I got a text from my husband, Johnny, while I was drinking my morning coffee at home in Boston.   He was in LA working on a project.  His message read: “Don’t forget!” Meeting at 2 pm today at the Wellesley building.  The Worthington people will be there to review the site plans and conduct the walk-through with you.   

I sent a text back.  It read: I am meeting Michael at the club for lunch before our meeting.  Oh, and honey, my story, The Audition, was just approved and is now available to read on LushStories.com. Here’s the link: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/college-sex/the-audition-7.   Let me know if it made you hard.  It made me wet writing it.   I wish I were there to fuck you while you read it.  XOXOX Chel.

I got an immediate text back from Johnny. It read: “You know that was a group text with Michael, I just sent you about the meeting, right?”   I looked at my phone. My heart nearly stopped.  I could not breathe.  “Oh no!”, I moaned out loud. “No, no, no, Oh God, no!” 

I typed in just Johnny’s name to make sure I didn’t send another group text to both Johnny and Michael.  It read: “Oh no, honey, what should I do? Michael is going to freak out if he reads my stories and sees my photos.” 

 I got a text back from Johnny. It read: “Too late now, sweetheart. The cat is out of the bag. Just go to lunch and the meeting and pretend it didn’t happen.  Maybe he didn’t even get the text from you. One of two things will happen: nothing, or you just made our favorite real estate broker hornier than hell.  Better take protection this afternoon just in case, and I’m not talking about a gun!  LOL!”

Before I finished Johnny’s text, a text from Michael was waiting for me.  I took a deep breath and opened it, expecting the worst.  It read: "Hi guys, thanks for the reminder, Johnny. Hope all is going well on the set in LA.   I will see you at the club at noon, Chelsea. Please bring a copy of the lease with you, just in case the Worthington crew wants to go over anything.  See you there.”

I breathed a sigh of relief at Michael’s text, then texted Johnny back again, being careful not to include Michael.  It read:   “Ha, ha, ha, very funny!  If he goes to LushStories, I will be mortified. Hopefully, I will have dodged a bullet on this one, and the text just went right over his head.  I’ll text you when I get home and let you know how it goes.  Wish me luck, Honey.”

I then typed a text to Michael.  It read.  “I’ll see you at the club, Michael, and I’ll bring a copy of the lease just in case.”

I was a nervous wreck, thinking about Michael and what would be going through his mind if he read my story about auditioning for a porn movie in college.  Worse yet, he could read my other stories chronicling in torrid detail my slutty sexual adventures.  Even worse than that, he could see my photos and videos highlighting my naked body and sexual talents up close and personal in vibrant living color.  My heart pounded in fear of what he might think of me.  Having worked with Michael for many years as our exclusive leasing broker for our commercial properties in the Boston area, both Johnny and I have a tremendous amount of respect for him as a broker as well as a classy gentleman.

Johnny and I often joke about how I love that he is a doppelganger for Jason Statham, with his gravely British accent, solid physique, and shaved head.  Every time I see him, he is sporting a three-day growth of beard.  To top it off, he is a former UKSF trooper who most likely knows a hundred and one ways to kill a person in less than two seconds with nothing more than a paper clip.

Johnny thinks it is cute how flustered I get whenever I am around Michael.  He knows I have a bit of a crush on our broker, and that my panties get wet every time I’m in Michael’s presence.  He loves that Michael turns me on, especially when he removes my soaked panties later while we are alone, as I show him what I would do to Michael if he were the one I was fucking instead.  To put it simply, Michael  Bancroft is my ultimate fantasy.  Well, not exactly, Jason Statham is, but Michael does quite nicely in his place.

I put the text debacle of accidentally sending an obscene text to our broker behind me as best I could, then finished my coffee before heading out for a quick run.  When I returned, I meditated to quiet the hissy fit going on in my mind.  Feeling better after my meditation, I poured a hot bath.

