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MIKE
I married Sophie when we were just twenty-one. Young, yeah, but I never doubted it. Not once. She had this quiet magic about her -- not the kind that turns heads in the street, but the kind that lingers. Dark hair in that neat little bob, eyes always a bit wide like the world was slightly too loud for her, and legs... God, those legs. She hides them under skirts that go just past the knee, but I notice. I always notice.
She's shy. Always has been. Not in a nervous way -- more like... careful. Soft-spoken, thoughtful, almost like she's still deciding how much of herself to show the world. But it's part of what makes her so beautiful.
When we got married, she was a virgin. I'd known that from early on, and it never mattered. I loved her. Still do. But I won't pretend it wasn't a bit of a learning curve -- for both of us. She was shy, even with me, and that first year took a kind of patience I hadn't realised I had. But slowly -- gently -- she relaxed. Found her footing. She'll probably never be wild or daring, and that's fine by me. What she gives, she gives with trust. And there's something in that -- in her -- that makes it feel more real than anything else ever could.
SOPHIE
Mike was the only man for me. Still is. I never looked at anyone else the way I looked at him -- not even close. From the beginning, he made me feel safe. Seen. Like I could be myself, even when I wasn't quite sure who that was.
I grew up in a deeply religious home. Everything was rules and silence. Certain subjects weren't talked about -- not properly. Just warnings and frowns. I learned not to ask questions. Not to feel things, really. At least not out loud.
Mike always assumed I was a virgin when we married, and I let him. He never asked. And I suppose I didn't want to explain the truth -- that there'd been one... incident. A boy from church. It was rushed and clumsy and over before I really understood what was happening. I felt ashamed for a long time after that. Like I'd done something wrong just by being there.
But Mike -- he's different. He's gentle. Patient. He's never pushed me, never made me feel small. Being with him has helped me... like it again. That side of things. Not that I don't still get a bit red-faced about it all -- I do. It's just such an odd thing to talk about, isn't it?
Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough for him. If I'm too quiet or too awkward or just not... exciting. But I try. I really do. Because I love him. And because when we're close, and I see the way he looks at me -- just sometimes -- I believe I might be more than I think I am.
MIKE
Getting Sophie to open up about sex has always taken a bit of gentle work. Not because she's cold -- far from it -- but because she's careful. She grew up in a world where you didn't talk about those things, not even with the person you loved. When I first brought up fantasies, it was like I'd asked her to recite one in front of a crowd.
She laughed. Blushed. Shook her head. "I don't have any," she said, eyes darting to the floor. But I didn't let it drop. I stayed patient -- didn't tease, didn't press too hard. Just gave her time.
We were sitting on the sofa, half a glass of wine left each, soft music in the background. I could tell she was thinking. You can always tell with Sophie -- her hands get still, her breathing changes just slightly.
And then, after a long pause, she said it. So quietly I nearly missed it.
"I think... maybe... on a balcony. Under the stars."
That was it. No details, no extra flourish. Just that. But it felt like gold. I smiled, tried not to show how pleased I was with myself -- but I was. It wasn't just what she said, it was that she said anything at all. That she trusted me enough to give me that little window.
I leaned over and kissed her, softly. I shared one of my fantasies too -- nothing too bold, just enough to make her laugh and roll her eyes. But it felt like a moment. A step forward.
And with Sophie, that kind of thing matters.
It must have had an effect as we made love on the sofa that night - normally it was the bedroom or nothing. As I gently fucked her, I looked at her, eyes closed - she always closed them when we made love - and imagined she was thinking about being on a balcony with me.
SOPHIE
One of Mike's things -- one of the ways he tries to help me feel more... confident, I suppose -- is talking about fantasies. You know, things you'd like to try, or think about. I've never really known what to say. I don't have anything like that, not really. I love what we have -- the real things. Being close to him, the quiet way he touches me, the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not noticing. That's enough for me.
But Mike didn't believe me. Not completely. I could see it in his face -- that patient, slightly amused look he gets when he thinks I'm holding something back. Maybe I was. Not on purpose. I just didn't have anything to share. At least, not in the way he meant.
I panicked, a little. Said the first thing that came into my head. I'd caught a bit of Beauty and the Beast on TV earlier that day -- just in passing, while folding laundry. There was this moment with a balcony, stars, soft lighting -- all very romantic. And for some reason, it just popped out.
"Maybe... being made love to on a balcony. Under the stars."
