Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica - Giselle Renarde - ebook
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Love is complicated. Sometimes the most passionate love affairs take place with partners who are strictly forbidden. Infidelity can be driven by mutual attraction, money, desire, want of attention or even sheer hatred. In this collection, read Giselle Renarde’s top ten favourite tales of adultery, hand-picked by the author. Whether the sex is angry or loving, spontaneous or carefully planned, the characters all have one thing in common: they’re sleeping with someone they shouldn’t—and it’s hot as hell!

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Giselle Renarde Erotica

Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica© 2017 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover design © 2017 Giselle Renarde

First Edition2017

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica

10 Tales of Forbidden Love

By

Giselle Renarde

Table of Contents

If You Know Where To Look

I DidYou Wrong

The Falls

Suffer

The Therapist and the Whore

Show No Mercy

Artists’ Wives

TheOtherOther Woman

Burgundy Ropes and Voltaire

Good Neighbours

IfYouKnowWhere ToLook

I hate being here.

I hate sleeping in this bed, Clark’s marriage bed, sleeping on his wife’s side while she’s away on business, waking up face to face with the knick-knacks and nail polish on her bedside table.

And the baby oil!  Why wouldn’t Clark have put that away before I came?  Why the hell would I want to be reminded that he has sex with her too? 

More puzzlingly, why do I jump at every opportunity to stay the night?

Well, that question has an easy answer: it’s the wake-up call that keeps me coming back.  It’s his arms circling my body before the sun comes up, when I’m still warm with sleep.  He kisses my shoulder, walks his fingers down my belly, and I’m sold.  I’ll put up with any amount of heartacheifit means getting fucked first thing in the morning.

My pussy’s never wet when he finds it, so Clark burrows under the covers to turn me on in the most efficient way possible.  Spreading my legs, he situates himself between them and dives at the apex of my thighs.  I don’tknowhow he finds my clit in the dark, but his tongue zeroes in on it so fast it makes my head spin.

I’m dizzy with sleep, wanting the pleasure without the work, and heknowsthat.  He licks my pussy languorously as first, careful not to hurl me over the edge too quickly.  Every slow, wet caress makes me moan, mumble, like I’m talking in my sleep.  I’m telling him, “More, more,” and that’s what he gives me.

His saliva drips down my crack, wetting my asshole before dripping against the sheets.  He’ll have to wash them before his wife comes home, but I don’t want to think about that right now.  I wish I hadn’t thought that thought at all, and I close my eyes, focus on the sensation of Clark’s hot tongue against my pussy.

He sucks my clit and I arch off the mattress, gasping, astounded by the depth of pleasure.  There’s no preparing for a sensation like that—youjust have to take it.  The outline of his head between my thighs, like a crystal ball draped in bed covers, makes me laugh, and that feels good too.  My laughter becomes conflated with the orgasm sitting like a buzzing weight in my belly. It pushes me closer to the edge.

Pressing my heels into the fitted sheet, I writhe against Clark’s face, against the forceful warmth of his velvet tongue.  It feels good to move, and when he cups my ass cheeks with both hands, I ride his mouth in furious strokes.  His stubble stingsifI push too hard, but I don’t care right now, evenifI have to pay for it later.  I fuck his face hard, pushing my clit flush to his tongue, making myself come so hard I scream his name.

“Shh!” he says, digging out from under the covers.  “Quiet, Beck.  The window’s open.”

God forbid the neighbours should hear.

“Fuck me,” I plead, growling the words. I roll onto my front because I don’t want to do a goddamn thing.  I want him to straddle my ass, plunge his cock inside my cunt, and ram me from behind.

Since I give him no other option, that’s what he does.  His erection flirts with my ass crack as he finds his way down there, searching through all that juice for the warmth of my pussy.  I’m so wet that he enters me in one swift move, an intrepid arch forward.  His muscular thighs clamp down against mine, and Iknowhow tight I must feel to him now. 

I compress my pussy muscles, milking his dick. He moans, collapsing on my back.  He’s hot and hard, covered in a slick sheen of morning sweat. His face is in the crook of my neck.  I feel the heat of his breath trapped in my long black hair.  It’s a curtain across my face and I can’t see a thing, but I don’t need to.  All I need is to feel Clark moving inside me, that fat dick pulsing in my pussy with every thrust.