The hot water lapped against my skin as I sank deeper into the bath, one hand already sliding between my thighs. My fingers found my swollen clit and started slow, firm circles while my mind drifted straight to Michael. I pictured him at his desk, tie loosened, scrolling through my LushStories profile, his cock hardening as he read my filthy stories, then finding my videos. The thought of him stroking himself while watching me spread my legs for the camera made me moan out loud.

I slipped two fingers inside my pussy, thrusting them deep and fast, water splashing over the edge. In my head, Michael was rock hard, eyes locked on his screen, gripping his thick cock as he watched me fuck myself with a dildo while sucking Johnny’s cock. My hips bucked against my hand, the fantasy pushing me over the edge until I came hard, moaning out loud as my pussy clenched around my fingers in the steaming water.

 After my orgasm faded, I stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep as the warm water rippled around me. Once my legs stopped trembling, I let out a long sigh and felt my composure slip back into place.

I reached for the shampoo, lathered my hair with steady hands, and rinsed it clean with the detachable showerhead.  When I stepped out, I wrapped a thick towel around my body and another around my damp hair. I took my time drying off, then slipped into a soft cotton robe before changing into a navy-blue mid-length power dress. I wanted to look as conservative as possible just in case Michael had inadvertently discovered that behind closed doors, I am secretly an insatiable whore.

I took one look at myself, all bound up in the full-length mirror, and frowned at how matronly I looked.  Not normal for me.  Usually, when meeting with Michael or anyone, for that matter, I wear much more revealing clothes, simply because it makes me feel good. I unbuttoned a few buttons, so if I bent over, at least a hint of my lacy bra might show.  I kicked off my boring pumps and stepped into my favorite black Louboutin heels with their trademark bright red soles.  Now I was ready to go to lunch and let the chips fall where they may.

Teven, one of the young, preppy valets, greeted me as I drove up to the club entrance.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Paradice.  How are you today?  Will you be joining us for lunch?” He asked as I began to step out of my Rover.

“Hi Teven, I’m well, thank you.  Yes, I’m having lunch.  Have you seen Mr. Bancroft?” I asked as Teven held the door for me.

I looked down and could see my dress was revealing my thighs, and most likely my blue lace panties.  I looked up and noticed Teven was looking down wide-eyed as I scooted out of the seat.  I smiled at him as he looked back up and caught my eye.  His young, innocent face turned bright red. I thought to myself, “At least I’m wearing panties; the poor kid would have passed out otherwise.”  

Tevin’s voice broke as he began to speak.

“Ye, uh, yes, Mr. Bancroft just arrived.”  I smiled once again at him as I made my way to the entrance to go inside the club and accept my fate with our broker.

As soon as I stepped inside the dining room, I spotted Michael sitting at our usual corner table. The moment he saw me, he stood up like the gentleman he always was, but there was something different in his eyes. A little slower smile. A little more heat.

“Chelsea,” he said, his gravelly voice wrapping around my name like it always did, “you look… well, you look like you.”

I laughed nervously and slid into the chair across from him. “And exactly how is it that I look?”

His eyes dropped for half a second to the hint of lacey bra now visible below my neckline, then back up to my face. “I’d say, like, trouble”.

My stomach dropped. The silence that followed felt like it lasted an hour.

Michael leaned forward slightly, voice low. “I read your story, The Audition. Every single word. And then savored the images of your exquisite body.”

I could feel my face burning.

“Michael, I’m so sorry. That text was meant for Johnny. I...”

“Don’t apologize.” His eyes locked on mine, serious now. “You’re an incredible writer. Filthy… but incredible.”

The way he said “filthy” sent a rush of heat straight between my legs.

He let out a low breath and shook his head, “I’ve known you for years. Worked with you. Respected you. But after receiving your text this morning…”

I swallowed hard and cut him off. “So, what happens now?”

Michael’s mouth curved into a slow, barely detectable, dangerous smile. Very Jason Statham.

