Saturday evening, she stood before her mirror, turning slowly. She'd chosen a slinky black cocktail dress that clung to every curve—low-cut in front to show the swell of her breasts, short enough that bending over would reveal the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings. No panties underneath; the risk made her feel alive. Her heels were strappy and high, elongating her legs. Makeup was sultry: smoky eyes, red lips. She looked like sin wrapped in elegance.

Driving to their mansion, her pussy was already wet, lips slick with anticipation. The fantasy had taken on a life of its own. What if she saw it again? What if more happened?

The...