Sex Stories: Mr. LarsBar's Nut Factory

Summary: Amélie Lacroix was a happily married rich woman with a libido like no other. Her husband Gerard couldn't exactly keep up. This woman was like a black widow spider, consuming her husband day in and out.

Then the day came that Amélie met her husband's assistant. Let's just say she won't be feeling unsatisfied anymore...

Author's Note: A semi incomplete commission. Thought I might as well post it.

*********

Gérard Lacroix's office sat behind a polished dark brown desk, his sharp suit perfectly pressed, and his tie slightly loosened—a concession to the long hours he had spent at work. Papers were scattered across the desk, interspersed with the hum of his laptop and the faint tick of a nearby clock.

Typical office work. Very expensive, very boss-y, very high-class.

Gérard's attention was far from his work.

Since ten minutes ago, his wife was here. 

His wife, Amélie Lacroix, who leaned casually against the edge of his desk, her amazing ass and lithe figure framed by a sleeveless black dress. Sparkles on black, the dress shimmered and clung to her like a second skin. Her dark purple hair was swept over one shoulder, cascading in glossy waves, and her piercing blue eyes seemed to spark with mischief as they locked onto her husband's. She was a vision, an ethereal kind of beauty that left people breathless—a woman who could make cocks rocket to attention with just a glance.

Perhaps in another future, she would be a mercenary in a tight black battle suit with an ass that jiggled whenever she shot her target. 

But for now, she was a doting, seductive wife whose sole attention and love was on Gérard.

"I see you're still hard at work," Amélie Lacroix said, her voice smooth, almost velvety, as she reached out to trace a finger along the edge of his desk. "Does that mean I should leave you to your paperwork, mon amour?" 

Gérard chuckled, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch hers. "I don't think I could concentrate even if I tried. You're a rather... persuasive distraction, Amélie." 

Her ass was on the desk, after all. Hard to ignore it. She smiled, the corner of her lips quirking up in a way that sent a small thrill through him. She knew the effect she had on men—especially on her husband. And why wouldn't she? Her beauty was her greatest weapon.

Amélie got off the desk and went over to his side, only to sit again. No more ass, only her face and her scent. She tilted down, her fingers dancing along his tie. "You don't seem very focused. I could help you... loosen up." 

Gérard swallowed. "You're going to get me into trouble, you know that?" 

"Trouble?" she teased, crossing her legs. Her dress slid up just enough to reveal more of her long, shapely legs, the sight of which made Gérard's heart race. "We're married. I think I'm allowed to spoil my husband from time to time."

Before he could respond, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a mixture of passion and teasing restraint. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. For a moment, the world outside the office faded away, leaving only the two of them. 

Then came a knock at the door. 

Gérard stiffened instantly, pulling back as if he'd been caught in a scandal. Amélie smirked, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. 

"Come in," Gérard called, his voice slightly hoarse as he adjusted his tie and sat straighter in his chair. Amélie Lacroix stayed fully seated, ass to whomever entered.

The door opened to reveal a man in his thirties, dressed impeccably in a dark suit. He was stocky, with a broad frame and a clean-shaven face, his sandy hair neatly combed back. He clutched a folder in one hand and offered a polite nod as he entered. 

The first thing the fat male thought:

'Wow, whose ass is that on the desk?' 

After that, back to professionalism.

"Charles," Gérard greeted warmly. "Perfect timing. Amélie, this is Charles Lefèvre, my assistant." 

Amélie's gaze shifted to the newcomer, her eyes briefly appraising him. He was no Gérard, but there was a sharpness to his features, an intelligence that shone through. His cologne wafted faintly toward her as he walked close to where she had been previously sitting.

"Madame Lacroix," Charles said, bowing his head slightly in greeting. His tone was polite, but not obsequious. 

"Charles," Amélie replied, her lips curving into a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Gérard speaks highly of you." 

"And of you as well, Madame," Charles said. His gaze flicked down to her ass cheeks. She noticed. Her husband did not. 

"Charles, is that the report I asked for?" the boss asked. 

"Indeed," Charles said, stepping forward to place the folder on the desk. "I've included all the relevant details. If you need anything further, you know where to find me." 

Gérard nodded, taking the folder. "Thank you, Charles. That will be all for now." 

With another polite nod, Charles exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

As soon as he was gone, Amélie turned to Gérard, her smirk returning in full force. "So, that's your most loyal man, hm?" 

"Yes," Gérard replied, his tone warm. "Charles has been invaluable. He's smart, driven, and reliable. I don't know what I'd do without him." 

Amélie tilted her head, her expression softening. "I like loyalty in a man. It shows character." She leaned down to kiss Gérard again, a softer, more affectionate gesture this time. But as she pulled back, her eyes flickered with amusement. "Though I couldn't help but notice something." 

"What's that?" Gérard asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She leaned in closer, her voice a low whisper. "You seemed very eager to sit up straight when Charles knocked." 

It took Gérard a moment to catch her meaning, and when he did, his face turned crimson. His gaze flickered down. There it was—an ever so small bulge. Her husband's cute, small cock attempting to wring its way out and feel her. 

"T-this is…" he began, but she cut him off with a laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. 

"Relax, mon amour," she teased. "I take it as a compliment. Just try to remember—there's a time and place for everything." 

And with that, she slid off the desk, her laughter echoing softly as she walked toward the door, leaving Gérard to shake his head in equal parts exasperation and adoration. His boner did not stop, of course. It only throbbed harder in his tight pants. 

