Rich, Beautiful and Bored

Alexis stirs from her chaise like a cat that just remembered it owns the house. Hubby’s yacht is off slicing the horizon again, and the only living soul left inside these marble walls is the butler. Perfect. Her cunt’s already plotting. She slips a manicured hand under silk, gives her clit one lazy circle and feels the whole day tilt in her favor. He steps in with the afternoon post. She spreads her knees, cunt glistening like a dare. He reads the mood in half a heartbeat, kneels like he’s been doing it his whole life, and drags a slow, silky tongue right up the center of her. She laughs—low, dirty, a puff of heat that turns into a moan when he latches on and sucks. Her thighs clap the sides of his head; he answers by sliding two thick fingers inside, crooking them just so. She comes fast the first time, a fast little hiccup of noise that rattles a chandelier. Then she hooks a heel behind his neck, drags him up, and reaches between them to haul his cock free. It slaps heavy into her palm, already sticky at the tip. One downward shove and he’s in to the hilt, that gorgeous stretch lighting her nerves like a fuse. He fucks her like he’s learned every angle of her body: steady, deep, not too gentle. She pins his wrists above her head just to feel the power reverse for a heartbeat, then surrenders it again when another orgasm rolls through. They’re a mess of sweat and lace before the sun moves an inch. She smears his spend across her stomach, tastes it off her thumb, and grins when his cock twitches again. Boredom? Problem solved—at least until tomorrow.