He’s grunting and yelping in alternation. Iknowwhat this means.  He’s going to come soon. I want to be there to greet him, so I push my ass back into the saddle of his hips.  There’s just enough room for him to reach under my body and play with my clit, which is aching even though I had an orgasm not five minutes ago.  I can come until it hurts, and with Clark I often do.

Mashing his finger against my pulpy wet clit, Clark fucks me in smooth thrusts and then jerky shoves.  His cock feels huge inside my cunt, and I tighten every muscle in my body, which makes my clit itch for release.

He’s almost there and I’m close too.  I’m squealing into the pillow, whipping my hair away, trying to see and not see.  I can’t keep still.  I buck back against him while he rams me and scours my hot clit. I’m so close I can barely breathe.  There’s hair in my mouth and I try to spit it out, which seems to make my pussy clamp down on Clark’s dick.  Who knew?

“Yeah, Becky.”  He’s whining against my ear, so hot, so wet.  His words are everywhere.  “Fuck yeah, Beck.”

I growl, shoving my ass back against his body, milking his cock with all I’ve got while he squeezes my mound, compressing my clit.

The syllables that tumble out of my mouth don’t make any sense, but I’m sure Clark’s coming too hard to hear me anyway.

My heart is pounding in my ears and his heart is pounding against my back.  He lies on top of me, dead weight.  I’m moaning, more nonsense syllables, but he doesn’t scold me for the noise this time.

I’m dazed and, for the moment, I feel no pain.  Everything is good.  This is what I live for.

Time goes by, and Clark pulls out of me, leaving a hot trail of cum down my thigh.  He walks to the bathroom and I open my eyes and it hits me all over again: the bedside table, the nail polish, the knick-knacks, the baby oil.

Every time I spend the night here, I want to leave something of myself hidden in plain sight.  Maybe a lip gloss or a bracelet or a hair elastic—Clark’s wife has short hair, so she’llknowit isn’t hers.  I want her to find this little piece of me and take it in her hands andlookat it, then call out, “Where did this come from?”  And evenifshe doesn’t ask the question, she’llknowit came from me.  Not me specifically, maybe, but some sort of “me,” some girl that isn’t her.

Mother Bear says, “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”

The shower hisses on, and I roll out from under the covers.  Sure Clark came not long ago, butifI suck him he’ll get hard enough to fuck me again.  Iknowthis from experience.

As I cross the threshold into the bathroom, I remember all the times I’ve lathered my hair withhershampoo and softened it withherconditioner, all the times I’ve rinsed those products out under the flow of that brushed nickel showerhead. It occurs to me that every time I’ve been here, I’ve left a bit of myself behind: I’ve left thick strands of my long black hair in the drain.  I doubtifClark thinks to clean it after I’ve gone.

I’m here, Clark’s wife.  I’m here,ifyouknowwhere tolook.

I DidYou Wrong

“This isn’t a social call,” I told Antonia. I walked into her house without waiting for an invitation. “Gerry’s not home, is he?”

“No…” She stood beside the open door, slack-jawed. “Imogen? It’s been years.”

“I know. I’m a jerk.”

“I… huh.”

Antonia obviously didn’t know what to say, but, hell, neither did I. Leaning against the wall, I untied my shoes and slipped them off.Years—she was right. I hadn’t been to Gerry’s house in… years.

Wandering into the kitchen, I touched the familiar magnets on the fridge, then the stained-glass bluebird hanging in the window. It was a part of me, this place.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Antonia asked.

I laughed, because I felt so sorry for her. She was a ball of confusion, and I wasn’t helping. So I just came right out and said it. “I slept with Gerry.”

Her expression hardened. She stared right through me, like I blended into the chicken-and-egg wallpaper.

I said, “I’m sorry.”

“When?”

“When did I sleep with him?”

“Yes.”

“A long time ago. Years.”

Antonia opened the fridge and looked inside. “Where?”

“Here.”

“Oh.” She pulled out a pint of blueberries. “Have some of these. They’re washed.”

Antonia brought the blueberries to her small kitchen table and I sat with her. We popped berries into our mouths. For a while, we didn’t talk.

“If it happened so long ago, why are you telling me now?”

Good question. “I still feel bad about it. Feel like I did you wrong.”

“And you think confessing will absolve you of your guilt?”

“Sure hope so.”

