Purdey's Lustful Quest
Copyright© 2026 by CoryKing
Chapter 16: An Old Friend
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 16: An Old Friend - Purdey opens her marriage seeking desire and control. What begins as permission becomes obsession, power, and erotic reinvention. As intimacy turns transactional and freedom grows intoxicating, the consequences ripple through her marriage, family, and community. A provocative erotic novel about female agency, fantasy, and the cost of wanting more.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Ma Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual True Story Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching BDSM Light Bond Rough Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Oriental Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Public Sex Size
Purdey studied her reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the Lilac Holly Dress that hugged her curves. The lightweight fabric draped elegantly against her skin, the delicate floral print adding a touch of romance while the square neckline and side split offered the right balance of sophistication and allure. The transformation of her body still surprised her sometimes—defined muscles where softness had once been, firmness replacing the slight sag that had followed two pregnancies. She stepped into matching purple heels, grabbed her bag, and headed for the office.
Gin was already at her desk when Purdey arrived, typing rapidly with manicured fingers. Her crisp white blouse contrasted beautifully against slim-fitting black pants, the ensemble accentuating her toned figure just as impressively. She glanced up, a smile spreading across her face.
“Damn, girl. You trying to cause traffic accidents in that dress?
Purdey laughed, setting her coffee on the desk. “Morning to you too.”
“Sit,” Gin commanded, pushing aside a stack of blueprints. “Catch me up on everything. How’s life post-Ian?”
“Better than expected.” Purdey crossed her legs, the dress riding up slightly. “We’re back to 50/50 custody so I get more alone time when the kids are with Ian. I’m sleeping again.”
“And Ian? Still playing house with Cindy?”
Purdey shook her head, smiling. “She’s going through a divorce of her own, her husband caught her on the end of Ian’s cock.”
“What a bitch. Serves her right” Gin’s voice carried across the empty office.
“Kim had her baby last month,” Purdey added. “A boy. Daniel. Ian’s son.”
Gin whistled low. “Your ex certainly has been busy. Creating his own little suburb of children.”
“Lloyd was manipulated too. We’ve made peace.” Purdey sipped her coffee. “Kim and I meet weekly now.”
“Stockholm syndrome?” Gin raised an eyebrow.
“Survival.” Purdey shrugged. “The baby isn’t at fault.”
Gin studied her for a moment. “You’re different. Stronger.”
“Had to be.” Purdey stared into her coffee. “This morning I saw Rachel, you remember from next door, going to the Mercy Hospital from my apartment window. Kim did mention that she has been seeing her go over to Ian’s place when the kids aren’t around.”
“It would be funny if she was pregnant too,” Gin laughed loudly, though her eyes flickered with something between curiosity and concern. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and stood suddenly, grabbing a folder from the pile on her desk. “Got an assignment for you. Construction site inspection in North Melbourne. Developer claims they’ve fixed those foundation issues we flagged.
“Today? In these?” Purdey gestured to her heels.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Fashion-Forward. I know you keep those purple safety boots in your car.” Gin handed her the folder. “Address is inside. They’re expecting you.”
An hour later, Purdey pulled up to a chain-link fence surrounding a half-finished apartment building. She switched her heels for steel-capped boots, grabbed her clipboard, and stepped out into sunshine.
The site seemed deserted. Concrete pillars rose from foundations, steel beams creating a skeleton of future floors. Construction equipment sat idle—no workers, no supervisors, no safety officers.
“Hello?” she called, voice echoing against concrete. Nothing.
Purdey checked the address again. This was definitely the right place. She began walking the perimeter, making notes on structural elements visible from ground level.
Five minutes into her inspection, the sky darkened. Clouds rolled in with startling speed, and without warning, rain poured down in sheets.
“Shit!” Purdey sprinted toward the building frame, seeking shelter beneath completed upper floors. Within seconds, her dress clung to her body, completely soaked through. She ducked under a concrete overhang, shivering as water dripped from her hair.
Looking down, she realized the purple fabric had become nearly transparent, her nipples visible through the wet material. She crossed her arms over her chest, cursing her wardrobe choice.
“Hello?” A male voice called from deeper within the structure.
Purdey squinted into the murky shadows, her eyes adjusting to the contrast between the stormy outdoors and the abandoned building’s interior. Raindrops pattered rhythmically against the corrugated metal roof overhead. “I’m from Melbourne Architectural Review. Here for the inspection?” Her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space that smelled of damp concrete and rusted metal.
A figure emerged from the darkness. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with confident strides across the gritty floor, shoes crunching on scattered debris. Something about his silhouette triggered a memory—the way he carried himself, the angle of his head, the distinctive outline against the gray light filtering through broken windows.
He stepped into the light, rainwater glistening on his shoulders, and Purdey’s clipboard clattered to the ground, the sound sharp and startling against the concrete.
“John?”
Time seemed to freeze. John—her John—stood before her, unchanged except for subtle lines around his eyes, skin weathered by years of sun. The same dark intensity in his gaze, the same controlled energy in his stance. The scent of sandalwood and petrichor clung to him, familiar yet distant.
“Purdey.” Her name on his lips sounded like both a question and an answer, his voice a low rumble that she felt as much as heard.
“You’re ... here.” Her voice barely carried over the drumming rain hammering the roof and walls around them. “You disappeared. Tibet. The mission. Everyone said—”
Before she could finish, John crossed the space between them in three long strides, his boots leaving wet imprints on the dusty floor. His hands cupped her face, warm against her rain-chilled skin, eyes searching hers with an urgency that stole her breath. His fingertips left traces of heat along her jawline.
“More beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured, his breath warm against her face, carrying the faint scent of mint and coffee.