The door opened and she was out of his office. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble floors of the corridor. She moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, her hips swaying slightly, her chin held high. She reached the elevator and pressed the button, folding her arms as she waited. The silence of the hallway was broken moments later by the sound of another pair of footsteps.

Charles Lefèvre emerged from the direction of another office, a folder still tucked under his arm. He adjusted his suit jacket as he approached, catching sight of Amélie standing near the elevator. His lips curved into a polite smile. 

"Madame Lacroix," he greeted.

"Charles," she replied, turning her gaze to him. "We seem to be heading in the same direction." 

"So it would appear," he said with a small nod, stepping beside her to wait. 

There was a brief silence between them, broken only by the faint hum of the building. Charles glanced at her, taking in her poise and elegance. She was breathtaking, her hourglass figure accentuated by a fitted dress that cinched perfectly at her waist. The neckline was modest but still managed to hint at her décolletage, and the curve of her hips could have been sculpted by an artist. She was, without question, a woman who commanded attention.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Charles gestured politely. "After you." 

Amélie stepped inside, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and elusive—lingering in the air. Charles followed, pressing the ground floor button before standing a respectful distance from her. 

As the elevator began its descent, Amélie broke the silence. "Your cologne... it's quite striking. Subtle, but noticeable. A good choice." 

Charles raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "Thank you, Madame. I'll take that as high praise, coming from someone with such... refined taste." 

"Amélie," she corrected softly, turning her head to look at him. "No need for formalities outside Gérard's office." 

"Very well," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Amélie it is. And here I thought I'd managed to blend into the background all these years. I didn't realize Gérard's wife was so observant." 

Her laugh was light, melodic. "A good wife notices everything, Charles. Especially the people her husband values most." 

He inclined his head slightly, his gaze flicking to her briefly. "Then I'm honored to have made an impression." 

Amélie smiled, tilting her head. "Gérard is fortunate to have someone as loyal as you. Do take care of him."

Charles chuckled softly. "Loyalty is an underrated quality these days. Though I'd say Gérard is the one who's truly fortunate—being married to you, Madame." 

Their eyes met briefly, a subtle exchange of something unspoken before the moment was interrupted by a sudden jolt. The elevator shuddered violently, coming to an abrupt halt. 

Amélie, caught off balance, stumbled backward, colliding directly into Charles. Her booty pressed against his crotch. He reacted instinctively, his hands coming to rest on her hips to steady her. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a tightness to it. 

She glanced over her shoulder, accidentally grinding her toned booty to his heavy crotch. His stomach and body was nothing like her husband's. "Yes, thank you." She flashed a smirk.

Charles let his hands linger for a beat too long before releasing her, stepping back slightly as the tension in the small space became almost palpable. 

The elevator gave another lurch, then resumed its descent. The moment passed, but the charged atmosphere lingered, unspoken words hanging between them. 

As the doors slid open on the ground floor, Charles stepped aside, gesturing for her to exit first. 

"After you," he said, his tone polite once more. 

Amélie held his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, her smile enigmatic. "Ever the gentleman, I see. Gérard was right about you." 

She stepped out into the lobby, her heels clicking softly against the tile as she walked away. Charles watched her go, his expression unreadable, before following at a respectful distance. 

For both of them, the elevator ride was over, but the memory of it lingered—like the scent of her perfume, like the faint warmth where his hands had steadied her.

Like the bulge that pressed against her ass. 

*****

The clock struck nine, and Amélie Lacroix glanced at the mirror one last time, ensuring everything was just as it should be. The black lace lingerie she wore was damn slutty and accompanied by a silk robe, loose and untied, hung from her shoulders, more a suggestion of modesty than an actual attempt at it. Her dark hair was pinned up, a few tendrils left to frame her striking features. 

To call her anything but sexy was wrong. 

'He will love this,' she thought with a sly smile, glancing toward the door. Gérard was due home any minute now, and she wanted his homecoming to be... memorable. She was going to yank his pants down and suck off that cute cock of his. 

They lived in a penthouse so she could only vaguely wager when he would be back. She sauntered to the front door, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. When the sound of a key turning in the lock reached her ears, she took a deep breath, her lips curling into a seductive smile.

As the door swung open, she threw her arms around Gérard, boobs pressed to his chest. "Welcome home, mon amour," she purred.

But the moment she pulled back, her smile froze in place. Standing just behind Gérard, looking awkwardly toward the floor, was Charles Lefèvre. 

"Good evening, Madame Lacroix," Charles said quickly, polite and surprised. 

Amélie's cheeks flushed, though she managed to keep her composure. She took two steps back and covered herself with her robe. Her insides coiled tightly upon another man seeing her in lingerie. 

"Charles," she greeted. "What a... pleasant surprise." 

Gérard cleared his throat, clearly flustered. "Amélie, I should have called. Charles needs a place to stay for a while. His apartment building caught fire earlier tonight—nothing serious, but his unit is uninhabitable for now. I thought home would be the easiest option." 

Charles waved a hand dismissively. "I apologize for the intrusion, Madame. This wasn't planned." 

"Nonsense," Amélie said, recovering quickly. Her usual poise returned as she smiled warmly at him. "You're always welcome here, Charles. Loyalty deserves hospitality, don't you think?" 

Gérard chuckled nervously. "Amélie, maybe you should change into something comfortable."

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "Oh, Gérard, don't be ridiculous. I have to make food and Charles won't say a word, will you?" 

"Of course not," Charles said quickly, though his eyes darted away again. 

