My Raw First Fuck with Louis: From pious Wife to Hotel Slut

Heart pounding, I slip into Louis’s car on the Novotel Alma parking lot at 2 PM sharp. No kiss, no touch—public eyes everywhere. My phone buzzes in my purse, probably Jean-Claude checking on the girls. I ignore it, hand him the room key. He parks, vanishes for minutes that stretch like hours. I sit on the bed, hands clasped, skirt ironed straight, silk scarf hiding my cleavage. Smell of his cologne hits first when he enters—musky, invading. ‘You happy now? You got me here,’ I snap, defensive, legs crossed tight.

He sits close, murmurs how my pert nose, silver-streaked hair, dark eyes hooked him. Lies, sweet ones. Weeks of his calls drilled into me: why me, not hotter women? I spill—Jean-Claude’s the only cock I’ve known, two lazy fucks a month. No pill, fertile as hell. ‘Don’t cum inside, Louis. Please.’ Tension coils. He kisses me soft. I melt, lie back, arm over eyes. He peels my blouse, skirt, stockings slow. My small tits out, brown nipples hard despite myself. Panties cling damp. Naked shame floods me—pious catechism teacher, spread wide for the treasurer.

The Approach: Parking Lot Tension

First fuck’s mechanical. Missionary, eyes locked, his thick head nudges in. I hold his face, guide the rhythm. Gentle thrusts build, my pussy grips reluctant. Soft orgasm whispers out, clit throbbing faint. He pulls out fast, spurts hot ropes on my belly. I shower quick, robe tight, rage boils. ‘You happy, you bastard? Fucked the faithful wife in this shit motel. Bragging to friends now?’ Hour of venom—my betrayal, his sleaze, marriage vows shattered. Phone vibrates again—school pickup looming.

The Explosion: Savage Release

He lounges naked, cock twitching half-hard. I lean for a cold peck goodbye. His hand snakes under my skirt, fingers trace thigh up to soaked lips. I freeze, breath hitches, knees part instinctive. Eyes glaze—can’t stop him. He shoves me down, flips me ass-up on the bed. Skirt hiked, panties yanked aside. No prep, just slams in deep. ‘Fuck, Annick, so tight,’ he growls. I gasp sharp, pain-lust mix. Vigorous pumps stretch me wide, balls slap wet. Finger probes my asshole—taboo shock. I buck, moan like the whore in my fantasies. Arms buckle, face smooshed in sheets, ass high. Pungent musk rises, pussy clenches hard. Orgasms rip—waves crashing, voice breaks raw.

He yanks out, jets cum into my pubes, soaking panties. We pant glued, sweat-slick. I stuff tissues in like a pad, skirt down. ‘Gotta go, Louis.’ Distant kiss, door clicks shut. Back in car, engine hums, I speed home. Scarf retied, face composed. By pickup line, I’m saintly mom again. Phone silent now. No texts to him. Craving lingers, but guilt walls it up. Just once? Lies—I ache already.