What the hell was I even doing here? Me, the dutiful wife, the mother of two, the one who opens the wine at five o’clock on the dot because the day was so long—I was standing in my neighbour’s cellar, sniffing a Cabernet as if my life depended on it. And I knew full well it wasn’t about the wine. It was about him. It was about this goddamn Lukas with his dark eyes and his hands that held wine bottles as if they were lovers. I stood there, in my red dress that stretched over my curves, and felt my cunt already growing damp beneath the thin fabric. Just like that. Because he was looking at me.
Lukas had asked me a week ago if I could help him sort his collection. We’d been neighbours for five years. He and his wife Clara, me and Thomas—we met for barbecues, exchanged gardening tips over the fence, nodded to each other when one of us took out the trash. Normal. Proper. Until this moment. Until I stood here, in this goddamn cellar, surrounded by bottles that smelled of dust and grapes, and felt my nipples stiffen under my dress the moment he came near me.
“Try this one,” he said, handing me a glass. His fingers brushed mine, a touch that burned like an electric spark into my arm. I sipped; the wine was heavy and velvety, with a note of black cherries and something smoky. “Good,” I forced out. My voice sounded hoarse because at the same time I felt my pussy clench. The warmth of the wine spread through my mouth, but what truly aroused me was the shiver that came from his fingers. I couldn’t help it, I had to look at him—and his eyes were already on me, probing, as if he knew what was going on inside me. He knew. I saw it in the way his gaze travelled over my body, how it lingered on my breasts, which rose and fell beneath the red fabric because I was breathing faster.
The First Touch
He stood so close that I could smell the scent of soap and something woody on him. His shirt stretched across his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I saw the fine hairs on his forearms, the way his hands held the glass—steady, but gentle. And I thought about how those hands might glide over me, how they would part my thighs, how they would enter me. The thought made me shiver. “You’re trembling,” he said softly. I laughed nervously. “It’s cool down here.” But we both knew it wasn’t the cold. A longing I hadn’t felt in years spread through me—a wild, irrational heat that came straight from my cunt, which was already wet, which yearned for something I didn’t want to admit to myself.
His hand came to rest on mine, which was still clutching the stem. His warmth spread, creeping into my fingers. “It’s not the cold,” he said, and his gaze met mine. In his eyes was something I didn’t want to interpret, but my body understood immediately. A pulse, deep within me, began to throb. The wine suddenly seemed unimportant; all that mattered was the touch of his skin on mine. I could see the veins on the back of his hand, faintly visible, and I imagined how those veins would pulse if he were inside me. The thought made me even wetter. I felt my underwear soak with moisture, the fabric nestling between my labia.
I closed my eyes. This was insane. Thomas would be home in two hours, Clara was away for the weekend. We were alone, in this cool, dark cellar, surrounded by bottles sleeping in their racks. And I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine. “Lukas…,” I whispered, a warning neither of us took seriously. He leaned in, his breath brushing my mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it since you walked in here,” he confessed. “Your dress, that color—like red wine. I couldn’t see anything else all evening. And I imagined taking it off you. Laying you down on that damn sofa and taking you until you scream.” His voice was rough, full of suppressed desire, and each word made me even more sharp-tongued.
His lips touched mine, soft and hesitant, as if he didn’t trust himself. But I returned the kiss, greedy, hungry. My hand let go of the glass—it didn’t clink; I had set it on a shelf without noticing—and reached into his hair. It was thick, with gray strands at the temples that made him look tired and wise. His tongue found mine, and I let out a soft moan. The kiss deepened, became more demanding. My breasts pressed against his chest, and I felt my nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of the dress, rubbing against the cloth, each breath pushing them against his chest. He pulled me closer, one hand sliding down my back to the curves of my ass. He pressed me against him, and I felt his arousal, a firm pressure against my stomach. His cock, stiff and long, pushed against the fabric of his trousers, and I could make out its contour, its length, its width. My mouth went dry. I wanted to feel him, inside me, deep inside me.
His hand wandered further, gripping my ass, pressing me even tighter against him. I felt his fingers dig into the soft flesh, massaging me, pulling me closer to him. “I want you,” he murmured against my neck, his lips tracing a path to my earlobe. “But if you say no, I’ll stop immediately.” His voice was rough, full of suppressed desire. I shivered as his warm breath brushed across my skin. “Say no? That’s the last thing I want,” I whispered back. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he must hear it. My cunt throbbed, a hollow, aching pain that could only be filled when he was inside me.
He laughed softly, a dark sound that echoed inside me. “Good. But here on the floor? That wouldn’t be right for you.” He looked around, as if searching for a better option. I smiled, suddenly bold. “You’d better tell me where the blanket is. It’s cold in here.” My fingers played with the collar of his shirt, and I felt him shudder under my touch. “But I want you on the sofa. I want to feel you beneath me as I enter you.”