"Right. Let's eat some dinner." 

When she walked away in those robes, it was impossible to see her ass. Such a shame—for both the husband and his assistant. 

*****

Her lingerie was hidden underneath the robe which did its job and hid her tight, sexy body from their new guest. She made dinner and served the plates. Everything a good wife should do. Gérard sat at the head of the table, Charles to his right, and Amélie across from him.

As they ate, conversation flowed easily. 

"You know," Amélie said, smirking slightly, "I've heard that working with Gérard can be quite intense. Has he been keeping you on your toes, Charles?" 

Charles chuckled, setting down his glass of wine. "You could say that. But I'm used to the pace. Gérard has high expectations, but he's fair." 

Gérard shook his head, smiling. "Don't let him fool you. Charles thrives under pressure. I think he secretly enjoys it." 

"I won't deny that," Charles admitted, flashing a grin. "Though I imagine keeping up with you, Amélie, must be far more challenging." 

"Oh?" she said, her eyebrows arching in mock surprise. "And why would you think that?" 

Charles was not chiseled or tall like her husband yet somehow he struck a cord with her with his compliments. "You strike me as someone who doesn't settle for mediocrity." 

Gérard laughed, reaching for his glass. "You're not wrong there." 

Amélie smiled. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, Charles." 

The banter continued, easy and unforced. Amélie couldn't help but notice how comfortable Charles seemed, his earlier awkwardness having melted away. Theeeen Gérard's phone buzzed, cutting through the conversation. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant. 

"I need to take this," he said, standing and stepping out of the room. 

Amélie and Charles exchanged a look as Gérard's muffled voice drifted back to them. Moments later, he returned, his expression apologetic. 

"That was Overwatch," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something urgent has come up. I have to go." 

Amélie frowned slightly but nodded. "Of course. Duty calls." 

Gérard turned to Charles. "Make yourself at home, set your stuff up in the guest room. And don't hesitate to ask Amélie if you need anything. She'll take care of you." 

Did he forget his wife was actually in lingerie? That underneath the robe were her tits and ass? No, he didn't remember. He was in a hurry. He sat down, wearing his shoes while in deep throat. 

Amélie chased after Gérard to the door. "I'll make sure he's comfortable. Don't worry, mon amour." 

At the door, she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Be careful," she murmured, her hand slipping down to his balls to give him a playful squeeze. 

Gérard stiffened, his eyes widening briefly before a grin tugged at his lips. "Amélie..." 

She silenced him with a kiss, her lips lingering on his before she pulled back. Then, she opened her robes, flashing him.

Wow.

A natural arch and her fat ass with a quadruple T. A woman with an acrobatic figure and a fine set of tits. B-cups, maybe bigger, all wrapped up in alluring black lingerie.

Gérard's cute cock throbbed in his pants. He wasn't going to forget that view anytime soon. He wanted to pull her into another kiss—an act the sultry French woman oh-so desperately wanted—but instead, he received a message on his phone, apologized, and left.

When the door closed and she was covered once more, she was disappointed.

"She hasn't fucked me in a good month," she muttered. 

Returning to the penthouse's living room, she found Charles carrying a box toward the guest room. He was dressed down now, his suit jacket gone and his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. The type that were fat but still strong and attractive.

"Need a hand?" she asked.

Her husband's stocky assistant turned, smiling. "I've got it, but thank you." 

She leaned against the wall, watching him for a moment. There was something oddly endearing about seeing him like this, out of his usual professional environment. 

"Welcome to the Lacroix household," she said with a small smile. 

"Thank you," Charles replied, setting the box down and glancing at her. "I promise not to impose for too long." 

"Stay as long as you need to. Being close to my husband means being close to his wife."

He smiled at that, his gaze lingering on her robed figure for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to his work. Amélie figured she should get changed. Walking in robes and lingerie probably wasn't appropriate for a wife to do.

Right?

Well, the robe was good at hiding herself and, surprisingly, it was quite comfy. 

Amélie decided to eat first before making a decision. It really wasn't a big deal to be prancing in lingerie when no one could see it, right? After a drink of water and a snack, she headed directly to the guest room, finding Charles surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. He was crouched down, organizing a stack of books on the floor near the bed. His sleeves were still rolled up, his tie gone, and his usually polished appearance had taken on a more relaxed, approachable air. 

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him for a moment. She was like a black widow spider. A woman hunting her prey. A woman knowing what she wanted.

In bed, her husband affectionately called her "Widowmaker". Why? Because she drained his balls till they were raisins and she did with a terrifying calmness.

"You look like you could use a hand," Amélie said, breaking the quiet. 

Charles glanced up. Looking at her phenomenal body for too long was next to impossible. "Ah, well…"

"More of a mess than you thought? You just experienced a fire. I understand not being at a hundred percent. Here, let me help."

Amélie stepped fully inside. She crouched beside a box, lifting its flaps and peering inside. "Books and papers," she observed, pulling a thick stack of documents free. "You really are dedicated, aren't you?" 

"Comes with the territory. Gérard doesn't like loose ends, and neither do I." 

"Of course not," she replied, a playful edge in her tone. "Loyalty is your most admirable quality, isn't it?" 

Eye contact. Crouching, ass jutting out, he did not break the eye contact. She eventually did, albeit only for a fraction of a second, down low. Did she imagine or did something…twitch in his pants? 

"One of them, I hope," he said, getting her eyes back up. 

Couldn't be. It was too big. Bigger than…

No. She imagined it. 

