour—hot, insistent through his slacks. Now? Nothing. Was I delusional? Had my lips around his veiny girth meant zilch? My fingers itched. I unbuttoned my blouse top—subtle V of cleavage, bra edge peeking, nipples dark shadows.
“Whose trophy goes here?” I asked, voice husky, holding the piece like an offering.
He looked up, grinned boyishly. “A naughty secret for now. Some goddess who’ll eclipse the rest.” Eyes flicked down—once—then back to work.
Bastard. My core throbbed, juices soaking the thong. Pride screamed. I wasn’t some discarded fling. He craved me. Had to.
Flashback hit mid-unpack: last night, hotel bar after hours. Dim lights, jazz humming low. His hand on my thigh under the table, inching up. I’d dragged him to the alley, dropped to knees on gritty pavement—rain-slick asphalt biting skin. Unzipped him, that monster springing free, veins pulsing, head glistening. Sucked like a fiend, tongue swirling the salty slit, cheeks hollowing. He’d groaned, fingers tangled in my hair, fucking my face until ropes of cum painted my throat. Denied him my dripping cunt. Drove home aching.
Back in the suite, I plunged hands into peanuts, ass high, wiggling. He scrolled his phone. Rage flared. Fine. New game.
Sensory Overload Begins
The final crate yielded velvet cushions, erotic poses frozen in bronze. I “accidentally” brushed his arm, breasts grazing. He shifted, polite smile. “All accounted for?”
“Almost.” I popped another button, swell of tits spilling into view. Lace cradled them, nipples stabbing fabric. His gaze dipped—held. Victory sparked.
“Elena…” Warning laced his tone, but crotch twitched. Bulge forming. Yes.
Chapter 3: Buttons and Breaking Points 💋
I stepped closer, the mannequin torso clutched like leverage. Ocean roared outside, mirroring the storm inside. “You said a special lady. Classy. Unforgettable.” Fingers toyed the next button, fabric parting with a soft rasp. Flat belly exposed, skirt’s waistband dipping low.
Marcus leaned back on the suite’s massive bed, hands clasped, but his throat bobbed. “This isn’t business attire.”
“Who said anything about business?” Purred words, bending so tits dangled, lace straining. “Imagine her panties here—satin soaked from her naughty anticipation.”
His eyes locked on the creamy expanse, pupils blowing. “Careful, Elena. You’re playing with fire.”
Button three yielded. Blouse gaped wide, bra fully framed—his gift, sheer cups barely containing heavy swells. Nipples throbbed visibly. “She’d be powerful. Married, maybe. Teasing you merciless until you beg.”
He shifted, erection tenting slacks unmistakably. “Hypotheticals get dangerous.”
Last button. Blouse fluttered open like surrendered wings. I shrugged it off, shoulders rolling, standing in bra, skirt, heels. Air kissed exposed skin, goosebumps racing. Pussy lips swelled, clit pulsing against drenched lace. “What if she’s right here? Ready to claim that spot.”
Marcus groaned low, hand adjusting his straining cock. “Fuck the deal. You’ve been naughty all day, haven’t you?”
Yes. The word ignited us.
He lunged, mouth crashing mine—brandy on his tongue, stubble scraping chin. Hands mauled tits, yanking cups down, thumbs circling stiff peaks. I gasped into him, nails raking his shirt, popping buttons. His scent—musk, salt, power—flooded me.
Chapter 4: Balcony Exposure
New scene: He dragged me to the balcony, glass doors slamming wide. Wind whipped hair, surf thundering approval. Below, oblivious beachgoers dotted sand—risk electric. “Show me how naughty you can be,” he growled, shoving skirt to waist. Thong exposed, dark patch glaring.
Fingers hooked fabric, ripping it aside. Cool air kissed sopping folds, then his digits plunged—two thick ones spearing my clutching heat. “Dripping slut. This for me?”
“All for you, fucker.” I ground down, walls milking. He pumped hard, thumb grinding clit, free hand pinching nipple till I yelped.
Rail gripped behind me, tits bouncing free as he finger-fucked mercilessly. Juices slicked thighs, puddle forming on tile. Orgasm built fast—coiling, shattering. I screamed into wind, cunt spasming, squirting arcs over railing.
He spun me, pants shoved down. Cock sprang—long, girthy, veins like ropes, head purple and weeping. “Suck it, naughty wife.”
On knees, grit biting, I devoured. Slurped deep, gagging as it hit throat. Balls slapped chin, his grunts animal. Saliva ropes connected lips to shaft when I gasped air.
“Enough.” He hauled me up, bent over rail. Skirt hiked, heels spread wide. Cockhead nudged entrance—teasing. “Beg.”
“Fuck my married pussy, Marcus. Ruin me.”
One thrust—impaling. Stretched to burn, walls fluttering. He railed savage, hips slapping ass, balls smacking clit. Wind cooled sweat, ocean drowned moans. I came again, vision white, nails splintering wood.
Chapter 5: Suite of Sins 🔥
Back inside, he tossed me on bed. Lingerie shredded—bra ripped, thong gone. Naked now, legs splayed, pussy gaping, cream oozing. He stripped, body sculpted—abs ridged, cock bobbing angry.
“Taste yourself.” Shoved fingers in my mouth, pussy-flavored digits. I sucked greedy.
Then his mouth descended. Tongue lashed clit, lips sucking folds, teeth nipping. Two fingers curled inside, hitting that spot—gush after gush. I bucked, thighs clamping his head, scent of arousal thick as fog.
“Naughty girl needs more.” Crawled up, cock replacing tongue. Missionary deep—eyes locked, his weight pinning. Slow grinds turned pounding, tits jiggling, sweat mingling. “Your husband’s cock this good?”
“No—fuck, deeper!” Walls convulsed, milking. He hammered, shaft dragging every ridge.
Flip to cowgirl. I rode wild, nails down chest, ass bouncing. His hands gripped cheeks, thumb circling pucker. “Ever taken it here?”
Shook head, but lust screamed yes. He slicked thumb in pussy juice, pressed in. Double stuffed—burn then bliss. Came howling, collapsing forward.
Doggy next—face in pillows, ass high. Cock speared ass now, slow breach. Pain bloomed pleasure, ring stretching. “Such a naughty anal virgin.” Fucked steady, building, hand fisting hair.
Climax wrecked us both. He flooded ass, hot jets. I shattered, quaking.
Chapter 6: Afterglow and New Cravings 💋
We sprawled tangled, sheets wrecked, air heavy with sex—cum, sweat, salt. His fingers traced my spine, tender now. Vulnerability hit: guilt flickered for my husband, asleep in our distant bed. But connection hummed deeper. Marcus wasn’t just lust; he saw my cracks, fed the fire I’d ignored.
“Crown jewel?” I whispered, nuzzling his chest, heartbeat steady under ear.
He smirked, fetching the torso. My ruined thong draped it—dark stain, stretched. “Yours. Forever.”
Lips met soft, promise lingering. Tomorrow? Business or more naughty games? Body hummed content, mind already plotting. The ocean whispered approval outside, waves eternal as our hunger.
But later, alone in elevator descent, thighs sticky, bra discarded in trash—reality bit. Husband’s call buzzed: “Home soon?” Lie ready: “Long day, love you.” Heat reignited. Marcus had awakened something feral. No going back.
Flash forward tease: Next viewing, handcuffs in his briefcase. Naughty evolution just beginning.