He lit up like I'd handed him a gift. Looked so pleased with himself for getting me to say it. I didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't real. It wasn't even mine, really. Just something from a cartoon. Silly, but harmless.
And anyway -- it's not like anything would ever come of it.
GEORGE
The company's annual celebration was coming up -- our little pat on the back for a year of healthy profits. We do it properly, too. A big party, invite-only. Usually 150, maybe 200 of the top performers. Champagne, music, speeches that go on too long. All very self-congratulatory, but we've earned it.
This year's shindig was being held at one of the owner's properties -- a mansion, technically. Though I'm told it's not his main house, just one of several, which gives you an idea of the scale we're talking about. Still, grand enough. Huge rooms, a staircase wide enough for three people to walk abreast, fountains out front, and formal gardens that look like they've been lifted out of a stately home. The balconies alone are worth a second look -- all wrought iron and ivy, overlooking the lawns.
Mike and I were both invited, naturally. We'd had a good year, he, and I. Solid results, well-earned. He'd be bringing his wife, of course -- Sophie. He always does.
I'd be attending alone. Still adjusting to the single life, a year out of the divorce. Not that I mind, really. These things are easier solo. No one to consult about outfits or whether they can eat shellfish.
I'll admit -- I always look forward to seeing Mike's wife. Sophie's one of those women who doesn't quite realise the effect she has. Slim, delicate, striking in that quiet way that makes men do double takes. And that shy nature of hers? Makes her even more beautiful. They make a lovely couple, the two of them. Still seem in that just-married phase, even years in.
Anyway. It promised to be a good evening. At the very least, the wine would be excellent.
SOPHIE
It was the day of the big party, and I'd made the classic mistake of leaving outfit decisions to the last minute. Mike had said it wasn't formal -- "casual, but not too casual," whatever that means. "No jeans," he added, as if that cleared anything up.
It was going to be a hot evening, the kind where your clothes start sticking to you before you're even out the door. I had a few things laid out on the bed: light summer dresses, skirts with matching tops. Things I wouldn't normally wear anywhere important, but this was one of those strange occasions where everyone tries to look like they aren't trying.
While I was still dithering between two skirts, Mike strolled in and casually brought up that conversation -- the one I thought we'd safely buried.
"Remember your little fantasy?" he said, trying to sound offhand. "The balcony under the stars?" Then, with a smile I recognised far too well, "There are a lot of balconies at this place, apparently."
Oh no. He's not actually thinking of... doing something with that idea, is he?
I'd honestly never expected it to come up again. I hadn't meant anything by it -- just a throwaway comment to keep the conversation moving. But now, here he was, clearly thinking this could be the night.
I hedged. Mumbled something about the fantasy just being a bit of silly talk. He didn't press, but I could see it in his face -- the way he lit up again. He wanted it to happen. Because he thought I wanted it to happen.
I tried to drag the conversation back to what I should wear, hoping to distract him. Not that he was much help.
He said I should wear the white camisole top. And the short white pleated skirt. The one that barely grazes mid-thigh when I sit down. Honestly, in that outfit, everyone will either be looking at my legs or down my top. Maybe both.
I raised an eyebrow, and he just grinned. I suppose he wants to show me off, which is sweet, really. Embarrassing... but sweet.
Still. I might bring a cardigan. Just in case.
MIKE
Getting ready for the party was straightforward for me -- slacks and a shirt, done in five minutes. Sophie, on the other hand, was knee-deep in outfit options and mild panic.
I'd already told her about the place -- George had shown me pictures earlier in the week. Huge rooms, marble floors, staircases straight out of a period drama... and balconies. Lots of balconies. The kind you could stand on and look out over a lit-up garden, the kind that catch the evening air exactly right. When I told her, I could see her eyes flicker. A little jolt of something behind the nerves.
Of course, she tried to hide it -- Sophie always does. Her shy nature means she's not one to leap into anything, least of all something like that. But I've known her long enough to spot the difference between fear and fluttery anticipation. And I swear, somewhere under the fluster, I caught a flicker of excitement.
I didn't push. That's never worked with her. I just said -- quietly, so she knew I meant it -- that if she wanted to act on her fantasy, all she had to do was let me know. Anytime during the night. I'd be ready. If not, no big deal.
Honestly? I reckon it's fifty-fifty, even if a chance presents itself. There'll be a crowd, drinks, music, people wandering about. A lot of variables. Still... the possibility is there, and that's something.