Amélie settled the papers aside. She reached deeper into the box, her robes shifting as she moved. The action was subtle but unmistakable—when she bent forward to retrieve a folder from the bottom, the hem of her dress rose just enough to expose the full curve of her bare, naked ass cheeks, framed perfectly by the black lace of her lingerie. 

Charles froze, his hand lingering on a book he'd been holding. His breath hitched, his gaze locking onto the view before him. 

He did not look away. All the fat assistant could think of his boss' office was, 'Gérard does NOT have the meat to fuck that ass.'

No offence. 

The image was already seared into his mind.

Amélie, still bent over, turned her head to glance at him, her expression innocent yet tinged with something knowing. "Something wrong?" 

Charles shook his head quickly, returning his focus to the books in his hands. "Nothing at all," he said, his voice steady but slightly strained. "Just trying to figure out where all this is going to fit." 

Amélie straightened, the folder in hand, and placed it on the desk. "Well, let me help. Between the two of us, I'm sure we'll find space." 

She turned to another box, her movements slower now, deliberate. She seemed perfectly at ease, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes whenever she caught Charles glancing at her. 

They worked together in relative silence for a while, the occasional rustle of paper or thud of a book breaking the quiet. Amélie handed him items from the boxes, their fingers brushing occasionally, small moments that neither of them acknowledged aloud. 

At one point, Charles broke the silence. "You're very kind to help with this," he said sincerely. 

Amélie tilted her head, her smile softening. "You're Gérard's most trusted assistant. That makes you important to him, and like I said, by extension, to me. Besides," she added, her voice dipping slightly, "I don't get to hand out with other men very often. It tends to be educational."

Their eyes met briefly, a subtle yet charged moment that hung in the air before Amélie turned back to the box in front of her. 

Eventually, the unpacking was done, the room tidied and organized. Amélie dusted her hands off and stepped back, surveying their work. 

"Well," she said, her tone breezy, "I think that's everything. You're officially settled." 

Charles nodded, glancing around the room. "Thanks to you. I appreciate it, really." 

Amélie smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Anytime, Charles. It's what good hosts do, after all." 

She lingered for a moment longer before turning toward the door. But as she left, there was a slight sway to her hips, subtle yet deliberate, and Charles couldn't help but notice. 

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on the bed. He'd always prided himself on professionalism, on keeping boundaries clear. But tonight had tested him in ways he hadn't anticipated. 

*******

Amélie slept alone that night. She did not like it. She could barely sleep. She slipped in and out of her dreams. Dreams of sucking off her husband while they talked in the office. She, hidden under the desk and Charles not knowing about it.

Her eyes opened. The dream ended. The cool silk sheets clung to her bare skin. She stretched lazily, her fingers tracing the edge of the pillow, when suddenly, the sound of the door clicking shut jolted her awake.

Her yellow eyes fluttered open. "Mm, is it you my love…?" Her vision adjusted to the darkness.

"My widow…"

That was his voice! Yes, she recognized it anywhere she went. His shirt was neatly tucked into his slacks, but there was something undeniably primal about the way he carried himself, as if every step was a declaration of his dominance. Amélie's heart quickened, not out of fear, but anticipation. She knew what was coming, and she welcomed it.

He locked onto her form as he unbuttoned his slacks. There was no hesitation, no preamble—just the raw intent of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. He let his pants drop to the floor, revealing his hardened three-inch cock, standing erect and proud. 

She bit her bottom lip.

It wasn't large by any conventional measure, but its size didn't matter to either of them. To Gérard, it was a symbol of his confidence, his control, and his insatiable desire to claim his wife. To Amélie, it was a reminder of the passion they shared, the thrill of being taken by a man who knew how to make her feel utterly owned.

"Gérard…" she murmured softly. The blanket was tossed and she purred thick with arousal as she shifted onto her back, spreading her legs invitingly. She slipped off her panties, legs high up, very slutty in her withdrawal of her panties. Her smooth thighs parted to reveal the glistening cunt between them. 

Her husband's gaze never left her as he climbed onto the bed and hovered above her.

"You belong to me," Gérard whispered. "Every inch of you, Amélie. And today, I want everyone to know it."

His hand cupped her thigh and the tip of his cock touched her pussy. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear as he added, "Especially Charles."

Amélie's breath hitched at the mention of his assistant. The idea of being watched and listened sent a surge of forbidden excitement coursing through her veins. She moaned softly, the sound escaping her lips before she could stop it. Gérard smirked, clearly pleased by her reaction, and wasted no time positioning himself between her legs.

He entered her swiftly, his small cock filling her with practiced ease. Amélie gasped, her body arching instinctively as he began to thrust. "Mm, yes, yes! Tight as always, my love!" 

Gérard set a fast pace. He wanted to make her cry out, to give voice to the pleasure he was giving her. And Amélie was more than willing to oblige.

"Oh, Gérard… harder…" she begged, her hands clutching at the sheets as her hips bucked in time with his thrusts. Her voice was breathless, pleading, and it only fueled his resolve. He gripped her thighs. his movements growing fiercer with each passing moment. 

Lust and possession. A woman of godly divine hourglass figure and an ordinary man with a three inch cock.

"Yes…yes…" 

Moans, squeals. Small noises and gasps. She was enjoying this as she would enjoy a run. Calm and cool and smiling throughout it. Not very difficult, not very exhilarating, but still heart-thumping. 

"Louder," Gérard commanded. "Let him hear you, Amélie. Let him know who you belong to."