Before Purdey could process what was happening, John lifted her off her feet. A surprised gasp escaped her lips as he swung her around, rain spinning around them in a silver curtain, droplets catching the dim light like tiny prisms. The cold air swirled around them, raising goosebumps on her exposed skin. Recognition blazed through her body—this was John, her first love, the pastor who’d whispered scripture against her skin in empty church rooms years ago, when summer light filtered through stained glass and cast colored shadows across their entwined forms.
His mouth found hers, familiar yet new, tasting of rain and longing. Purdey hesitated only a moment before wrapping her legs around his waist, the rough fabric of his coat scratching against her thighs as she gave herself over to the storm of sensation. His hands gripped her thighs, supporting her weight as he deepened the kiss. The scent of him—earth and spice and something uniquely his—filled her senses.
“John,” she breathed against his mouth, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against her lips. “You vanished. Eighteen years. No word.” Her words fogged in the cool air between them.
“I couldn’t come back.” His voice roughened, vibrating against her chest where they pressed together. “Not as the man I was.”
Questions crowded her mind, but John was carrying her now, stepping out from their shelter into the rain. Cold water sluiced over them, plastering her clothes to her skin and running in rivulets down her back as he lowered her onto a patch of mud turned velvet-soft by the downpour. The earthy scent of wet soil rose around them, mixing with the metallic tang of rain and the warmth of their bodies meeting after eighteen years of absence.
Logic told her to stop, to demand explanations—but logic had no place in this moment. Her body recognized his touch, responded to it with a hunger that overwhelmed reason, like parched earth drinking in the first rain after drought.
Their clothes disappeared, discarded in the mud that squelched beneath them. John’s hands mapped her changed body, pausing at the new definition of muscle, the firmness where softness had once been. The cool rain accentuated every point where his fingertips met her skin, creating electric pathways of sensation.
“You’ve transformed,” he whispered, tracing the lines of her abdomen, his voice barely audible above the rhythmic drumming of raindrops on metal scaffolding nearby.
“So have you,” she replied, feeling the increased bulk of his shoulders, the new scars on his back—raised ridges telling stories she had yet to learn.
Her fingers traced downward, finding him hard and ready. She wrapped her hand around his length, marvelling at how thick and substantial he felt—larger than she remembered, pulsing with heat against her palm. John groaned as she stroked him, his cock swelling further under her touch, the sound rumbling through his chest into hers.
“I’ve thought about this,” he said, his voice rough as he positioned himself between her thighs, the scent of rain-soaked earth and their mingled arousal rising around them.
The rain pelted their naked bodies as John pressed forward. Purdey gasped as she opened for him, her body yielding and accepting inch by inch. The sensation of fullness overwhelmed her—her flesh stretching to accommodate him, wet and ready despite the years apart. Her body remembered his, welcomed the intrusion with a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the rain. She tasted the sweetness of rainwater on her lips, mixed with the salt of perspiration.
“God, you’re tight,” John groaned, easing further inside. “So wet for me.” His words vibrated against the hollow of her throat where his lips now pressed.
Purdey arched beneath him, feeling the delicious friction as her inner walls clung to every ridge and vein of his shaft. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting all of him. His thickness created a pleasurable burn that bordered on pain, her body struggling to adjust to his size after so long. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched raindrops collect in the hollow of his collarbone, then slide down his chest.
The rain continued falling as they moved together, mud coating their skin, primitive and primal beneath the stormy sky that flashed intermittently with lightning, casting them in stark, momentary illumination. With each thrust, John drove deeper, his cock filling her completely, hitting places inside that made her vision blur. Purdey’s cries echoed across the empty construction site, carried away by thunder and wind, mingling with the metallic tang of rain and the earthy scent of wet soil.
John drove into her with the desperate intensity of a man reclaiming something lost. Purdey matched his rhythm, her nails digging into his mud-slick shoulders. This wasn’t gentle reunion sex—this was raw reconnection, bodies remembering what minds had forgotten. The abandoned site around them—steel beams half-erected, concrete foundations exposed—seemed a fitting backdrop to their unfinished history.
As pleasure built within her, Purdey caught glimpses of his face above her—so familiar yet changed. The pastor was gone, replaced by someone harder, more commanding. His eyes held shadows she couldn’t read, depths she longed to explore. Her mind raced with questions even as her body surrendered to sensation.
Their release came simultaneously, John’s shout mingling with Purdey’s cry as lightning flashed overhead, illuminating them in electric blue. She felt him pulse inside her, filling her with warmth as her own body convulsed around him, squeezing and milking every drop. For several moments they remained joined, rain washing mud from their bodies, breath gradually slowing, the storm’s fury seeming to ebb with their passion.
John rolled to his side, pulling Purdey against him. “I own this development company now,” he said against her wet hair. “I knew you’d be assigned the inspection.”
Purdey pushed up on one elbow, studying his face. “You orchestrated this?”
A smile curved his lips. “I needed to see you.”
“Eight years, John. You were declared dead.”
“I was, in many ways.” His fingers traced her collarbone. “Tibet changed me. I found ... opportunities there. Made connections. Built something new.”
Questions crowded Purdey’s mind—where he’d been, why he hadn’t contacted her, how he’d transformed from pastor to property developer. But one question burned brighter than others.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why come back now?”
John’s eyes darkened. “Because you’re ready now. The woman you’ve become—” his hand moved down her mud-streaked body, “—this version of you. This is who I need.”
“Need for what?”
His smile held secrets. “You’ll see. We have work to do together, Purdey.”
The rain began to ease, clouds thinning to reveal patches of blue sky. Purdey shivered, suddenly aware of their nakedness, the mud coating their skin, the madness of what they’d done.
“I should go.” She sat up, looking for her scattered clothes.
John caught her wrist. “You won’t. Not really.” His voice carried absolute certainty. “You’ll come back to me. You always do.”
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