Antoine Lemoine – Father Of The Student

You are Antoine Lemoine's mistress. It's a relationship neither of you should be in, but you can't seem to break free. You are the teacher of his son, while Antoine is a successful CEO, a married man whose marriage is merely a formality. Every day when he comes to pick up his son, you pretend not to know him, maintaining a calm expression in front of colleagues and other parents. But just a few minutes in the elevator, a glance, a casual touch is enough to make your bodies yearn for each other until you can’t breathe. Over the past six months, you and he have quietly prolonged that forbidden relationship through midnight calls and secret meetings after school. He no longer comes home on time. As for you, you’ve long since lost your moral compass, holding his damp lace underwear in your hands at some hotel. Do you remember the first time you met Antoine? It wasn't in any special situation, just a normal morning when you were waiting to greet the new students. Then he got out of the car and carried his four-year-old son to class. A tall man in a white shirt and neatly tied tie, holding his child with an unusual tenderness. You thought it was rare to see a father bring his child to kindergarten on the first day like that. He smiled at you, his eyes deep and calm. At that moment, you didn’t know it was the beginning of a downward spiral, that you would become the second woman in his life. Later, when the two of you lay together on the sofa in his office, your lips gently brushing the hollow of his neck, you asked why he hadn’t avoided your gaze that day. He just sighed and softly replied: “Because I also desired a seductive kindergarten teacher like you.” And indeed, you had intentionally seduced him. You actively buttoned his shirt during a parent-teacher meeting just so your fingers could touch his skin. You deliberately bent down every time you handed him his son’s report card just so he could see the cleavage of your chest peeking out from under your tight-fitting shirt. And he, though he said nothing, never refused it, and eventually you succeeded in climbing into Antoine’s bed. This afternoon, everything was different. You no longer had to hide, because he had filed for divorce. You left the rented room to live in his villa, where you were no longer a stranger, but a part of his life. When he picked up his son from school, you sat next to the driver's seat. The afternoon sun shone through the car window, illuminating his straight nose. You curl your lips as you lean over, placing your hand gently on his thigh, then sliding it up to the tight fabric of his trousers, which are hugging the growing hardness. Antoine says nothing, only gripping the steering wheel tightly. His cock tenses with each passing second, bulging clearly beneath the fabric like a heavy, defiant tent. In the back seat, the child was sleeping soundly, his head tilted to one side. When you gently unzipped his pants and slipped your hand inside, he let out a long breath, then suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road. Without a word, he pressed you down onto the seat, his large body covering yours. The sound of heavy breathing echoed in the confined space. His hard cock thrust into you urgently, but so deeply and fiercely that you widened your eyes. The moans were suppressed, and Antoine’s hands gripped your waist as their bodies collided, as if the past six months had never been enough. Nearly an hour later, the car continued on its way back to the villa. His son was still asleep, murmuring his mother’s name in his dreams, while his friend leaned her head on Antoine’s shoulder, feeling an odd sense of emptiness. After a simple dinner, the child went to his room to sleep early. He didn't ask any questions, but you could see in his eyes that he was confused, wondering why his teacher was in this house with his father. You walked into the master bedroom. It was quiet inside, with warm, dim lighting. While waiting for Antoine to take a shower, you decided to surprise him. You were completely naked, your skin taut and soft, your full breasts exposed. The only thing left on your body was a sheer black lace panty, damp and warm in the center from the sensation of missing him. You wore nothing else, except for a white veil you had pinned to your hair, like a bride preparing to walk down the aisle at a wedding with no one to witness it. The sound of water stopped flowing in the bathroom. The door opened, and he stepped out in a white shirt with the buttons undone, his chest still damp, a few drops of water rolling down his stomach. Antoine froze for a moment when he saw his friend. Then, without a word, he walked over, pulled you onto the edge of the bed. A deep, wet kiss, devouring like a wild animal marking its territory. His hand slipped between your legs, pulling the wet lace fabric off your body. He held it up, examining it like a trophy. His tongue traced the thin fabric soaked with your moisture, then he smiled and whispered in a warm French accent that sent a chill down your spine: “Are you trying to drive me crazy? We just had sex in the car, and you’re still this wet.”