Amélie obeyed without hesitation, her cries of pleasure growing louder with each thrust. "Yes! Oh, yes, Gérard! Fuck me harder!"

Her voice echoed through the penthouse, carrying down the hallway where Charles was likely working. The thought of him hearing their intimate exchange sent a thrill through her, intensifying her arousal. She wasn't just being fucked; she was being claimed, displayed for another man's benefit. And she loved every second of it.

Gérard took her words as a challenge, his thrusts becoming almost savage in their intensity. He was pushing her limits, testing her endurance, and she met every challenge with equal fervor. Her nails dug into his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Don't stop, Gérard! Don't you dare stop!"

"Never," he growled, his teeth gritted as he continued to pound into her. His confidence was palpable, a tidal wave of dominance that swept over her completely. He was in control and he was reveling in it.

At least he thought he was. His balls had a mind of their own, it seemed.

"N-ngh! Gonna cum!"

"Already?" She almost giggled. "Do it then! Inside!"

Gérard groaned deeply, his head falling forward as he buried himself completely inside her. His cock spasmed violently, pulsing with each burst of release. Warmth flooded her insides, his seed spilling into her with unrestrained abandon. Amélie moaned, her body shuddering as her own orgasm tore through her, clenching around him as she came undone.

For a moment, they simply lay there, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten. Gérard's breathing slowly returned to normal, his body relaxing as he basked in the aftermath of their passion. Amélie lifted a hand, gently patting his back.

"Emptying your cute little balls inside me," she murmured. "How cute~"

Her husband affectionately muttered, "Widowmaker". She had drained his balls till they were raisins and she did it with terrifying calmness. The door by which Gérard entered was slightly ajar. Perhaps Amélie imagined it but she swore she saw Charles. 

Ah, well, if he did…

Then good.

*******

Brunch at a penthouse after a night of sex was amazing. Gérard and Amélie stood side by side at the island, both dressed in robes, their hair tousled and their faces carrying the unmistakable glow of satisfaction. Gérard's robe was tied loosely, revealing his lean chest, while Amélie's blue silk robe gave a teasing view of her cleavage visible whenever she leaned forward to grab something.

Charles sat at the dining table, clutching a coffee mug he'd poured for himself. It was like they were pretending they hadn't been purposely loud during their fuck.

Amélie, however, was in an unusually bubbly mood. She hummed a cheerful tune, her hips swaying to an invisible rhythm as she chopped fresh herbs on the cutting board. Gérard grinned at her, his arm slipping around her waist as he planted a kiss on her temple.

"You're in a good mood today," Gérard teased.

"Well," Amélie said, flashing him a radiant smile. "Let's just say you gave me plenty of reasons to be." 

Charles turned to face the window as if the city view could somehow rescue him from the situation. Penthouses were nice in that regard…

"Oh, Charles," Amélie said brightly. She turned, her smile warm and inviting, and gestured to the pan sizzling on the stove. "Are you hungry? Gérard and I are making omelettes. You should join us." 

Charles cleared his throat, focusing intently on the steam rising from his mug. "I, uh, I'm fine, thank you." 

"Nonsense," Gérard said, flipping the omelette with a flourish. "We're making enough for everyone. Come, sit."

Charles hesitated but eventually moved from the dining table to the island, pulling out a stool. He kept his eyes firmly on the counter, determined not to look at Amélie, who had resumed her cheerful humming. 

She spun around suddenly, the motion causing her robe to shift just slightly, offering an even more generous view of her cleavage and her ass cheeks. "Do you like basil, Charles?" she asked, holding up the cutting board. 

Charles looked up instinctively and immediately regretted it. Her smile was so bright, so innocent, and yet... seductive. This woman did not know she had the body of a slut. 

"Basil's great," he said quickly, looking back down at his coffee.

Amélie set the board beside Gérard, who added the herbs to the pan with a flourish. She leaned against the counter, her gaze flicking to Charles with curiosity. "You're awfully quiet this morning," she noted, tilting her head. 

Charles laughed nervously. "Just tired, I guess." 

Amélie's lips quirked into a teasing smile. "Tired? I hope we didn't keep you up too late." 

Charles froze, his eyes darting to Gérard, who looked completely unbothered as he plated the first omelette. "Hard to get used to a new place," he ended up saying.

Amélie laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "Good! You'll need your energy. Gérard, maybe we should make some coffee for Charles, hmm?"

"We already have coffee," Gérard pointed out, nodding at Charles's mug.

"Well, then, maybe we should dance," Amélie said, grabbing Gérard's hand and pulling him toward her. 

"Dance?" Gérard asked, amused.

"Why not?" she said, spinning under his arm with a laugh. "It's a beautiful morning, and we're alive, aren't we?"

Charles watched, mortified yet unable to look away, as Amélie twirled around the kitchen, her robe swishing around her legs. Gérard indulged her, laughing as he tried to keep up with her impromptu choreography. She spun one too many times and…fuck. He saw her bare pussy.

'I want to fuck her brains out—'

As they swayed and spun, Amélie caught Charles's eye, her smile widening. No way. She knew. She knew what she was doing and simply smiled and continued dancing. 

'Imagine how tight she is…' 

There. He saw it again. A flash of her pussy, shaved and clean and almost pure. The woman was anything but that. Charles' cock stirred in his pants. 

'Gérard does NOT have the meat to fuck her.'

But he did. Yes, he definitely could fuck her the way she deserved to. Last night, the sex they had very much did not impress him. Amélie did not orgasm and Gérard did not last long either. 

