Poolside Betrayal: My Wild First Anal Hookup at the Party
The party house glowed under spring lights, between Nantes and Saint-Nazaire. I’d arrived with my boyfriend, all innocent in my light dress, lacy panties hugging my hairy pussy. Six months together, no full sex—saving it for marriage, I lied. But I craved more. Phone buzzed in my purse—his text: ‘Dance floor?’. Ignored it. Eyes locked on the loud guy by the pool. Early 20s, cocky, stripping naked, diving in. Huge, thick cock swinging. Poilu but massive. My clit twitched. He climbed out, dripping, no towel. Girls giggled. I stared, cheeks hot, pussy dampening.
He caught my eye, grinned. I laughed at his bravado, heart pounding. Boyfriend dragged me away to the bar. Dumb move. Friend nabbed him—perfect. ‘Gonna dance,’ I whispered, slipping off. Pulse raced. Found the guy on the dance floor. His hands on my hips. Strong grip. Smelled his cologne—musky, manly, mixing with chlorine and sweat. ‘You’re hot,’ he growled. I pressed back, feeling his bulge. No time to waste. Tension built like fire. ‘Upstairs?’ he murmured. Adrenaline surged. This was it—raw sex, first night, no strings. We bolted, my phone vibrating ignored.
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