Escape The Mausoleum Part Three

Neglected Wife Finds Her Escape and Rides Hard

Two nights after Julian’s last visit, I was home on a Saturday, the scent of coffee curling through the kitchen like smoke from a slow burn. The steam coiled around me as I sipped, my fingers tracing the rim of the mug—just like I’d traced Julian’s cock the last time I had him, his skin still slick with my mouth, his groans thick in my ears.

Then the door swung open.

Dennis stepped inside, his tie already loosened, his jaw tight. The way he looked at me—like he could see right through me, like he knew exactly what I’d been doing in the shower that morning, how I’d spread my thighs just thinking of Julian’s name on my lips. My pulse hammered. Had he found out? Did he suspect?

He poured himself coffee, the dark liquid sloshing into the cup like the rhythm of his hips when he fucked me from behind. He sat, his thigh pressing against mine, and the heat between us wasn’t just from the brew.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low, rough. And then he told me.

A trial. A big one—white-collar, RICO, the kind of case that would swallow him whole for six to eight weeks. He was lead counsel, senior partner, the star of the show. Of course he was. He always was. But this time, it wasn’t just a case. It was Los Angeles. Ten weeks minimum—prep, travel, the trial itself, maybe longer.

I told him I’d be fine. That I’d miss him, but I understood. That I’d keep busy. (As if he didn’t know exactly how I’d be keeping busy.) His shoulders relaxed, just slightly, like a man who’d been holding his breath for weeks.

Then he dropped the bomb. “I leave next Wednesday.” The words hit me like a hand sliding between my thighs.

Three days until I could stop pretending, stop being the good wife, stop the fucking charade. Three days until I could sink to my knees and let Julian’s cock fill my mouth again, until I could feel his fingers tangled in my hair.
“You’ll be all right?” Dennis asked, his thumb brushing my wrist, too casual, too innocent. I forced a smile. “Of course.”

But the second he was gone, the second the car service pulled away from the curb, I was already there—sprawled on my bed, fingers slipping beneath my panties, imagining Julian’s weight on top of me, his cock pounding into me like he couldn’t get enough.

I didn’t have to wait. Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed. Julian.

"I want you at the gallery on Friday," his voice was a velvet growl, low and possessive. "Wear something that makes me hard just looking at you. Something that tells every man in that room you’re mine."

I told him Dennis was gone—gone—for at least ten weeks, buried in some high-stakes trial in Los Angeles, and that I was all his now. The way he hummed into the phone, like he was already imagining it, made my thighs clench.

"Good," he purred. "Then you’ll look like the filthy little wife you are. A gown. Something sexy. And Linda?" A pause. A smirk in his voice. "Make sure you shave. And wear your ring.’ The line went dead.

I didn’t even hesitate.

I tore off my clothes, kicking them aside like they were nothing—just barriers between me and what I needed. My fingers flew to my pussy, already slick, already aching for him. I spread myself open, two fingers circling my clit, already swollen and sensitive, already begging.

Three fingers this time, plunging inside me, my hips bucking, my free hand gripping the sheets like I was drowning and this was the only thing keeping me afloat. I could taste him already—the salt of his skin, the heat of his breath, the way he’d look at me like I was his dirty little secret.

My orgasm ripped through me like a scream, my back arching, my pussy clenching around nothing but my own fingers, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. I rode it out, my body trembling, my mind already racing ahead to Friday—

The way Julian would look at me when he saw me, all dressed up, all his, and then he’d take me somewhere private. And he’d fuck me like I was his. Like I was nothing but his.