Neither would happen if Charles fucked her.

***

Nothing major happened until a week later when Amélie, yawning, tied her silk robe loosely around her waist and padded through the penthouse. Gérard had left early for an emergency, leaving her to enjoy the peaceful morning at her own pace. 

She headed toward the bathroom, intending to start her day with a leisurely soak in the tub. The door was slightly ajar, steam billowing from within. She did not notice. Without thinking, she pushed the door open, stepping inside. 

What she saw changed her world view. 

There, under the cascading spray of the shower, was Charles. Stark naked. 

Amélie froze, her breath hitching as her eyes locked on the scene before her. The water fell on his broad shoulders, cascading down his stocky frame and large belly, but none of that held her attention. No, her gaze was drawn south, where a truly monumental sight awaited her. 

A huge, monster cock. A cock that she could not believe was a cock given how much superior it was in comparison to her husband's.

Her husband…her poor, poor husband.

'How could he be so big? And Gérard so small?'

Her lips parted in an audible gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

'Mon Dieu...' she thought, her eyes widening. 'Is that... is that real?' 

It was. Charles stood there, utterly unbothered by her presence, his expression calm as he rinsed the soap from his hair. Below his round belly hung a flaccid member so large it seemed almost comical. Ten inches at least—and that was soft. 

Amélie's mind raced, the world around her blurring as she struggled to reconcile this discovery. 

'That's... that's double Gérard,' she realized, her cheeks flushing. 'Double. At his best. Double!' 

And it wasn't just the length. The sheer girth was astonishing, far thicker than her husband's by any measure. And the balls—they were like ripe fruit, heavy and pendulous, swinging slightly as Charles shifted his weight under the spray of water. 

'My husband is utterly dwarfed by his own assistant,' she thought, the words looping in her mind. 

Time seemed to slow, the moment stretching into eternity. She couldn't look away, her disbelief mingling with a strange sense of morbid curiosity. How did he walk around with that thing? How did his pants even fit? 

Finally, Charles turned his head, noticing her for the first time. He didn't flinch, didn't reach for a towel. Instead, he offered a casual smile, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. 

"Morning, Amélie," he said, his voice warm and friendly. "Did you need the bathroom? I'll be done in a minute." 

Amélie blinked, her jaw working soundlessly for a moment before she managed to find her voice. "I—I—Charles! Hello. Greetings. Yes, it is…a minute is fine." Her cheeks burned, and she spun around, facing the door as she tried to compose herself. "Apologies for the intrusion."

'So big, so big, so much bigger…!' 

"I thought I mentioned I take showers often," he replied, completely unfazed. "But no harm done, eh?" 

No harm done—except for the irreversible damage on Gérard's reputation in her mind. 

Her mind betrayed her, flashing back to the image of his impressive endowment. Compared to Gérard's modest size—what she had always thought was perfectly adequate—Charles was a different species entirely. 

'It's not even fair,' she thought, biting her lip to stifle a hysterical laugh. 'It's obscene! Gérard is... compact. Petite, even. But this? This is like comparing a baguette to a... to a baton!' 

Behind her, Charles turned off the water, the sound of the shower giving way to the rustling of a towel. She dared a glance over her shoulder, only to see him drying off, still completely unconcerned about his nudity. 

So. Damn. Hung. 

"You seem flustered," he said, smirking as he wrapped the towel loosely around his waist. "I hope I didn't shock you." 

"Shock me?" she repeated, her voice an octave higher than usual. "What? No. Of course not. Why would I be shocked?" 

Charles smirked. Oh yeah, he knew. The same she knew about him seeing her pussy, he knew he was bigger than her husband.

"I—I should go," she stammered, backing toward the door. "Let you... finish up." 

Charles nodded, still grinning. "Of course. Let me know if you need the bathroom later. Or anything else." 

Her cheeks flamed anew, and she practically fled the room, her robe billowing behind her. Once she was safely down the hall, she leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to her chest as she tried to steady her breathing. 

'That man,' she thought, shaking her head. 'That horse, more like it.' 

She couldn't help herself—she started laughing, the absurdity of the situation catching up to her. It was all so ridiculous. Gérard's loyal assistant, a man she'd barely thought about until now, was walking around with a secret that would make even the most confident man question his masculinity. 

God. Fuck.

Gérard had fucked her for the first time in a month last week, cumming prematurely, cumming inside her before she could, and since then…nothing. Nothing except the introduction to her fat, hung assistant Charles. 

Maybe…she could work with this.

*****

A penthouse was a penthouse. Rich people were rich. A pool, huge rooms, everything one would expect, it was in here. Inside his guest room, double that of his old room, Charles sat at the edge of the bed, skimming through a file Gérard had left for him. He was absorbed in his work until—

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in," Charles called, closing the folder and leaning back.

The door opened and the married woman who called herself Amélie Lacroix stepped inside. Her presence was magnetic, her confidence tangible. She stood with her hands on her hips, dressed in a deep purple bikini that left little to the imagination. Her toned stomach was taut, her long legs seemingly endless. The bikini top showcased her big boobs and their sides, while the bottoms rested low on her hips, emphasizing the natural sway of her body.

"Enjoying your night, Charles?" 

Charles blinked, momentarily caught off guard by this slutty appearance. "It's... productive," he replied, his gaze lingering on her tits before snapping back to her face. 

"Too productive," she said, smirking as she stepped further into the room. "You've been cooped up in here all day. Come to the pool with me. A little relaxation won't kill you."