She was still faffing about what to wear, second-guessing herself. I made the call. White blouse -- the soft, almost sheer one -- and the short white skirt that shows off her legs just enough to turn heads but not cause a scandal. Her legs really are something else. Graceful, long, a bit of a secret weapon.
She looked amazing in it. Not that she'd ever admit it.
GEORGE
I saw Mike and Sophie arrive just as things were getting going and waved them over to a table out on the patio -- though really, patio doesn't do it justice. It was more of a terrace. Stone-flagged, sprawling, with soft lighting and potted trees in big stone urns. The kind of space that makes everyone feel a little more elegant just by standing on it.
I was pleased to see Sophie had gone with something a little more revealing than her usual. Nothing inappropriate, of course -- just enough to draw the eye. That short white skirt, the blouse that hinted rather than shouted. Very tasteful. And amazingly effective. She looked lovely, as always. Honestly, Mike's a lucky man. I've always thought so.
It was a warm, pleasant evening, plenty of drinks flowing. The usual mix of back-slapping execs, slick talkers and people pretending not to angle for promotions. And, inevitably, the predictable cluster of guys who hadn't met Sophie before. Happens every year. They catch sight of her and assume she's someone's plus-one, or unattached. They swarm, sniff around.
They never get far.
One particular pest -- young, over-confident, and clearly unused to women like Sophie -- wouldn't back off. Thought he was charming and kept reappearing with another line and another drink she didn't ask for. I had to step in eventually. Nothing dramatic, just a quiet word with enough weight behind it. He moved on.
Most of them did. Between Sophie's natural obliviousness to the effect she has, Mike's quiet-but-firm way of making his presence known, and my own ability to redirect a conversation when needed, we managed to keep her largely undisturbed.
What I did notice, though, was that Sophie was drinking more than usual. Neither of them are big drinkers -- a glass here and there, that's about it. But tonight, the wine was flowing, and she wasn't saying no.
It loosened her up a bit. She was smiling more, laughing easily, even joining in on some conversations instead of fading into Mike's shadow like she often does. And then -- unexpected, but not unwelcome -- she said yes when I asked her for a dance.
Just the one. Nothing suggestive. But still -- her hand in mine, that smile, the sway of her hips as we moved. That was a bonus I hadn't counted on.
SOPHIE
As suspected, the outfit Mike picked out for me got attention. A lot of attention. The short white skirt and the blouse that I normally only wear under a cardigan -- well, they did their job. Heads turned. Eyes lingered. Some men didn't even bother to hide it.
It got a little tedious, honestly. One awkward "sorry, I'm married" after another. Some of them didn't even seem to care that Mike was right there -- like they thought he wasn't relevant. As if he couldn't possibly be my husband. Or worse, as if he wouldn't mind.
But beneath all that, I was distracted. I spent most of the evening not quite present in any conversation. My mind kept circling back to what Mike had said earlier. About the balconies. And the fantasy.
Only... it wasn't my fantasy. I made it up. And yet now it had taken on a life of its own. I knew how happy it would make him if I acted it out -- if I just leaned in, said yes, and let it happen. The look on his face when I first told him, the pride, the excitement. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
But making love in the open air? Out where anyone could see? That was something else entirely. Far too daring. Far too exposed. And if someone did find us? I'd never live it down. I'd want the ground to swallow me whole.
To settle my nerves, I started sipping at my wine. And then refilling it. Just a little more than I usually would. I wasn't exactly drunk, but I was definitely... softened.
George helped, in his own way. He noticed when a particularly persistent man wouldn't take the hint and stepped in. He didn't make a fuss, just handled it quietly. Like he was used to these situations. I was grateful.
So, I thanked him the only way I could think of -- by saying yes when he asked me to dance. Just one dance. Nothing too close. But still, it was more than I'd usually do. And to be fair, for an older man -- alright, probably not that old, but still -- he wasn't bad at it. Kept a good rhythm, and didn't try anything.
Then, inevitably, all that wine caught up with me. And off I went in search of the ladies.
MIKE
Sophie was drinking more than usual. Not so much that she was tipsy, but enough that I noticed. And enough that I wondered -- was she working up some liquid courage?