The next morning, I woke up with a single obsession burning through me—Julian’s warning, “Make sure you shave. “Not just my legs. Not just my pussy. Everything.
I needed to be smooth. Needed to be perfect. Needed to feel the way his fingers would glide over me like silk, the way his mouth would—I called the salon immediately.
The waxer’s hands were firm, precise, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of my body with practiced ease. I lay there, spread-eagled on the table, my legs trembling—not just from nerves, but from the thrill of it. The way she worked, slow and deliberate, pulling the wax in one clean motion, leaving my skin bare.
"You sure about this?" She asked, eyeing the full Brazilian. I didn’t hesitate. "Yes."
The first pull was painful. A sharp sting that shot straight between my thighs, my hips jerking off the table. But then—
My fingers dug into the paper beneath me, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The waxer didn’t even flinch. She just kept going, her movements methodical, relentless.
"You’re gonna love the way this feels later," she murmured, like she knew exactly what I was thinking.
And she was right.
By the time she was done, I was dripping. My pussy was raw, sensitive, exposed—and the way my fingers brushed against it now sent a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through me. I could already imagine Julian’s tongue, his teeth, the way he’d—
"All done," the waxer said, pressing a cool towel against my skin.
I barely heard her. I was too busy touching myself, my fingers tracing the smooth, bare flesh, my breath hitching at the way it tingled.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I lay in bed, my legs spread just slightly, my fingers drifting down. So empty. I bit my lip, my hips rolling against my own hand, my clit already swollen, already aching. The wax had left me hyper-sensitive, every touch sending sparks through me, my body begging for something—anything—to fill it. "Julian,” I whispered, my fingers circling, my thighs trembling.
I came fast, my back arching, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my pussy clenching around nothing but air.
And I needed to be ready.
The moment I stepped into Octavia Boutique, the scent of expensive perfume and leather wrapped around me like a lover’s touch. Michael was there before I could even take a breath—his sharp eyes raking over me, his smirk knowing, appreciative.

"Linda," he purred, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against my bare arm. "You look like you’re already planning something."

I let my lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. "I am." He didn’t need to ask what. He knew. He always did.

With a flick of his wrist, he disappeared into the back, and when he returned, he was carrying something that made my breath catch—

A burgundy body-hugging gown, so deep it looked like spilled wine, clinging to every curve like a second skin. The fabric was thin, just enough to tease, just enough to promise. The neckline dipped low, the back plunging almost to my waist, the sleeves so delicate they might as well have been nothing at all. I didn’t even hesitate.

I stripped in the dressing room, my fingers trembling as I peeled off my clothes, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. The gown slid over me like a lover’s hands—smooth, possessive. It molded to my body, every inch of it, my breasts spilling just slightly over the edge, my nipples already hard, pressing against the fabric. The way it clung to my waist, my hips, the way it promised access—

"Fuck," I breathed, turning to look at myself in the mirror. Michael leaned against the doorframe, his eyes dark, his fingers tracing his own lips. "You’re killing me."

I stepped closer, the gown whispering against my skin.

He brought out the matching bra and panties, barely there, just a scrap of fabric, a tease, a promise of what was beneath. And the stilettos, six inches of pure sin, strappy and dangerous, the kind that would make a man’s eyes darken the second he saw me in them.

I stepped into them, my legs trembling, my pussy already aching at the thought of how Julian would look at me, how his hands would grip my hips. "You’re buying it," Michael said, his voice rough.

I didn’t even look at the price. I didn’t care. Because this wasn’t for me. This was for him. And when Julian saw me in it, He wouldn’t be able to resist.

The gown lay across my bed like a silken promise, the towering stilettos resting beside it, practically vibrating with wicked intent. But a body draped in pure sin required a face to match. I needed a masterpiece. I dialed Veronica, a high-end studio makeup artist down in Baltimore. I spun her a delicate web of lies—a high-society gala, flashing cameras, the absolute necessity of leaving the entire room breathless the moment I made my entrance. I didn't tell her the truth: that the only entrance I cared about was into a space thick with heavy, unapologetic lust. Intrigued by the challenge, she agreed to arrive two hours before I had to leave.

By the time five o’clock rolled around on Friday, the air in my apartment felt heavy with anticipation. Veronica arrived, lugging a heavy silver case, a treasure chest of paints and powders.

"Put it on," she ordered, dropping her bags. "I need to see the canvas."

Slipping into the gown was a tactile thrill, the fabric sliding down my bare skin like a lover's slow, agonizingly soft caress. It clung where it should, revealing just enough to make the imagination run wild. When I stepped out and turned to face her, Veronica’s breath hitched audibly. A slow, appreciative flush crept up her neck, her eyes dragging over my curves.

"Holy hell..." she whispered, her voice dropping.

I stepped closer, letting my posture shift into something predatory and confident. "I don't just want to be beautiful tonight, Ronnie," I murmured. "Make me look like walking temptation. I want the most devastating, intensely erotic look in your arsenal."

A wicked, knowing smile curved her lips. "Sit," she commanded softly. "I know exactly who you need to be tonight."

