Naughty Irene
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In a quaint Barcelona neighborhood, Irene Gallegos enjoys a normal life. With one exception, her husband, Oscar, annoys the middle-aged mother of two angels with his twisted fantasy. But never would she stray. Never. Until Conor, an Englishman haunted by his past and shrouded in mystery, saves her life. Half her age, gorgeous, and determined, he leads her into a life far beyond both her imagination and Oscar’s kinkiest desires.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Sharing Wife Watching Oral Sex
“When will you be home, Mami?”
At the brilliant shine in the eyes of their youngest girl, Irene Gallegos smiles. She runs a hand through the adorable pre-teen’s hair. The silken tresses glimmer in the faded orange glow filtering through the apartment’s open windows. It’s still early in the evening, and from below the sounds of Barcelona’s traffic continue to rumble.
“Monday, muñequita,” she replies.
“You’ll be with Uncle Conor?”
“Si.”
“I like him. He’s funny.”
“I like him too, my sweet.”
A surge of heat rushes through the fifty-two-year-old loving mother and devoted wife. Her focus shifts to her husband.
Behind the kitchen counter, Oscar is silent in the shadows cast by the setting sun. His lower lip trembles. In twinkling eyes, that curious mix of desire and reticence makes her heart beat a little quicker. His attention is locked on an ensemble she’d only fantasized of wearing but a few short months ago.
Sexy, deep red, and snug to her curvaceous figure, the dress is beyond daring. The hem rides so far up both thighs that most of the lace-topped dark stockings are on full display. Razor-thin, glossy crimson heels are lofty enough to make her wobble, but the sexy shoes do wonders for her legs.
The shaking of his lips quickens. Oscar has also done his fair share of fantasizing. The clothes were purchased by another man. Ah, and so much more has twisted both their lives.
She swallows a laugh when his eyes fix on the slender golden key swinging between her breasts. Braless, the heavy globes threaten to sway free of the plunging neckline when she bends forward to place a kiss on Elena’s forehead.
The little one lands a peck on her cheek. It’s followed by another from Marita, their much quieter, older, and far-too-wise daughter. Avoiding the latter’s questioning gaze, she marches to Oscar. He gulps when she halts before him. Her hand rises to caress his cheeks.
“Make sure Papi behaves,” she calls out over her shoulder.
“We will!”
The stereo replies from both put a smile on her face, and she’s rewarded by his nervous grin. Under the languid rake of red nails, his jaw trembles.
“You are going to behave, correcto, mi amor?” she whispers after leaning to find his ear.
“Si, corazón,” he murmurs. “Of course. Um, you look very nice in that dress.”
After a quiet snort, she gives his ear a playful nip. “Hmm, you know how Uncle Conor can get. Your naughty wife won’t be wearing it long.”
A shiver races through her husband. “No. No, you won’t.”
“And he’s going to let me suck his enormous, meaty cock again,” she murmurs, her words dripping with the sultriness that gets him shivering even more.
“Um, si, claro, I know.”
After another nip of his earlobe, making him jump, she steps away. Within his expression swirls a mixture of adoration and increasing frustration. New rules have been implemented. No, he’ll not enjoy her mouth on him anytime soon. With the return of the shaky grin and a throb in his trousers, her smile widens.
“Still love me?” she whispers.
“Yes,” he hisses.
“Good. If he permits it, I’ll send you some pictures, and”—she glances behind her to find the girls already distracted by their phones—”tell you everything we do once I return.”
The swiftness of his nod makes her swallow a giggle. But the quiet laugh escapes when her hand lowers to give his crotch a gentle squeeze. Beneath loose slacks, hard plastic surges into her fingers, and his eyes gain an intense glow. The cage ensures another rule remains in force: she no longer belongs to him. Heart, yes, although that has become complicated. Body, no.
As the most adorable whimper escapes him, his white-rimmed irises flick between her face and the dangling key. Reinforcement; he needs that. With fantasies about what will soon happen to her already glimmering in his eyes, her husband craves their new twisted world.
From the street below, the swift toot of a car horn breaks the moment. Pure Pavlovian, both nipples become steely pebbles so fast her breathing hitches. Her heart thumps. A spray of goosebumps is followed by a far more forceful pulse of heat across her skin.
So deep, so very deep, that delicious fluttering roars to life. As if riding the gossamer wings of the prettiest butterflies, her soul also flutters. After placing a quick kiss—light enough to avoid smearing crimson lipstick—on Oscar’s lips, she hoists a silvery tote bag onto her shoulder.
Two minutes later, she sits quivering on the supple leather in the rear of a sleek black sedan. After a whispered greeting, only desperate moans escape as she snuggles into the warm embrace of a tall, muscular young man. Her flaring nostrils imbibe that wondrous cologne, an alluring combination of well-worn rawhide, exotic island spices, and the darkest of forests.
Twenty years younger, plus handsome beyond imagination, lovely Conor remains infatuated. The sparkles in stunning blue eyes declare as much. So do the large hands quick to tug aside the top of the dress, providing access to the thick crimson stems he adores. So many tremors race through her before staggering when hard fingers find achy stiffness.
Yet, as bliss begins its delightful blossoming, the same questions tumble like stones down a mountainside. How? Why her? Why now, after almost seventeen years of marriage?
When their lips meet, electricity speeds across every nerve, and her mind flickers. In the grasp of the hungry, needy youth, memories flow, once more trying to organize the jumble of life-changing, soul-changing, world-changing events. So many images.
Oscar’s stupid, incessant fantasy. Her shock. The confusion. Add to that the frustration at the office, and the endless dribble of days passing ever quicker as she slides deeper into her fifties. Most of those years with but a single man. No, she shouldn’t want more from life. She hadn’t, not really. Such was her lot; enough happiness had found her.
Then came the gift that is Conor, arriving as if out of nowhere. A shining knight, bearing his own struggles, softening hers, pushing, leading, directing, governing, while swaddling, caressing, and driving her ever closer to lust-fueled madness. Yes, she’s become besotted with him, no matter his faults, and the weaknesses he’s shared.
Could she thank God? Should she? “Heaven-sent” is a stretch for such a youthful man possessing unfathomable needs, matching the ones he ignites within her. An existence, dull and normal, morphed, becoming so full of passion and heat, not to mention a good deal of danger, because so many pitfalls now lay revealed.
When did the entire world flip like a speedboat on rough waters, tossing an Irene-shaped piece of driftwood, mired in the cloying seaweed of life, onto the rockiest of enticing shores?
It’d been the very dawn of summer. Everything—sounds, sights, smells—had been so vivid. The day, a prime example of Spain’s utter gorgeousness. One for the postcards the turistas still bought by the handful at tiny shops even in the digital age.
That Friday, heat was rippling off the city streets, and the sun seemed somehow larger in a bright blue sky. Amid a cacophony of music from local performers, the seasonal crowds sent laughter and applause into the heavy air. Voices in a hundred languages echoed as sunburnt vacationing figures moved among the stores and cafes.