She'd let go a little, too. I watched her dance with George -- nothing inappropriate, just a light, polite kind of thing -- but still, that wasn't like her. Normally she'd shy away from that kind of attention, especially with someone like George, someone senior. But tonight, she just smiled and joined in. It was good to see. She looked happy. Relaxed.
It got me thinking... Was this her warming up to say yes to the fantasy? The thought crossed my mind. I didn't want to get ahead of myself, but the way she'd been acting -- the wine, the dancing, the slight flush in her cheeks -- it was hard not to wonder.
Maybe she was working herself up to it. Maybe this was the moment. She might lean in at some point and whisper in my ear. Or maybe she'd just give me a look, a little signal -- her way of saying, "Alright, let's go."
The idea sent a jolt of excitement through me. I kept it in check, of course. I didn't want to push. It had to be her call. But the possibility made everything feel a bit more electric.
When she excused herself to go to the bathroom, I took the chance to get up too. George and I hadn't eaten yet, and I figured it was time to hunt down something solid -- soak up some of the wine and keep the evening on the rails.
Sophie had said she didn't want anything, but I thought I would grab a plate for her anyway. Just in case.
You never know what the rest of the night might bring.
GEORGE
With Mike off on a mission to track down some food, I watched Sophie make her way across the patio toward the house.
It really was a lovely sight.
That short skirt moved just enough to tease without meaning to, and there was something about the way she walked -- a kind of unconscious grace, like she didn't even realise what an effect she had. As usual, I wasn't the only one watching her go. A few heads turned, subtle and not-so-subtle. But she didn't seem to notice any of it.
She rarely did. That was part of the charm. Always so unaware of the attention she drew.
I turned back to my drink, let myself smile, and waited for Mike to return with the food. He'd be pleased with himself -- taking care of everyone, like always.
And I couldn't blame him for feeling lucky. He was.
SOPHIE
I walked back into the house, doing my best to ignore the looks from men -- both single and not-so-single -- as I passed. That kind of attention always made me feel self-conscious, and tonight, with my outfit being... well, a little more revealing than usual, it was worse than ever.
There was a bathroom signposted in the main hall, but the wine had given me a little boldness. And honestly? I was feeling nosy. The house was enormous -- one of those places that felt like something out of a film -- and I was certain there had to be more luxurious bathrooms upstairs. Besides, it gave me an excuse to have a little look around.
I headed up the grand staircase and wandered along a wide corridor. The floor was carpeted in something deep and plush, and everything -- the paintings, the lighting, even the smell -- just felt expensive. At the far end, I found a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel. Chrome fittings, marble countertops, a mirror the size of a small car.
After I finished, I didn't head back straight away. Curiosity got the better of me. I started peeking into the bedrooms lining the corridor. Each one had a distinctive style -- lavish, themed, clearly decorated for people far more glamorous than me. It felt like walking through pages of a design magazine.
Then I found one at the back of the house, and something caught my eye. Glass doors opposite the bed.
I stepped closer and realised they led out to a balcony -- one that overlooked the terrace below. I pushed them open and stepped outside.
The air was warm. The night was calm. It was beautiful up there. Peaceful, even.
And then... I started thinking about that conversation.
The wine made the thought less scary. More real. Could I actually do it?
I looked down. From up here, you couldn't be seen -- not unless you stood right at the edge. And when I checked, I found the door had a lock. If we were up here, we could make sure no one walked in.
I just stood there for a moment, heart fluttering, trying to calm the little storm of nerves bubbling up. But underneath it... there was excitement. A different kind of excitement than I'd ever felt before.
Could I really be that daring?
For Mike -- yes. Maybe I could. Maybe I wanted to be.
But how would I let him know?
Whispering it? No. Too embarrassing. Even with him. Especially with him.
I needed to think of something else.
GEORGE
Sophie reappeared a few minutes later and sat back down beside me. She looked a little flushed -- cheeks pink, eyes bright -- and without a word, she reached for the wine I'd ordered and took a generous sip.
I told her Mike was still off tracking down the food. "Must be a queue," I said with a shrug.
She gave a small nod, but didn't say anything right away. Then, like it was nothing, she opened her handbag, fished out a small, folded piece of paper, and slipped it under my phone, which was sitting right in front of me on the table.
She did it casually, as if she thought I wouldn't notice -- but from where I was sitting, it couldn't have been more obvious.
I glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She just gave me that sweet, shy smile of hers -- the kind that usually made men forget whatever they were about to say -- and then stood up again.
