James Smith was twenty-two, an ordinary middle-class guy working a corporate job. He didn't come from money, nor from any prestigious family. But what he lacked in wealth, he more than made up for with looks.
He stood at six-foot-two, lean but sculpted, his abs well defined, his jet-black hair brushing his shoulders. His sharp jawline and smoldering eyes made women turn their heads the moment he walked into a room. James knew exactly how much he stood out — and he never wasted that advantage.
By the time he finished college, he already had a reputation as a playboy. His mother helped him land a job at a big company owned by her friend's husband. James accepted, though he wasn't particularly interested in the work. What did interest him, however, was the attention he immediately drew from the women in the office.
Secret glances, nervous giggles, flirtatious smiles — James had seen them all before. And soon enough, he was sleeping with them too. One after another, he pulled his colleagues into his orbit. A quick encounter in the copy room, late nights in his office, weekends away under false pretenses — he devoured the opportunities that came his way.
Within six months, he had tasted nearly every attractive woman in the building. They kept coming back to him, craving more, unable to resist the combination of his confidence, his experience, and the part of him that left the deepest impression — his unusually large cock, a solid eight inches that left his partners aching for days. For most of them, sleeping with James ruined other men. No one else measured up.
But James didn't stop at coworkers. His next conquest was more dangerous.
The CEO's wife, an elegant woman in her forties, happened to be leading a project team James was assigned to. She was refined, wealthy, and always carried herself with dignity — but the moment James turned his charm on her, she began to falter. At first, their touches were subtle: his hand brushing hers during a meeting, lingering eye contact when no one was looking, his voice dropping low when he spoke to her.
One evening, under the excuse of "going over project details," James visited her home.
The tension had been building for weeks. As soon as the door closed, she looked at him like a starving woman.
"James… this isn't right," she whispered, her voice trembling.
He stepped closer, his hand sliding along her waist. "Then stop me."
She didn't.
Moments later, they were in her bedroom, clothes scattered on the floor. James kissed down her neck, his hands roaming her curves with practiced skill. She gasped as his touch ignited every nerve in her body.
"Oh God… James…" she moaned, clutching his shoulders.
He teased her, bringing her close to release only to pull back, leaving her desperate and begging. By the time he finally thrust inside her, she cried out his name, nails digging into his back.
"Fuck… you feel incredible," James groaned, driving deep into her.
Every movement was deliberate, every angle chosen to hit her perfectly. He kept her right on the edge, her body trembling under him, until she finally shattered in his arms with a cry of raw ecstasy. Her orgasm ripped through her so hard she nearly collapsed.
When it was over, she lay sprawled on the sheets, sweaty and gasping for breath. Her eyes, dazed and needy, followed James as he casually lit a cigarette.
She knew she was finished. She was addicted now.
And James? He only smirked. Another conquest. Another notch.
He thrived on this — the chase, the danger, the thrill of taking what wasn't supposed to be his. Married women, forbidden women — the more complicated, the more exciting. With every affair, his hunger grew sharper.
He exploited the company with his sexual techniques. He had the Ceo's wife under him, who could stop him.
He soon climbed the ranks. Within a year he was the regional branch manager. And he showed skill befitting it. He secured multiple deals. The profits of his branch increased.
And recently he just secured a huge partnership deal with a big client.
And to celebrate that, a grand party was organized. Executives, employees, and the new client all gathered under the glittering lights of the ballroom.
When the client arrived, he wasn't alone. Beside him walked a woman who stole the room's attention instantly.
His wife.
She was stunning—mid-thirties, curvy in all the right places, and dressed in a daring gown with her cleavage spilling out shamelessly, a slit riding high enough to tease her toned thighs. Her husband proudly introduced her.
"This is my wife, Selene."
James shook her hand. He held it just a moment too long, his thumb brushing across her palm in a teasing scratch. Selene's eyes flickered with amusement. She rolled them playfully, but then bit her lower lip—subtle, but enough to send a jolt of heat through James.
For a second, they locked eyes. James smirked. She looked away first.
Before parting, James leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Call me if you get bored tonight." He slipped her a card with his number.
Selene didn't say a word, but her smile told him everything.
~~~~
Selene was thirty-five, and her body screamed sex. Hourglass curves, flawless skin, and eyes that promised trouble. Her husband, well into his fifties, couldn't keep up with her anymore. She knew exactly what James wanted — and she wanted it too.
That very evening, James's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
"My place. 10 p.m. Don't be late."
Attached was an address.
By the time James stood at her doorstep, his cock was already straining against his pants. The door swung open, and his jaw nearly dropped.
Selene stood before him in black fishnet lingerie, her breasts barely contained, her toned stomach visible through the mesh. She leaned against the doorframe, lips curled in a sultry smirk.
"Well, well, well…" she purred, dragging her fingers over his chest the moment he stepped inside. Her nails scratched lightly as her eyes dipped down to the bulge in his pants. "Look what the cat dragged in. I was starting to think you'd stood me up."