The Estate
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 13
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 13 - Life on a modern housing estate, interactions, infidelity, shenanigans and blackmail all occur in a small radius of just a few houses
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Incest Mother Sister Interracial White Male Indian Female Oral Sex
I rang the number that Sam had given me, half expecting it to be the Samaritans or something.
“Hello.” Said the voice I recognised.
“Hello, it’s Jason. You gave me your number.”
“Ah yes, the Tiger loaf man.”
“Yes.”
“Be honest. Are you spoken for?”
“This is a cliché I know, but the answer is both yes and no. I am with Jules, but we don’t actually sleep together. My instructions are to be discrete, and that means going out in public with someone is difficult as are frequent overnighters. Occasional ones can be worked in with prior planning.”
“So. You are not free.”
“I suppose not, in some senses.”
“But you are free, in others?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I am not looking for complications.”
“Good, neither am I.”
“Right then. 25 Goldings Avenue. Half an hour.” The phone went dead.
I did a quick online search; she was about ten minutes from me, on another estate, not one that Jools or I usually pass, which is why I didn’t recognise the road name. I dived into the bathroom and washed at the handwash basin, dried, rolled on some antiperspirant, and put on clean underpants, chinos and a T-shirt, sliders, and keys, and I was gone.
25 Goldings Avenue was a semi, probably a three-bed, double-car drive with pavias but with a single-car garage and a small lawn front with a small mountain ash tree in the middle. Just one hundred per cent unremarkable suburban house on the outskirts of town.
“Would you like some lunch?” she asked as she opened the door, “Or would that make things difficult with wifey?”
“Yes, thank you, and no, it wouldn’t.”
“Good, I thought I might sauté some mushrooms, and we could have some Tiger bread with a nice medium-rare ribeye steak.”
“You know, that sounds absolutely perfect.”
“Right, come on in; you sit at the table and we’ll talk.” I followed her through her lounge into a kitchen diner. I sat at the table, canting the chair round so I could face her as she cooked.
“What do you do?” She asked.
“I run my own management consultancy business, mostly government accounts.
“Interesting?”
“I am actually not allowed to say, no, sorry.”
“Not even if it is interesting or boring?”
“No, I am forbidden to discuss anything about the work, locations, or contracts, just in case a sensitive detail is leaked.”
“Sounds stupid to me.”
I just shrugged. “What do you do?” I asked.
“I am an accountant.”
“Oh. Don’t think, apart from mine, I have ever met an accountant before. Many clients, or do you work for a firm?”
“I work for myself. I have a very small number of discrete clients.”
“Okay, discrete, I understand. Husband?”
“Did. He too was an accountant, but he got a bit creative with one of his client’s funds. He is in jail now. I divorced him the day he was found guilty.”
“Crikey.”
“Well, let’s say that I benefitted very nicely, and knowing who the client was, he is actually lucky to be alive and lucky to still have his limbs. Well, as far as I know, that is, I don’t keep tabs on him. I am now financially secure. I just don’t spend any money if I don’t need to. This house, for example, is big enough for my needs. My clients don’t see me being extravagant and so don’t look too closely.”
“Ahah.” I said
“Ahah?” She asked.
“I get the picture. So, no current beau in tow?”
“I am not looking for complications, so no. People come, people go.”
“Probably the best way. I do think, where company is concerned, being a woman has its advantages.”
“Oh? How do you want your steak, by the way?”
“Medium rare. I just think it’s easier for women to pick up men than for men to pick up women.”
“Wow. You really are a man. No woman anywhere would ever say that.”
“Crumbs, okay.”
The mushrooms cooked, the steak resting, Sam soaked the cooking juices into two slices of tiger bread, put one on each plate, added a steak and then piled the mushrooms on top.
I have to say she cooks a good steak. I declined a glass of wine, instead opting for tap water. I did have to drive back home, and getting done for drink driving would really scupper my plans, so no, I don’t drink until after the end of a day, and driving is no longer required.
We went into the lounge, she with a glass of red, me with a topped-up glass of water, and we sat opposite each other, me on the sofa, Sam on the armchair. Her skirt gaped as she sat back. I looked. Of course I did.
She laughed. “You really are a man, aren’t you?”
I shrugged; she had on what looked like red lacy knickers. I wondered if her bra matched. I couldn’t tell under the turtleneck top.
“How is your time spent?”
“Probably like yours, Sam. I have time I have to devote to clients, but I can usually engineer a reasonable amount of free or available time. Sometimes I have to go to a client location, and that might mean an overnighter.”
“Oh I see, is that the occasional overnight opportunity you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes, I suppose it could be. I have been known to return from a client and then stay with a friend overnight, rather than at a hotel near to the client.”
“Sneaky.”
“More frugal than sneaky.”
“No. Sneaky.” She laughed.
“And yourself, do you get to go to the client’s premises, or do they come here?”
“Like yourself, although I rarely see clients here, and when I do, it is usually at the kitchen table. My clients don’t tend to like to be seen in public.”
“Discrete, as you said.”
“Yes. And as I like my face and my limbs, I do not ever, ever put them in a compromisable position.”
“Ah. Similar calibre to your husband’s former clients.”
“Indeed.”
“Wow. Well, I can guess, but I shan’t. I presume that they are unlikely to drop in on the off chance of a quick financial check-up.”
“Hardly.”
I looked at her crotch again; I was sure her knees had widened slightly. It was a wonderful view.
Sam stood up. “Come on then, time is wasting.”
She headed out of the door, and I followed her upstairs. Her bedroom was at the front with slanted vertical blinds; you could see out in one direction, but not the other. Her bed was a king and had white cotton bedding and cushions. Wardrobes along one wall, all fitted from floor to ceiling, and a small table on each side of the bed. Neat, functional and yet feminine.
She threw the cushions onto the floor and pulled the quilt back. As she turned, she pulled her top off, and yes, a lacy red bra that I just knew would match her knickers. I pulled my top off.
Her skirt was next, and yes, her knickers and bra were a matching set. I pulled my trousers and pants off, and I think in the race to get naked, I may have just edged her.
Her garden was bare, not a hair to be seen. Her crease was plump, her mons nicely proud and her lips concealed, a very neat, beautiful package. Her breasts were not stupidly massive but a good size, slightly hanging, which told me they were all natural. Her nipples are small beads and a very small areola surrounding them.
“Wow Sam,” I said, “you really are stunning.”
“You are only saying that because you want my body.” She laughed and lay on the bed, propping herself up with her elbows, a small fold across her stomach resultant.
“I intend to devour your body, Sam; that is such an inviting feast.”
I knelt on the bed and moved her legs apart and lay down between, my head at her crotch. As I opened her legs, her crease opened and her inner lips revealed themselves. A mix of grey and purple, folded up and in wrinkles, with a pink valley floor. I sniffed from bottom to top, and at the top, my tongue dabbed down to seek her nubbin.