“I’ll tell you exactly what happens now.  Now we have lunch like professionals,” he said calmly, “and then we go to that meeting. But after that…”

He paused, letting the weight of it settle. “I think you and I need to have a very honest conversation about what you wrote… and what I’d like to do to you.”

My thighs pressed together under the table.

He leaned back, picked up his menu as if nothing had happened, and added almost casually, “And Chelsea? Next time you send your husband a link to one of your naughty stories… make sure it’s not a group text.”

I stared at him, heart hammering, already soaking through my panties. This was no longer just a fantasy.  And Michael Bancroft had just made it very, very real.

Lunch was torture. Every time Michael looked at me, I felt like he was seeing me naked. He kept the conversation professional on the surface, but his eyes kept dropping to my cleavage, my legs, my mouth. And every time they did, I got wetter.

By the time we finished eating, my panties were ruined. The meeting at the Wellesley building was even worse. The Worthington people were walking around taking notes, but all I could think about was Michael standing behind me. I could feel his eyes on my ass every time I bent over to point something out on the plans.

Halfway through the walkthrough, I excused myself to go to the restroom just to catch my breath. I locked the door, leaned against the sink, and slipped my hand under my dress. I was absolutely drenched. I was two fingers deep, biting my lip to stay quiet, when my phone buzzed.

Michael: “Everything okay in there?”

I stared at the message, heart racing. Before I could stop myself, I pulled my fingers out, spread my legs, pulled my panties aside, and took a quick picture of my soaked, swollen pussy. I sent it without thinking.

Thirty seconds later, the bathroom door handle rattled.

“Chelsea. Open the door. Open it now!”

His voice was low and rough, leaving no room for argument. I unlocked it with shaking hands. Michael stepped inside, locked the door behind him, and looked me up and down like he wanted to eat me alive.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled.

Then he was on me. He kissed me like he’d been waiting for years to do it, hard, deep, and filthy. One hand grabbed my ass while the other slid straight up my dress and inside my panties.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned against my mouth.

 I moaned as two thick fingers pushed inside me.

“Michael…”

“Shh. We don’t have much time.”

He spun me around, bent me over the sink, and yanked my drenched panties down to my knees. I heard his belt buckle and zipper, and then I felt the thick, heavy head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

He didn’t tease.  He thrust into me in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt.  I had to bite my own wrist to keep from screaming. Michael fucked me like a man who’d just read every dirty secret I’d ever written, deep, rough, and relentless. One hand gripped my hip, the other reached around to rub my clit.

“Cum for me,” he growled in my ear. “Right now.”

I shattered.

My legs shook so hard he had to hold me up as I came all over his cock.  He followed right after, groaning low as he pumped me full, his whole body pressed tight against my back.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard. Then he kissed the back of my neck and whispered, “Tell Johnny I said thank you for the reading material.”

He pulled out, fixed his pants, and gave my ass a firm smack.

“Clean up, Mrs. Paradise. We still have a meeting to finish.”

As he slipped out the door, I caught my reflection in the mirror, flushed, freshly fucked, and already thinking about round two. This was going to be a problem.  A very, very good problem.

Just as I went to unlock the bathroom door, my phone buzzed.

Johnny: “I love the photo.  I’m sure Michael did as well. God, I fucking love you!”

I walked out of that bathroom with Michael’s cum slowly oozing out of me, my head spinning not only from the incredible fucking I just got, but from sending another group text by mistake.  Despite it all, I somehow managed to finish the meeting as if nothing had happened.

Later that night, Johnny called from L.A. The second I answered, he asked with that knowing tone, “So… looks like you needed to take protection to lunch after all!”

I laughed, still sore in the best way. “You have no idea.”

I told him everything. Every dirty detail. By the time I was done, I could hear him breathing harder on the other end.

“Jesus, Chelsea,” he groaned. “Send me a picture of how messy you still are.”

I did.

And just like that, my little accident had opened a door we’d never be able to close again.

Michael wasn’t just my fantasy anymore.   He was my new favorite secret.

 Now, if I could just send a group text to Jason Statham!