Naughty Irene
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 4
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4 - 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 Romantic Fiction Sharing Wife Watching Oral Sex
Suddenly much smaller, the fitting room was pulsing in sync with Irene’s racing heart, and it was difficult to breathe. Conor’s hand had left her wrist, but she hadn’t moved and stood shaking as he inspected her.
Oh, and it was a thorough, soul-penetrating inspection. His eyes had grown intense. Yet, he stayed silent; the youthful man was awaiting her reaction.
“I-I shouldn’t be in here,” slipped from her trembling lips.
“No, you probably shouldn’t.”
He nodded but made no other move. Heart thumping, neither did she, despite the exit being right behind her. He was far too young. She was so old. He was so tall. She was a mother. He was soooo beautiful. She was married. How could he be so gorgeous?
The swirl of thoughts intensified as more words struggled to leave her. His smile widened; syllables melted into a whirling slurry.
“Did you dream of me, señorita?”
Memories flashed. Her heartbeat roared skyward. What she’d done that first night—the epic shudders and teeth so deep in the pillow—and how his wispy grin had witnessed every sensuous second. Since then, a few more torrid nighttime visits, but nothing more than a sneaky palm pressing damp cotton. Alright, a few gentle rubs, until the bedroom had wobbled. The walls closed in even further, and she lost herself in those unblinking irises.
“Si,” escaped her in a microscopic voice.
His hands found her wrists. In his grip, they rose until firmness, so sleek and warm, appeared beneath her spreading fingers. She tore her gaze from those beautiful eyes to find her shiny nails gliding over the mighty tiger’s barrel chest. Unlike Oscar’s gray hair, coarse and thin, these curls were thick, yet flowed like silk.
A sigh sent heat into her hair, and she gulped while once again looking up at that smile and those twinkling jewels. When a hand landed on the center of her back, she gasped; his grip had left her wrists.
“Por favor, you can’t ... Please, what are you—”
Her mumbled protest ended in a whimper when those widespread digits pressed her closer to his body’s intense heat. Every sense sizzled. A mixture of that wonderful cologne, natural muskiness, a hint of pungent sweat, and a masculine soap pummeled her flaring nostrils. The softness of the fine hairs sliding through her fingers. The thunder of his heart. Wow, so loud and powerful.
With her chest settling against him, the fury in both iron-hard nipples released, lashing arcs of vivid electricity along every nerve. The tiny room filled with a louder whimper. Her fists clenched, clasping those soft curls and scratching his skin with shaky nails. It was his turn to groan as her lips mashed into the springy, delicate hairs.
“Mmm, that’s it, mi señorita. Conor will take care of you.”
She had half a millisecond to process his words before his other hand made its presence known. Arrowed fingers pressed the dress inward between her shaking thighs. His forceful caress nudged, then dragged over stiff, pulsing anger.
The universe exploded.
Her mind wobbled, and a full-on growling moan was muffled by his chest. The abrupt scratch of her heels widening on the floor was a damning sound. She no longer cared. Let the world judge her.
As the hand glided further, her breathing hitched. At last, the other lowered to her derriere; a much shakier moan escaped as strong fingers massaged. She became the tiniest, squirming sandwich in the steel-hard hands of another man. That sneaky vestige of Oscar’s disturbing fantasy rippled to life. What if he were watching?
The thought vaporized as a second gentle rub between her legs melted the universe. Far angrier than the twin stems screaming as they mashed into his chest, her clit blazed. No whimpering, she unleashed the hunger-infused growl of a woman who’d lived much too quiet an existence into that muscled torso.
“Oh, yes. There it is.” His soft lips pressed the top of her head. “My, you do love this, being so naughty?”
What was there for her to say? Well, even if she were able to speak, which she couldn’t, because he gave her swifter caresses. More lightning flowed, wrapping soul-tickling flames, as surges of pure pleasure rose ever higher along every pulsating nerve. Her body rocked, riding his hand as her teeth clenched those soft curls.
Amid the madness, his quiet gasps made her quiver. Of their own accord, her nails had found his muscled rear. Dios, so firm.
His palm raced. A scream tore from her, and any further thoughts melted into massive fountains of universe-wobbling bliss. Both more cries and waves of pleasure followed as she shoved into his speeding hand. The world became nothing but his solid, unyielding body, the jolts across sizzling nerves, and the utter desolation of her melting core.
