Milf House Part 2: The Scent of Sex and Coffee

The morning found me bewildered. I woke up because the pillow was hot and damp—as if I was still under his power.

I wasn't praying fervently, like a young nun who had just given a blowjob to a young priest instead of confession and now wants to forget her sin. And fragments of memories were racing through my head: strong hands on my hips, flash—a frame, he moves inside me 🤤, flash—a frame, a hard cock, flash—a frame, a wet, muscular back and hands gripping my hips, flash—a frame, he takes a sip of hot coffee and plunges into my vagina, a hot tongue licking my clit 🤤.

Flash—a frame, outlines

every muscle, breathing tensely beneath the skin.

Flash—a frame, wet bodies and a break from routine: his palm slides down my back, nimble fingers touch all my holes, erogenous zones.

In the room, the scent of his skin mixed with the smell of coffee… The smell of sex and coffee—that's how he smelled, it haunted me.

I had the audacity not to take a shower last night and go to bed with my husband. It was my little rebellion, I was rebelling against a gray life.

I lay there, unable to get up right away: my body was still trembling from yesterday's tension, and my mind was torn between "this can't go on" and "I want to feel that again." On one side—promises of fidelity and a familiar life, on the other—something fresh and forbidden that overturned all my ideas about myself.

With difficulty, I pushed back the blanket, took off my robe, and glanced at myself in the mirror: petite height, a thin waist, gorgeous third-size breasts (the plastic surgeon did a good job), eyes shining, cheeks slightly flushed, lips swollen. In the reflection, I saw not only my familiar face but also a woman whose soul had split in two: one part drawn to desire, the other clinging to honor and dignity.

The kettle was already boiling, and memories surfaced of his slow touches, his brazen gaze, and his hot tongue, igniting the fire of desire. These images would either pierce me with a sweet shiver or sting with a pang of remorse. I understood: it was impossible to erase them now, and I didn't want to!

My lips thickened, my vagina became wet and hot. How am I going to work? It's impossible, and I smiled….

For the first time in a long while, I felt alive, even if captive to a secret.

During the day, the subway was stuffy, and I caught myself mentally comparing the faint smell of public coffee to what lingered in my vagina. At work, I could barely lead the meeting: my thoughts kept returning to him. Everything between my legs clenched. Colleagues noticed my distraction, but I just smiled foolishly in response…

To be continued …..