A lopsided smirk broke across her lips, and it put me at ease. I watched her gaze cycle from fixed to far, far away, like she was trying to figure out how to react, or what to ask. I ate more blueberries while I waited.

“How old were you?”

“Young,” I said. “Like, nineteen, twenty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, thirty.”

She chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”

“Yeah.”

Except I really was. If I had to guess, I’d say Antonia was closer to mid-forties. Her husband was even older. He’d been almost fifty when I slept with him, which would make him almost sixty now. Wow. What a thought.

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “There’s something very alluring about Gerry.”

It surprised me, when she said that. Gerry told me his wife hadn’t wanted sex in ages, and that was a decade ago. Could I ask? Would that be too rude? Antonia would probably be embarrassed that her husband told other people such intimate details of their life together.

But I couldn’t help myself. “Gerry said you didn’t sleep together at all. I felt sorry for him.”

“Ah. True. After the first couple years, we just… stopped.”

“I always wondered if you were a lesbian and you just married him for money or whatever.”

Antonia’s expression went blank, and I knew I shouldn’t have said that. Too much. I always did stuff like that, went overboard, said the wrong thing. She rose from the table and walked to the front door. I was sure she’d kick me out. I deserved to be kicked out. But instead of giving me the boot, she flipped the lock.

Stepping up the hardwood stairs, Antonia asked, “Are you coming?”

I crept out of the kitchen, following her voice. “Coming where?”

“Upstairs.”

“Up…” I blinked. “…stairs?”

She ascended like a spectre. She should have been dressed all in white. Then she’d have looked like one of those Fine Lady ghosts who haunt castles in Europe.

“You want to absolve your guilt,” she said without looking back. “So come.”

“Oh…”

My feet followed Antonia, and my legs followed my feet. What was this? Tit for tat? If Gerry gets to cheat, then so does his wife?

“Are you gonna tell him?” I asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“I guess that depends.”

She walked into their bedroom, and then turned to face me. “Depends on…?”

This room.This wasthe room. It looked exactly as it had ten years ago: same curtains, same trinkets, same poppy-patterned bedspread.Same me. No, not true. I’d changed.

I’d changed, and yet there I stood in the threshold of a married couple’s bedroom. Weakness was in my blood—a sad inheritance, particularly when paired with overwhelming guilt. If I could find a way to absolve my sins, I’d be set for life.

“You were right about one thing.” Antonia sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her. “And it’s not that I married Gerry for his money. I was really drawn to him, when we met. Iwas. But tastes change, after a time.”

“That’s true,” I said, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m much less interested in guys than I was ten years ago. Hardly ever date them anymore.”

When Antonia nodded, her chestnut curls danced against her shoulders. “Women now?”

“Mostly.”

A dimple sweetened her smile. How could Gerry cheat on such a beautiful woman?

“You’re really not mad that I had sex with your husband… in your bed?”

“Imogen!” Antonia snapped. Closing her eyes, she took a long breath. “Please.”

Fuck. I was ruining everything.

While Antonia clutched her collar, I sat on the squeaky wooden chair by her dressing table. I hadn’t felt truly uncomfortable until that moment. She hadn’t reacted at all as I’d expected. Why wasn’t she screaming at me, or smacking me… or spanking me?

“I’ve never…” Antonia’s eyes opened. She bit her lip. “I’ve wanted to. I never knew where to go, or who to ask,howto ask…”

Somehow, in that jumble of words, her meaning solidified in my mind, like a sugar crystals. I told her, “You don’t have to ask.”

I came to her poppy-covered bed, just like I’d done ten years before. Weird. Deja-vu. Except this time it wasn’t Gerry unbuttoning his shirt as I approached. This time, his beautiful wife’s fingers quivered against her buttons.

“It’s okay,” I said, brushing her hands away. “I’ll do it.”

The expression of relief that crossed her face spread like warmth through my body. I unbuttoned her top

“I feel like I shouldn’t be…”

“Be what?”

“Making you do this.”

“You’re notmakingme. Iwantto.” I smiled, but she didn’t seem to believe me, even when I said, “I wantyou.”

Her incredulousness didn’t waver until my lips found her neck. That’s when her body gave up being nervous. She melted in my arms as I traced my tongue up her sweet skin. What was I tasting? Perfume? Body wash? Bath oil? It tasted as gorgeous as she looked, and she shivered when I licked her.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she whispered. “But secretly.”