The sudden slowing of his fingers made her gasp. Mind shattered, she sucked on a trail of thick drool before lifting her head to gaze up at him.
“Better, señorita?”
No chance of her answering. In either language, words refused to form. With shaky lips sucking on more spittle, and every muscle spasming, she couldn’t even nod.
Time slowed as if sinking in the most wondrous of warm sand when a strong finger slid under her trembling chin. His touch was gentle but inexorable, lifting her face closer and closer.
“I can’t,” she murmured, just before softness pressed her lips, ending any silly complaints.
What remained of the universe shuddered when steel-hard arms pulled her into the tightest of embraces. As the kiss deepened, her moans merged with his quiet groaning. His tongue prodded. Her mouth widened, letting the muscle swirl inside to play with hers, and her nails shook while roaming the heated, slick skin of his muscled back. Figures he’d be an amazing kisser as well. That fleeting thought battered through what was left of her failing mind as the universe’s final remnants surrendered, grinding to a halt amid her louder, hungrier moaning.
Their very first kiss went on forever.
At last, he lowered her shaking curves to a little bench, and she tumbled to one side. With her head and shoulder against the chilly wooden wall, her pulse refused to slow. First, his smile was relentless, chasing her even when she closed her eyelids. Second, when they opened, her gaze locked on the enormous bulge in his slacks.
“Later.”
His quiet voice, followed by a chuckle, brought her wobbly focus back to the smile. As beautiful as ever, except there was a tremor in the corner of those full lips. At the sound of a soft swish, her view once more dropped.
The trousers were gone, and he was reaching for the pair on the hanger. She gasped, and he froze. Oh, she wanted to look at him but couldn’t tear her gaze from ... madness.
Nothing but taut—very taut—white cotton throbbed before her. She blinked, then blinked again, before sucking hard on shaking lips. His underwear may as well have been transparent, displaying the outline of a penis that belonged under a burro or a horse. Perhaps an elephant. Did they have such large ones?
First, her brain did quick math, as did her body; flutters rippled ever higher. Next, unbidden, memories flashed.
A brief flicker of her earliest experience with male appendages. Just after secondary school ... But, dear, sweet Alejandro had been just a boy.
An even swifter flash of the cute mushroom snuggling between Oscar’s flabby thighs yanked a nervous giggle from her. Despite his muttered promises on their wedding night, her husband’s “Pequeñito” had never grown. He’d been the one to comment, giving his penis the nickname. He was the one who kept on commenting, had kept himself shaved down there to appear ... boyish. Not once had she mentioned his size. After all, it had given them two precious daughters.
However, a certain reality was obvious. Neither of them was in the same league as what throbbed before her.
Ah, but then images of wonderful Stefano bloomed like the most vivid flowers from the dustiest of mental corners. Lanky and coal black, he’d possessed the most magical laugh. Always her favorite samba partner. To the rapid, pulsating beat of the drums, they’d enjoyed many a sultry dance. One night, far too much wine led to wandering hands in the dark alley behind the hall.
Of course, she’d never told Oscar about that episode. Not given fuel to the stupid fantasy refusing to die in his skull. In truth, thinking of him had been absent from her wobbly mind. Yes, she’d been drunk, but that’d been true naughtiness. A soul-draining chunk of guilt had hounded her for a good long time. However, the talented dancer had returned to São Paulo the next day; part of the reason she’d let him ... play.
Alright, more than simple playing. Dios, she’d come so hard once his talented fingers found that most special rhythm. In return, while leaning against a cold concrete wall and gulping air, she’d torn open his zipper to reveal what had been prodding her for all those months.
Long, thick, and heavy, a thumping dark log had landed across her palms. It’d made such a mess, taking wads of tissues to wipe her grimace and clean copious streaks from her dress. Yet, despite the pungent reek, she’d also giggled ... and cried. The wine had been flowing even more by then.
A sudden pulse in the tight cotton vaporized the swirling, hazy memories. She blinked once more, trying to focus on the sight before her. An impossibility, it was so much ... Well, a manhood such as that put any other male to shame. And “manhood” was the correct term. Pure virile masculinity, thumping, ever-thumping, so thick, and so very long.
She should say something.
Nope, not even syllables would form, let alone words, in any language. The fluttering she’d tried to ignore intensified, moving deeper inside her. What had she done? This wasn’t her. Nothing made sense. He was that hard because of her? She was old, frumpy. They’d only met twice. Ai, Dios. In his racing fists, that had ... twice.