"I'll just... be inside," she mumbled, and off she went, heading back toward the house.
I stared after her, completely puzzled.
Before I could even lift the phone and see what the note was, Mike returned, balancing three plates of food like a man on a mission.
I smiled, said nothing, and let the mystery sit there for now.
SOPHIE
Okay. I was going to do it.
Mike would get his fantasy.
Or... would he? Could I really go through with it?
My heart was hammering in my chest -- half nerves, half anticipation -- but something had shifted in me. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the warm evening air, the way the stars were just beginning to come out. Maybe it was the look on Mike's face earlier -- hopeful, gentle. Trusting.
There was a little pad and pen next to the telephone in the hall. I hesitated for only a second before scribbling a quick note. Nothing too much -- just enough to tell him where, and what I had in mind.
I'd planned to slip it quietly into his hand when I got back to our table. But he still wasn't there.
Panic flared. What now? Wait for him and risk losing my nerve? What if the moment passed? He didn't even have a jacket I could tuck it into -- typical Mike.
Then I saw his phone sitting on the table in front of George.
It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
Trying to act natural -- though I was certain my cheeks were flaming -- I carefully slid the folded paper beneath the phone. My fingers trembled just a little.
George looked at me -- curious, perhaps even suspicious -- but I just smiled. That smile I always fall back on when I have no idea what else to do.
"I'll just... be inside," I said, barely audible, and turned quickly away.
Back through the doors. Back into the house.
To get ready.
Because... I was really going to do this.
MIKE
The queue for food was longer than I'd expected, and balancing three plates wasn't exactly easy -- especially trying not to spill anything on the smart-casual shirt Sophie insisted I wear.
By the time I made it back to the table, George was alone.
"She popped back," he said, nodding toward the house. "Sophie. Said something about needing to check something. Or maybe she just needed some air."
I glanced around the terrace, puzzled. "Right," I said. "Did she say where she was going?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
Fair enough. Maybe the wine had gone to her head -- she'd been drinking more than usual tonight. I set the plates down, keeping one aside in case she got peckish, and dug into mine.
George reached across the table and picked up his phone. As he did, a small, folded piece of paper slipped out from beneath it.
He paused.
Then, curiously, he opened it.
I watched as his eyes scanned the words. And widened.
For a second, he just stared at the note -- then his mouth tightened slightly, and without a word, he folded it back up and slid it into his pocket.
There was a strange tension in his posture -- like he was holding something back -- but he didn't say anything, and I didn't ask.
We ate in silence for a minute or two, but something had changed. I couldn't put my finger on it.
Just a feeling in the air.
GEORGE
Mike returned, balancing the food like a waiter under pressure, and dropped the plates with a grin.
I nodded, barely registering what he said. My hand moved automatically to my phone... and the paper beneath it.
I picked it up.
Unfolded it.
Read it.
Argyle Room, upstairs. 15 minutes. I want you to make love to me. Lock the door and DO NOT SPEAK.
My breath caught.
Sophie.
Sophie had written that?
Sophie -- Mike's wife. The quiet one. The sweet, blushing, demure Sophie who always looked like she'd stepped out of a Jane Austen novel and into the wrong century.
I stared at the note, hoping it would vanish. That it had meant something else. A prank. A misunderstanding. Anything.
But it was her handwriting. And it was deliberate.
I should have said something.
To Mike. To her. To anyone.
Instead, I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket before Mike could notice.
He was busy with his plate, unaware. Not a flicker of suspicion on his face.
Was he in on it? Some elaborate fantasy? But no... he looked too casual. Too normal. If this was a game between them, he was the best actor I'd ever seen.
So, what was this? An accident? A mistake?
Did she think she was writing to someone else?
No.
She placed the note directly under my phone.
It was meant for me.
I should have shut it all down. Walked away. Said something clever and principled.
But I didn't.
I told myself I wouldn't go upstairs.
Then I told myself I just wanted to see if it was real.
Then I told myself I'd stop it -- stop her -- if anything actually happened.
But as I stood up, heart pounding, each step toward the house whispered what I didn't want to admit.
I was lying to myself.
SOPHIE
I made my way back upstairs, heart hammering like I'd just run a mile.
Into the Argyle Room.
No turning back now.
I'd written the note. Given him directions. He'd find me. He would. And when he did, this would be his fantasy... our fantasy, I guess, now.
I was trembling, but not entirely from fear.