Her smile was intoxicating and Charles found himself nodding before he even realized it. "I could use a break," he admitted, setting the file aside. 

"Good," the spicy black widow said. "Get changed and meet me out there."

Instead of waiting for her to leave, Charles stood and grabbed a pair of swim trunks from his suitcase. "Sure," he said matter-of-factly. 

Amélie took her sweet, sweet time leaving the room and closing the door. Charles didn't mind it either and peeled off his shirt first. He might have carried extra weight but it did not matter. The fat was hot and sweaty when coupled with that thing. That huge hung beast that, when he unbuttoned his pants and slid down, revealed boxers that were straining at the seams. That huge, fat cock. 

She was at the door, two inches from fully closing it. She didn't. His cock and that bulge was just so hot. So much hotter than her husband's muscled body and small dick. 

'Mon Dieu,' she thought, the memory of the morning's shower incident flashing in her mind. 'That... thing is always going to make an appearance, isn't it?' 

The door closed and she caught a glimpse of that cock again. She waited. A minute later, the door opened and the plump male came out. 

"Ready?" Charles asked, adjusting the waistband. 

She glanced down. Oh yeah, the bulge was still there. Heavy cock and heavy balls. A most delicious combination. 

The pool outside was quiet and still. Amélie went in like she had done in a thousand times before. Charles dipped one leg down, then the other. He wasn't rich and he wasn't used to going to pools often. When he did go down fully, his larger frame created ripples that spread outward. 

Amélie did not mind, eyeing his bulge till it disappeared in the water. She swam to the edge, leaning back against the pool's wall. "So, how does it feel to take a break?" 

"Refreshing," Charles admitted, running a hand through his wet hair. "Though I suspect you already knew that." 

"Of course," she said, her lips curving into a smirk. "You work too hard. Gérard's lucky to have someone so... dedicated." 

He chuckled, treading water. "Is he not the same?"

"Definitely not. I see big differences from you too. He works but not very…hard."

The moonlight seemed to do something to the transparency of the water. She could see it again, the water clung to his trunks, and even submerged, it was impossible not to notice the outline of his size. 

Charles caught her staring and raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "See something interesting?" 

Amélie tilted her head, unbothered by being caught. "You swim well. Just wondering how you swim so well with... all that to carry around." 

A fat joke or a cock joke? Both? This chick was more horny than he thought. "It's a skill," he said, grinning. "Takes practice." 

She swam closer, the teasing in her eyes softening."Well, I suppose everyone has their talents." She moved behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Speaking of which, have you ever had someone wash your back?"

Charles glanced over his shoulder, surprised but amused. "Not recently," he admitted.

"Then you're overdue," she said, husky and low. She reached for a small cloth she'd left by the poolside, dipping it into the water before running it gently over his back. Her movements were slow and deliberate, the cloth tracing over his broad shoulders and down his fat spine. 

Charles relaxed under her touch, his head tilting forward slightly. "You're good at this."

"I've had practice with my husband," she replied. "Though I don't usually offer this service to guests." 

"Lucky husband," he murmured, glancing back at her. 

Amélie smiled, her hands lingering on his shoulders as she very intentionally pressed her boobs to his back. "Very lucky," she said.

Charles' cock had never fought against his swim trunks so hard. Cold water be damned, he was going to get an erection and this married slut knew it.

Charles looked over his shoulder again. Their eyes met, the space between them shrinking as the air grew heavy with unspoken tension. Amélie's hands rested lightly on his chest now, her fingers tracing small, absent patterns on his skin. 

"Amélie..." Charles began.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a soft smile. "Yes?" 

Neither of them moved, their gazes locked, the water around them forgotten. It was as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them, and for a moment, it seemed inevitable that they would close the distance. 

"Be sure to use this pool anytime."

She felt it. Something was prodding at her thigh. She didn't need to look down to see what it was yet she did. She gasped. A cock triple her husband's size was stretching out the fabric of swim trunks and touching her. 

Fuck. Fuck, it was either here or now. She could either fish that cock out now or—

Ah, too late. Her pupils were already hypnotized by the cock. 

Without hesitation or care for her devoted husband, she reached for the waistband of his swim trunks and tugged them down. "Oh god~!" The huge member sprang free with a force that made her gasp, standing at full attention, thick and pulsing with life. Thirteen inches of pure, unadulterated manhood peaking out of the pool's water and touching her toned stomach.

"Good heavens," she whispered, her breath hitching as she took in the sheer magnitude of it. She had never seen anything so large, so overwhelming. It was a masterpiece, a work of art that seemed almost too much to handle. But Amélie wasn't afraid. She was exhilarated.

Her husband's cock was a toy. This was the real deal.

With both hands, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft, marveling at how wide it was compared to Gérard's. Her palms barely met as she squeezed, the heat radiating from his skin sending jolts of electricity through her body. Slowly, she began to stroke him. Up and down, up and down, her hands glided along his length, her touch firm yet gentle.

"Ah, Amélie," Charles groaned, his breath hitching as she worked her magic. "That feels incredible."

"Does it?" She hummed and jerked him off faster. "I aim to please."

Her strokes became faster, more confident, as she adjusted to the size of his cock. Every inch was a new sensation, every curve and ridge adding to the experience. Like…come on! Three inches versus thirteen inches? Ridiculous. It was utterly incomparable. It was utterly, vastly different.

Her nipples hardened under the thin fabric of her top.

"You're so big," she murmured as though speaking of a god, as though cheating did not matter. Because it didn't. Not when she was so unsatisfied and horny. Not when her husband hardly fucked her right.

