Chagrin? Sequel to ‘Regrets’ – No. 15256

Summer heat sticks to my skin. Baby Daniel babbles in the garden, Gaby chatting, Joe sipping beer. Then he shows up—Al Duclos, towering over 1.90m, broad shoulders straining his shirt. Thirties, solid as fuck, that toolbox clinking like a promise. My pulse hammers. It’s him, the ex I ditched after that wedding shitshow, the one whose cock I felt grinding once but never tasted.

Families mingle, laughs echo. His eyes rake my tits, same hungry stare from years back. ‘Hey Marie, looking good,’ he growls low, breath hot with factory sweat and cheap aftershave. I cross legs, pussy twitching under my thin dress. No bra today—stupid heat. We chat bullshit: village days, his lonely nights at the workers’ dorm. Toolbox? ‘Just in case,’ he winks. Tension coils tight. Jean’s car will rumble soon, that distinct two CV growl.

The Approach

Joe pulls me aside for house talk. Al lingers, toolbox down. Baby fusses—I scoop Daniel, head inside to kitchen. Al follows. ‘Quick drink?’ Door half-shut, families outside. I grab liqueurs, hands shaky. Pour two shots, amber liquid glugs. Glasses clink. His fingers brush mine—electric. ‘Missed this,’ he says, voice gravel. I sip, burn down throat. His scent hits: musk, metal, man. Pussy lips slick now. Days of nothing with Jean’s tender shit—I crave brute. ‘We can’t,’ I whisper, but lean in. He smirks. ‘Bullshit. You want it.’ Heart pounds. Clock ticks. Jean’s close.

He pins me to sink edge. Mouth crashes mine, tongue invading rough. Tastes like beer and lust. Hands yank dress up—no panties, thank fuck. Fingers dive in, two thick ones knuckle-deep in my dripping cunt. ‘So wet, slut. Knew you’d spread.’ I gasp, grind back. ‘Shut up, fuck me quick.’ Toolbox rattles—he flips it open, grabs rag? No, just shoves me onto table. Legs splay wide. His belt clangs undone. Cock springs: thick, veined, nine inches throbbing. Pre-cum beads. ‘Suck it,’ he grunts. I drop, lips stretch around head. Salty, musky. Gulp half, gag, slobber. He fists hair, fucks throat shallow. ‘Good girl, Marie. Hubby’s dick too small?’

The Explosion

Pulls out, strings spit. Spins me, bends over table. Slaps ass—sting blooms. Cockhead nudges slit. ‘Beg.’ ‘Please, Al, ram it in. Stretch my married pussy.’ One brutal thrust—holy shit, splits me open. Walls clench, juices squelch. Pounds savage, balls slap clit. Table creaks, glasses rattle. ‘Take it, whore. This what you need?’ ‘Yes! Harder, fuck—ruin me!’ Nipples scrape wood, tits bounce wild. Sweat drips, mixes with my cream running thighs. His grunts animal, hips piston. Thumb circles asshole—dirty promise. Orgasm builds, coiling vicious. ‘Gonna cum—fill me!’ He roars, cock swells, hot jets blast cervix. I shatter, pussy spasms, squirting mess. Waves crash, vision whites.

Pulls out, cum leaks down legs. Pants up fast. I straighten dress, wipe table hasty—smears linger. Liqueur glasses to sink, rinse quick. Face flushed, hair mussed. Hear the car—Jean’s here. Al grabs toolbox, slips garden door. I’m at table, dreamy mask on. Daniel on lap. Heart still jackhammers, pussy throbs sore, full. Jean walks in, kisses cheek—cool. I smile, hide the fire. Stranger again. He gone, just thrill echoes. No regrets. Yet.