There was a strange kind of thrill running through me -- hotter than the wine, deeper than nerves.
I was actually doing this.
But still... I was me. Shy. Embarrassed. Even with Mike, I'd never really shaken that part of myself. I almost never spoke when we made love -- couldn't. My voice would catch; my face would burn. It was always this mix of love and fear.
So that's why I added it to the note. "DO NOT SPEAK."
Mike would understand.
He always understood me.
The balcony doors opened with a soft creak, and I stepped out. The evening air was still warm, heavy with the scent of the gardens below. It was... beautiful. Quiet. Private. Perfect.
I had to make it look right. Sexy, but still... recoverable, in case someone else walked in. I had a plan for that.
I hesitated just a second, cheeks flushing even though I was alone.
Then I hooked my thumbs into my panties, slid them down, and laid them gently over the back of the chair.
My heart thundered.
I walked to the balustrade and rested my elbows on it, looking out, pretending to admire the view -- the fountains, the lights, the distant hum of party conversation.
That was the scene.
If I heard the door lock and silence... it was Mike.
If the door didn't lock -- or someone spoke -- I'd know it wasn't him. I could spin it, play it off. It'd be mortifying, sure, but survivable.
But it would be him.
He'd walk in, lock the door, see me just like this -- and know what I was offering. Know I was ready.
Ready for him.
My legs were shaking slightly, my breath shallow.
And I waited.
MIKE
George wasn't eating much. Just sort of stirring things around his plate, clearly distracted.
Not like him.
And still no sign of Sophie.
I asked again if he knew where she'd gone. He shook his head and said no, like before, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere.
Then he offered to go find her.
I appreciated that -- I mean, he wasn't exactly mid-mouthful, and I was still pretty hungry. Sophie had said she didn't want anything, but I'd grabbed her a plate anyway.
She was probably just exploring the house or freshening up. Not like she was the life of the party type -- more likely she'd found a quiet corner to decompress.
I tucked into the food. It was good. And George, well, maybe he just wasn't used to wine in the heat.
She'd be back in a minute. I wasn't worried.
GEORGE
I climbed the stairs slowly, telling myself I was just going to check everything was alright.
I found the room easily -- the "Argyle Room" was marked with a brass plaque. My hand hesitated on the door handle, but I pushed it open gently.
The room was dim, the last light of day filtering in through the open balcony doors. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but then I saw her.
Sophie.
She was out on the balcony, silhouetted in the warm light, a figure in white -- just as I'd seen her earlier. She was leaning over the balustrade, arms resting on it, her back to me.
I swear, my intention was to say something. To ask, "Sophie, what's going on?" To stop this before it started.
But I didn't.
Instead, almost as if in a trance, I did exactly what the note told me to do. I quietly shut the door and turned the lock.
And then I walked toward her.
The evening breeze caught the edge of her skirt for a moment, lifting it ever so slightly.
And that's when I saw -- she wasn't wearing anything underneath. A glimpse of what was between her legs and then it was gone.
My breath caught.
Wow.
SOPHIE
I heard the door open behind me.
My breath caught.
Was it him?
Please let it be him.
I'd written it clearly -- lock the door and say nothing -- but what if someone else found the note? What if--
Then... a pause.
Seconds dragged.
My heart thudded against my ribs, every nerve on edge.
Click.
The door locked.
Relief surged through me, tangled with something else -- excitement, stronger than I'd expected.
It was Mike.
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.
Slowly, I leaned forward over the balustrade, just as I'd planned and closed my eyes.
I was ready.
I had never felt this worked up before -- not like this. The thrill, the risk, the wine, the way the air felt against my skin. Every nerve was lit.
When he came up behind me, I felt him press close, his body warm, urgent. I could feel his appendage through the thin skirt. His hands found their way under my top, fingers tracing over my breasts slowly, deliberately. As they reached my nipples, I arched into his touch without thinking -- it felt too good not to.
I couldn't hold back the soft sounds escaping me. I'd been ready long before he entered the room, but now... I was aching for it.
After a moment, he moved behind me -- I heard the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet pause of anticipation. Then his hands were on my thighs, strong, certain.
And then -- he eased himself inside me. I gasped as he filled me, and I leaned forward, steadying myself against the balcony rail.
Everything else fell away. There was just this: the night air, the stars, and us.