This wasn't payback. This wasn't about him. This…this just was.

"And you seem to be enjoying every inch of it," Charles breathed out.

Schlap! Schlap! Schlap! 

Amélie smirked, her confidence growing with each passing moment. "Oh, I am. You have no idea."

She dipped down and kissed the tip of his while still jerking him off. The taste of his pre-cum was tangy, not salty like her husband's. Her poor husband. Did he ever think his wife would be choking on his assistant's massive cock? 

"The boss is a lucky man," he said." 

She looked up and they exchanged smirks. She licked her lips, her tongue darting out to swipe across the slit. The cock throbbed like a crazy dog. A tiny touch from such a hot woman would do that. 

"Fuck," Charles muttered, water splashing as he bucked. His huge cock would not suddenly stop being in her grip. He was nothing like Gérard with that tiny dick. "You're driving me insane, Amélie."

Her hands continued their rhythmic motion. That glorious, jerking motion that only a married woman could bless a man with. "Is that so? Well, you haven't seen anything yet."

Her tone was playful, but there was a hint of something deeper, something darker. She wanted to push boundaries, to explore the limits of her own desires. And Charles's massive cock was the perfect canvas for her exploration.

As she stroked him faster, her thumb swiped over the sensitive spot beneath the head, eliciting a sharp groan from Charles. His hips bucked involuntarily, driving his cock deeper into her grasp. Amélie grinned, loving the control she had over him.

"So sensitive…mm, at this point, my husband would already cum~"

Her strokes were god-like. She stroked felt like a wet mouth, perhaps partially because of the pool they were in. She could feel his cock twitching in her grasp, the telltale signs of his impending release. But she wasn't done yet. Not even close.

"Open your eyes, Charles," she commanded. "Look at me."

He obeyed, his blue eyes locking onto hers. There was something primal in his gaze, something that told her he was ready to give in completely. He was grinning now. Letting her think she was in control…

That would be her undoing. 

"Good boy," she cooed, her thumbs flicking across the underside of his cock. "Now, let me show you what else I can do."

She released his cock from her grasp and she bent over and fucking went down on his cock. Three whole inches of cock, equivalent to her husband, but three times as thick. Her mouth was in the perfect O-shape, struggling to swallow. A hand on her hair, Charles walked until his butt was practically sitting on the pool's edge. 

But this slutty wife remained to his cock, between his legs, wet, and glorious. Sucking the tip of his dick, like a lollipop. Lips leaving, tongue whip-lashing across the girthy head, and loving hot and arrogant while doing it.

"Never done anything like this before."

Meaning—she had never done this for her husband. He was too small for her tongue to do action like this. 

Charles smirked. She was becoming corrupted.

She bobbed her head up and down, taking more of him into her mouth, five inches now. Her throat opened up instinctively, allowing her to take nearly half of his massive length. It was a tight fit, but Amélie relished the challenge. She wanted to see how far she could go, how much she could take.

Charles's grip on her hair tightened. Amélie believed she was in control, believing this corruption of her own accord, her hands gripping his thighs to steady herself as she worked him with relentless precision. She could feel his cock throbbing against the back of her throat, the veins standing out in stark relief.

"Fuuuck, I can't blame your husband for busting so fast. You're amazing…"

She didn't slow down. If anything, she sped up, her lips sliding smoothly along his shaft as she sucked him harder, faster. Her tongue danced across the sensitive underside, teasing and tormenting him. That part of him, that cockhead, it was his only weakness.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay, maybe she was growing too corrupted. "Ngh! G-gonna…!" 

He cut himself off as his hips surged forward, driving his massive cock deep into her throat. All of it, not just some arbitrary amount, all thirteen inches. Amélie welcomed him, her lips sealing tightly around his shaft.

Gulp, gulp, gulp!

She received more cum from Charles' first four spurts of cum than all of her she ever did in her marriage with Gérard. So much cum was in one cumshots, certainly surpassing the tablespoons of cum her husband let out at night. Gérard loved creampies though. He didn't want her to get pregnant but he was addicted to nutting inside anyway.

Facials? Deepthroating? None of that mattered to him. He enjoyed a blowjob here and there. However, it was always Amélie that had to initiate it. Never him.

Charles was different. He happily welcomed a blowjob and a dedicated cum swallowed. Amélie was happy to swallow. She swallowed every last drop. His cum flooded her mouth, hot and viscous, filling her to the brim. She drank him down greedily, her throat working to ingest every precious drop.

Wait…was…was she cumming? Was her pussy tightening and orgasming just from swallowing? Oh god—!

"N-ngghh…gshklkkk…!" 

Her eyes rolled back. God, she loved this. 

When her lips parted from his cock, he smirked. Look at her. Slutty, hot, and bothered. Eyes glazed and utterly devoted, staring at his still hard cock. Her tongue attempted to clean her mouth of the spunk he had unleashed. It wouldn't be so easy.

For now, she had to sit there half-submerged in the pool, cum falling from her mouth and onto her tits, and her pussy tightening in preparation for this cock. 

"Who is bigger, me or your husband?"

"That's…"

Acting on instinct, defying her mind, she grabbed the base of his cock. A double-handed grip was unprecedented with Gérard, and yet with Charles, it was the most comfortable way to handle his dick. Two hands and there was still cock to go. With her husband, one hand would swallow the whole thing.

There was no competition.

"You…"

She gasped and shuddered.

"You're so much bigger…!"