Naughty Irene
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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
How can any man be so beautiful?
That and many other whispers wandered Irene’s mind as she gazed across the small table at a prime example of the silent query. Not only tall but also broad, with thick shoulders, and possessing such a taut physique, glinting even in the shade cast by the cafe’s awning. Glued to him by sweat, the blue top might just have been absent. Its wispiness outlined the most incredible, well-defined muscles.
His eyes continued to sparkle, drawing on the deepest depths of ... Well, a sizzle not felt in years had snuck back to life deep within her.
The server brought their drinks. She gasped when a third glass landed, and the young man scooped ice into a white cloth napkin.
“Qué estás? Uh, what are you—”
Her voice ended in a louder inhale when he bent to clasp her ankle. The world shuddered as he lifted her leg, stretching it across muscular thighs, bared by shorts riding high. Even as incredible heat flooded from the contact, coolness pressed against her knee, and she blinked into his smile.
“There. Just relax, señorita.”
No, she couldn’t just relax. The hand holding the ice-filled cloth in place stretched, and the heat of his fingers swirled amid the chill. An answering blast of warmth fountained far inside her, and the universe again trembled.
“—should drink. Um, beber.”
His deep voice, making her chest rumble, was followed by a quick nod to the nearest glass. With her view fixed on him, she clasped the iciness in a shaky fist. As it rose, he also lifted his drink from the table.
While they drank, a strange silence muffled nearby voices and laughter, the bird calls, the sound of traffic, everything but the hammering of her heart. When she swallowed, his gaze flicked to her neck, and more of the heat roared to life. The grip on her knee shifted; warm fingers rubbed the ersatz icepack along her skin, and chilly dribbles raced downward.
“—your name? Uh, tu nombre?” he asked.
Overcome by the sensations burrowing deeper, a few seconds stretched before the glass left her lips. After a slow exhale that did nothing to calm her, she found words.
“Um, Irene.”
“My, what a wonderfully pretty name.” He nodded. “Pardon my uncouth forwardness, but it matches such a pretty woman.”
Again, her English was good enough to catch most of his meaning. From anyone else, she’d never let such silly words pass unchallenged, yet the sparkles in his eyes grew. Within her, the heat flared, and her heart staggered. His smile widened over the rim of the glass before disappearing as he took a longer sip.
However, the motion of his digits, wandering a little wider, brought reality to the front of her skull like a gunshot. Oscar, husband, partner and best friend. The girls, the lights of her life and the reasons for existing. Her parents, a father still difficult and a mother losing her faculties to that horrid disease. The job she adored. Oh, but some of those annoying coworkers. That was her world. Not whatever ... No, she was leaping to conclusions. Yet, best to ensure no misunderstandings.
While struggling to tamp the thunder in her chest, she placed the glass on the table and lifted her hand. The diamond on a golden wedding band glittered in the mottled sunlight.
“Señora. No señorita. Married. Entiendes? You understand?”
“Hmm, well, I’m not ... señora. My name is ... Um, mi nombre es Conor.”
After a quick shrug, he glanced at where his fingers caressed, spreading more heat and the damp chill with the slowest of motions. Confusion swept through her. The display of her vows to any man should’ve worked, yet his digits stayed firm, and...
His vivid blue eyes rose to pin her soul. They flicked to her hand, the one bearing the ring, the one that’d made no attempt to remove his grip. The brilliant sapphires on his stoic visage glimmered as he took another drink.
“Tell me about yourself, Irene.”
When she only stared, he repeated the question in broken Spanish, and she came very close to smiling. However, neither a grin nor an answer would be appropriate. He was a stranger. Not even of her nationality, and in the midst of a large city.
“Por favor,” she replied in the tiniest whisper. “I must go. My husband. My children—”
“—will be there when you get home.” He glanced up through the trees. “It’s still early.”
As she struggled for words, the young man’s gaze swept the leg continuing to drape his lap. A quiet gasp slipped from her when he lowered the glass and gripped the broken shoe. After a careful twist, it left her foot, and he laid the heelless footwear beside him on the table.
Forlorn and abandoned, a broken shoe, in his shadow.
Yes, a sign.
No, more of a test.
Though the twinkle remained in his eyes, he was gauging her, seeking any response. Other than the incessant thunder in her chest, that strange silence deepened, swallowing even more sounds. What to do? The proper answer was to tug free and hobble swiftly far away from him. It’d be painful, but he’d never dare to restrain her, not in public.
Oh, that last detail sent shivers down her spine. Why? She hadn’t a clue, but the drink shaking in her fist made the glass tap her teeth. Wait! How? When had the drink returned to her hand? Flee, Ire! Nothing good will...
“You’ve got the prettiest eyes, Irene. Such a warm shade of brown. Quite a rich color, hinting at mystery. Very appropriate. Plus, when the sun hits them ... my goodness, they blaze with the most gorgeous emerald streaks.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, if you’re not going to speak, I shall.” His smile glowed, sending much more of the annoying, curious, enticing warmth far deeper than it should. “Indeed, I find myself compelled—”
“I must leave.”
“You said that.”
No, she didn’t move that time either. Not a single muscle tensed, readying to attempt the retreat her brain kept insisting was the correct response. His slow nod and the ceaseless, gentle rubbing of coolness against her leg sent conflicting messages. A confusing mix of newfound heat swirled with a deeper chill of uncertainty.
“—possess quite an exquisite beauty, Irene. Unique, really. Not ashamed to say, I find you rather becoming.”
Again, she struggled with his meaning, but when his gaze dropped, scanning her figure, the chilliness deepened. Her? Flabbiness had encroached. Breasts, far too large. A rear end that could stop trucks. Well, not that white one. Aerobics classes and spotty visits to the gym could only do so much.
Yet, even as her arm moved to cover her chest, his eyebrow flicked, and the limb froze. She became the proverbial deer in the brightest headlights as the chill melted, replaced by a surge of flickering flames when his scan ended in a slow, appraising nod.
If any other man had given her such an inspection, anger would’ve flared. He’d have received both a sharp slap across a cheek and a litany of choice curses. Instead, her arm lowered to the table, and no such words escaped her lips.
“Por qué?” instead slithered free of her, tumbling into the silence.
“Hmm, why do I find you so becoming? Or why are you letting me—”
He looked at her leg trembling beneath the slow-moving ice pack and those sliding fingers. When his gaze came back to her, so many responses tried to form. All floundered on her shaking lips.
“—like to see you again,” he said.
“Pardon?”
His glass sat empty. So was hers. The sun had lowered, sending orange beams lengthwise along the side roads. How had time ... skipped?
He tugged out a phone, and the grin once more fixed her in place. Her heartbeat thumped as her gaze flicked between the device and his patient, but not too patient, visage.
Like a brilliant spotlight, the memory of the scowl he’d sent toward the two fools who’d knocked her sideways arrived. No, she never wanted to be on its receiving end.
In a tiny voice, numbers tumbled from her lips. His fingers tapped on the screen. The shoe returned to her foot. Chilliness left her knee, leaving the ache numbed. Although he said nothing while helping her to her feet, his gaze intensified, sending heat ever deeper. The grip tightened on her waist.