GEORGE
I don't think I'd ever been that aroused in my life. I would never have guessed Sophie capable of this. I pressed an erection like I couldn't remember having before into her ass. The tension, the surprise, the sheer beauty of her -- it all crashed over me at once.
I reached up under her and explored her body, almost reverently at first, before instinct took over and I reached her boobs. I rubbed, pinched, and tried to fuel her passion, but really there was no need. She was already there. I let go, reluctantly of her tits and lifted the hem of her skirt, letting it rest against her back, revealing her gorgeous, petite ass and a beautiful slit, wet and waiting.
I couldn't wait any longer and stepped back, quickly undoing my belt and dropping my pants to the floor. I placed my cock at her entrance and slowly, savouring the sight of me, sliding myself into Sophie's pussy.
I moved into a gentle rhythm, and she responded immediately, her body pressing back into mine in perfect rhythm. There was no hesitation, no resistance -- only heat, and a shared momentum.
I lost myself in it. All I could think of and all I could see was my cock thrusting inside the most beautiful woman I knew. I wanted to savour it, to make it last but knew I couldn't hold back. I was gripping hips now, stabbing her pussy with as much force as I could muster and when I came, it overtook me completely - a deep, shuddering rush I hadn't felt in years.
And then... silence. Just the sound of our breathing and the whisper of the night air. We didn't move, me inside her, still holding her waist.
SOPHIE
With every movement, I felt myself slipping deeper into the moment. Mike was more passionate than I'd ever known him. There was a raw urgency in the way he held me, moved with me, like something had been building for a long time.
His rhythm quickened, each thrust more intense than the last. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the heat, by the sheer abandon of it. It was exhilarating. Liberating.
As his movements got harder and deeper, I realised he wasn't far away from finishing. One hard thrust made me open my eyes and I looked out towards the garden.
Through the blur of pleasure and the slight haze of wine, my eyes focused on a figure in the garden. Mike. Walking across the lawn, clearly searching.
The shock should have stopped me. It should have broken the spell. But instead... my body betrayed me. I didn't want to stop. The rush of feeling drowned out my thoughts.
But as the man behind me released his seed into me, a single, breathless question cut through my daze --
Who was making love to me?
GEORGE
I stayed there for a few lingering moments, not moving, just holding onto the warmth and closeness. There was something tender in the stillness -- something I hadn't felt in an extraordinarily long time.
Leaning forward, with my cock still inside her, I embraced her, whispering, barely above a breath, "You are the most beautiful and captivating woman I've ever known."
She didn't respond. She remained where she was, leaning on the balustrade. Quiet, thoughtful, or perhaps just overwhelmed.
Taking the silence as a hint, I gently stepped back and regretfully pulled myself out of her. My eyes never leaving her pussy, cum leaking out of it, I began to pull myself together, pulling up my pants.
Gazing at her one last time, bent over, still showing me what I had just experienced. I leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her neck -- not demanding, just... grateful. Then, without another word, I turned and slipped quietly through the door, taking one last glance at her as I did.
SOPHIE
That voice.
I knew it instantly.
George.
Not Mike. Not my husband.
I had just let George have sex with me.
Worse -- I hadn't stopped him.
Worse than that -- I'd enjoyed it.
And if I was being brutally honest... it might have been the most thrilling sex I'd ever had.
What the hell had I done?
George spoke to me. What he said I can't remember. I can remember the feeling as he gently pulled out of me. I couldn't look at George. I just stayed there, leaving myself exposed to him, hoping he would go.
It felt an age, but eventually he did.
I took several long moments to compose myself, smoothing my skirt, brushing my hair back, trying to look... normal.
But nothing felt normal now.
I had to face Mike. And pray George wouldn't say a word.
Bathroom - I needed the bathroom.
When I got downstairs, I found Mike. Smiling. Clueless.
I forced a smile and said, "Can we go home?"
He looked surprised -- maybe a little disappointed -- but he nodded.
"Sure," he said.
And just like that, we left.
MIKE
When Sophie came back and asked if we could go home, I was a little disappointed -- though not surprised.
She looked flushed, like something had stirred in her, but I figured the wine, and the attention had just overwhelmed her in the end.
Still, a part of me had hoped... maybe tonight would be the night she'd go through with it.
Her fantasy, my fantasy -- our fantasy.
But no. Not this time.
That was okay. Just seeing her try -- letting go a little, dancing, wearing what she wore -- that was already more than I expected.
And who knows? Maybe next time.
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