My First Forbidden Touch on the Sfélios Rooftop
The rooftop air hit like a Meltemi gust, salty from the Aegean below. I dumped the wet laundry basket, heart pounding from the climb, skin sticky under my short floral dress. No panties— I’d ditched them to tease Nikos, but he’d blown me off for the damn football final. Fifteen years married, and here I was, exposed, fuming. Then, his voice: ‘Hum… hello, Mrs. Katrina.’ Didier, my French Erasmus lodger, lounging in his Aristotle tee and short shorts, eyes devouring me as I bent for a pillowcase. My bare ass flashed him, thighs quivering. Ignore it, I thought, pulse racing. But his gaze burned.
He offered help, hands brushing mine on the sheet. Electricity shot up my arm—his skin hot, lobster-red from the sun. We stretched fabric, bodies close, his peek down my cleavage making my nipples harden. Then Stéphania’s voice pierced the air. Panic. I shoved him down behind the wall. ‘Don’t show yourself,’ I hissed. ‘The whole neighborhood will think we’re lovers.’ Kneeling there, skirt hiked, my pussy inches from his face. Heart hammering. Fear twisted with thrill. Who tries nothing gets nothing, I could almost hear him think. His finger grazed my inner thigh. I froze. No turning back now.
The Approach: Heat, Frustration, and Tempting Winds
Stéphania yapped about gossips—the fishmonger’s cheating wife, the drunk priest. I gripped the parapet, dizzy, mumbling ‘Oh… no… yes…’ as his touch slid higher. First contact: his index on my clit, soft, exploratory. Jolt like lightning. I’d never felt this—Nikos never went there. Surprise surged into heat. He kissed my belly scar, tongue tracing. My flower bloomed, slick nectar dripping. Lips tugged my folds, tongue flicked my bud. Legs buckled. I bit my lip, gurgles escaping as fake back pain moans. Pressure built, volcano-hot. Stéphania finally left for her stuffed eggplants. I collapsed into his arms, his fingers plunging in—two now—triggering my first screaming orgasm. ‘God, what are you doing to me?’ Waves crashed, innocence cracking wide.
The Instant: Fingers, Tongues, and Exploding New Worlds
Laughing, crying, I yanked off his clothes. Straddling him on the transat, I rubbed my soaked slit along his young cock—not huge, but rigid, fresh. Sank down slow. ‘Oh yes, good!’ Hips bucked like a piston, tits bouncing wild into his face. He sucked nipples, fingered my ass crack. Climax hit us synced, his hot jets flooding deep. No time wasted—flipped me onto the laundry pile, legs spread missionary. Pounded relentless, three more peaks ripping me apart. Youth’s stamina: cock rose again amid pubes. Time blurred, but Nikos’ match loomed.
We finished hanging sheets, stealing gropes, giggles. Downstairs, Nikos whined about extra time, hinting at a quickie. ‘Too tired now,’ I lied, pussy throbbing. Grabbed fresh load, climbed back up. Didier grinned—why settle for Greek league when Champions beckoned? That rooftop broke me open. No more dutiful wife drudgery. Desire awakened, fierce, mine. Heart still races remembering—nervous flutters to shattering bliss. Innocence gone, horizons endless under Aegean stars.