“You never told Gerry?” I asked as I slid her top from her shoulders.

“No.”

Her black lace bra was more than eager to hit the floor. Once I’d gotten rid of it, I bowed to her heavy breasts, pressing my face between them. “He’d probably have a field day if we let him watch.”

Antonia dug her nails into my shoulders. “I’m not sure I want him finding out about this.”

“Okay. I won’t tell.” I struggled toward her breasts. “I never talk to him, anyway.”

She released her hold on me, and my face plunged between her breasts. I held them in my hands, savouring their weight. Her dark nipples pebbled, calling for my tongue.

“What about me?” she asked. “Will you talk to me after we’re done?”

Of course I would—I liked her a lot—but her breasts were too tempting. My words fell away when my tongue met her pursed tits. I couldn’t choose just one. I licked back and forth between the two, making her weak. Her half-dressed body flattened against the mattress as I suckled gently.

Girls always told me how good I was at sucking tits. Some mouths were too eager. Some went at it too forcefully. Not mine. My mouth worked wet velvet magic on a breast. I knew Antonia would like it.

And my wet velvet magic wasn’t reserved just for breasts.

She pushed on the waist of her black gaucho pants, and I pulled them off. Her panties came down her thighs, tumbling past her calves, hanging from one toe. I spread her legs and carved a path between them. Her cunt smelled heavy and hot as I ran my hands through her bush. When I pulled her hair, she whimpered, but she didn’t say no.

Parting her pussy lips, I bowed between her thighs. Her musk took over. I couldn’t think. My tongue found the jewel of her clit, and she gasped. I didn’t mean to start there, but my mouth had a mind of its own.

“That feels amazing.” Antonia cupped her big tits, squeezed them together. “Don’t stop.”

Holding her pussy lips open with my thumbs, I bent lower and licked her slit. “Wow, you’re so wet.”

“Oh.” She seemed pleased. And surprised. “It must be you.”

“You’ve got a beautiful pussy,” I told her.

Her eyes glistened as I held her gaze. Even as I licked her, slowly, I didn’t look away. I wanted to see her pleasure, see her gratitude and her joy. I wanted to watch the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whimpered, running her long fingers through my hair.

I didn’t say a thing, just kept licking her clit. My tongue took over after my jaw hit the wall. I’m not sure how it continued to lap at her cunt when I was beyond exhaustion, but I felt a tad possessed. Some force had taken over to pleasure her. It wasn’t me anymore.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Oh god, that feels so nice.”

Planting my face against her splayed pussy lips, I sucked her engorged clit right into my mouth. It throbbed against my tongue like a drum beat, incessant and determined. It wanted me. It wanted more.

“Don’t stop!” Her fingers curled around my hair, tightening enough to pinch my scalp. It hurt, but I deserved to be hurt.

Pressing her pussy lips together, I crushed her clit. Her body writhed on the bed as her raw bud popped out, looking for more. I pressed my face to her mound, stroking her with my chin, my cheeks, my wet lips. Her juices coated me, like a trail of the places she’d been. Her pussy felt so hot against my skin. Hotter than hell.

“Please, please, please,” she begged. “Make me come. Make me come now. I can’t wait any longer.”

She’d waited long enough—I wanted to tell her that, but I couldn’t steal my mouth away from her cunt. The musky taste wore off, leaving only the sweet. Her pussy was my candy, and I swallowed gush after gush of fluid.

Her belly quivered. Her eyes clenched shut. She was coming in absolute silence. All I could do was encourage the orgasm by licking her, sucking her, rubbing my face against her mound until she’d had too much and pushed me away.

Kneeling beside her on the bed, I watched her chest rise and fall. She tossed one arm across her face and let out a moan that might have sounded pained in any other context. I traced my fingers gently between her breasts. She giggled when I got to her belly.

“I thought you’d never forgive me,” I said.

Without opening her eyes, she replied, “You knew I would, or you’d never have come.”

That was true. How did she know me so well? Or was I just that transparent?

“All these years I’ve been feeling guilty about what happened with Gerry. Now I’ll probably spend the next ten years feeling guilty about what just happened with you.”

“No you won’t.” Antonia opened her eyes as the front door clicked and the hinges squealed. “You won’t have the luxury of waiting ten years to confess.”