He pulled me to a corner where a discarded sofa stood, covered with a coarse linen cloth. I settled onto it, and he knelt before me, his hands on my thighs. The dress was short, just above the knee, and I saw his gaze linger on the strip of bare skin between the hem and the garter. “You’re wearing garters?” he asked, his voice rough. “That’s… incredibly sexy.” His fingers traced the delicate lace, and I gasped sharply. The fabric was thin; I felt the warmth of his fingers through the lace band, stroking me, teasing me.
“Surprised?” I breathed. “They hold better than pantyhose.” But in truth, I had put them on especially for this evening—an unconscious hope, a secret desire. He shook his head. “No. It just drives me crazy.” His fingers stroked the lace band, tugged at it, let it snap against my skin. I flinched, a tingling that shot straight between my legs. “Lukas…” My voice was a moan, a plea, a command.
“Tell me what you want,” he begged. His eyes were dark, his pupils dilated. “I want to hear everything. Every dirty fantasy you’ve had since you walked in here.”
“I want you to take me,” I whispered. “Here. Now. Before I come to my senses again.” My voice trembled, but I meant every word. “I want to feel your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t sit straight tomorrow. I want you to fill my cunt until I scream.” The words poured out of me, dirty, direct, unfiltered. He leaned forward, his lips on my thigh, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment.
His lips moved higher, over the fabric of my panties, which were already damp. His tongue found the wet spot that had already formed, and he pressed it through the cloth against my clitoris. I arched up, a cry escaping me. “Oh, God, Lukas…” His tongue worked through the fabric, a warm, wet pressure that drove me crazy. I felt my labia part, felt the fabric soak up my moisture, felt it push into me, a thin, wet wedge that aroused me even more.
He pulled my panties aside, and his tongue found my bare cunt. The first contact made me cry out. His tongue was warm, wet, skillful. It glided over my labia, parted them, found my clitoris, already hard and swollen. He licked it, a long, slow stroke that made me shudder. “You taste incredible,” he murmured against my pussy. “Sweet and salty. Like the wine, but better.” His tongue dipped into me, a deep, probing thrust that made me lift my hips. “Yes, right there…,” I moaned. “Lick me, Lukas. Lick my cunt until I come.”
He obeyed. His tongue worked into me, out, circled my clitoris, dipped into me again. I felt his hands spread my thighs, felt his fingers dig into my flesh, holding me steady while he licked me. The pressure built, a hot, urgent knot in my belly. “I’m about to come,” I panted. “Oh God, Lukas, I’m about to come…” He licked faster, harder, his tongue penetrating me while his thumb massaged my clitoris. And then I exploded. An orgasm so intense that I held my breath, that raced through my entire body, that made me collapse on the sofa. I felt my cunt clench around his tongue, felt the waves wash through me, felt myself trembling and moaning.
He didn’t give me any time to recover. His hands tugged at my dress, pulling it up until my hips were bare. I heard the zipper of his trousers, the sound of fabric opening. And then I felt him, his cock pressing against my thighs. It was long, thick, the tip already wet from my arousal. He stroked it over my labia, teasing me, making me wait. “Please,” I begged. “Fuck me, Lukas. Now. I want to feel you inside me.”
He entered me, slowly, inch by inch. I felt him push into me, how he filled my tight cunt, how he stretched me. It was a feeling of fullness, of completeness, that I hadn’t felt in years. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, once he was fully inside me. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight and hot.” I felt his cock throb inside me, how it nestled against my walls, how it filled me from within. “Move,” I begged. “Fuck me, Lukas. Hard.”
He began to move, a rhythmic thrusting that pressed me against the sofa. Each thrust drove deep into me, hitting a spot inside me that made my eyes roll back. “Yes, right there,” I moaned. “Hard, Lukas. Fuck me hard.” He obeyed. His thrusts grew faster, harder, his body slamming against mine. I felt his hips beat against me, his sweat drip onto my skin, his panting and groaning. The smell of sex, of sweat, of arousal filled the basement.
I lifted my legs, wrapped them around his hips, pulling him deeper into me. “Yes, that’s good,” I gasped. “Fuck me, Lukas. Fuck me until I can’t think anymore.” He leaned forward, his lips on my mouth as he thrust into me. His tongue found mine, and I sucked on it while I felt him take me. His hand moved between our bodies, found my clit, and began to rub it. The double pressure made me moan. I felt a second orgasm building, faster, more intense than the first.
“Come with me,” he groaned. “Come while I’m inside you. I want to feel you clench around me.” His thrusts grew more erratic, harder, and I felt him on the verge of climax. “Yes, come inside me,” I screamed. “Fill me with your cum. I want to feel it inside me when I go home.” The thought made me explode. An orgasm that shook me, that made me collapse on the sofa, that made my cunt clench around his cock. I felt him come inside me, his cum shooting into me, hot and thick.
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