For the next ninety minutes, I surrendered entirely to her hands. It became an intensely intimate ritual. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensory rush of it all—the whisper-soft stroke of sable brushes tracing the hollows of my cheekbones, the cool, precise glide of kohl darkening my lash line into a smoldering feline gaze. Every brushstroke, every dab of sponge felt like a prelude to the decadent night ahead, waking up the nerve endings across my skin. She saved my mouth for last, her fingers gently tilting my chin as she painted my lips.

When she finally stepped back and turned my chair toward the vanity mirror, a sudden, hot shiver wracked through my core.

The woman staring back at me wasn't just ready for a party; she was a dark, pulsing fantasy brought to life. The artistry was masterful—subtle enough to invite a man to lean in close, but radiating a raw, undeniable carnality. My eyes were heavy-lidded and hungry, my lips stained a deep, bruised shade that practically begged to be tasted. It was a look of pure, unadulterated sex.

My fingers traced the delicate ridge of my collarbone, a path of simmering skin where my own pulse throbbed. A fever was building low in my belly, a heat that promised I was not just dressed, but prepared. I was an offering, pliant and ripe, waiting to be devoured.
Next came the adornments—the binding symbols of my ring and wedding band, then the glistening diamonds: teardrops at my ears, a secret sparkle encircling my ankle. Each piece was a whispered provocation, a lure designed not just to call, but to capture attention.
The car arrived. The driver’s eyes, reflected in the mirror, held me in a lingering gaze throughout the journey. When we stopped, he opened my door. I unfolded myself from the seat, one long, deliberate leg at a time, a slow unveiling meant to draw every eye from the curb. My walk to the door was a languid, hip-swaying promise; the doorman watched, then yielded the entrance.
Inside, the bright gallery hummed with chatter—a hum that dipped and hushed as I flowed into the space. And then I saw Julian. My breath caught. He stood there, devastating in a dark suit, his light blue shirt open at the throat. His eyes locked on mine, and his lips formed a silent, hungry WOW. He came to me quickly, his kiss a brief, stolen brand on my cheek. “You look absolutely intoxicating,” he murmured, his voice low. Then his hand closed around mine, possessive and guiding, as he led me to the bar. I took champagne, the bubbles sharp and bright, and we moved, fingers entwined, toward a circle of guests—a united front, charged with a secret, shared electricity.
Julian introduced me to the guests, his fingers lingering just a second too long on my waist as he presented me. The men who took my hand didn’t just brush their lips against my skin—they lingered, their mouths tracing slow, deliberate paths along my fingers before pulling away with a deliberate, almost reverent drag. Several of them noticed the wedding ring glinting on my left hand, their gazes flickering between it and Julian’s possessive grip on my hip. When he murmured, "My girlfriend," his voice low and rough, I felt my thighs clench, my core already dampening in anticipation.

The gallery buzzed with murmurs, the air thick with unspoken admiration—and something darker, hungrier. By the time the last of the guests had drifted away, only two of Julian’s closest friends remained. I caught snippets of their conversation as they lingered near the bar, their voices low but carrying just enough to reach me.

"So, this is the one you’re banging?" one of them drawled, his eyes raking over me with a predatory glint.

Julian didn’t even hesitate. His voice was a growl, rough with something between amusement and challenge. "I’m doing more than banging her."

The words sent a jolt straight between my legs. My breath hitched, my nipples hardening against the thin fabric of my dress. I turned to Julian, my pulse racing, and asked the question that had been burning in my mind all night—one I never thought I’d have the courage to voice.

"Will you come back to my house and spend the night?"

His answer was instant. "Fuck yes."

We stepped out of the gallery into the cool night air, the city lights blurring slightly as Julian pulled out a sleek black vape pen. He took a long, slow drag, the THC hitting his lungs before he exhaled a slow, satisfied plume of smoke. Then, with a smirk, he held it out to me.

"Never tried this?" he asked, his voice smooth, amused.

I shook my head, my curiosity piqued. "No."

His fingers brushed mine as he guided the vape to my lips. "You’ll love it." His thumb traced my bottom lip, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "Just take a slow hit, hold it, and exhale when you’re ready."

I did as he said, inhaling deeply. The flavor—sweet, earthy, slightly herbal—filled my mouth before I held it in my lungs, my chest rising as I savored the burn. Julian watched me, his gaze dark with approval.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough. "Now exhale slowly."

I did, the smoke curling from my lips in a lazy stream. Julian took another hit himself, then offered it back to me. This time, I took it deeper, holding it longer, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.

"Again," he commanded, his voice low, insistent.

I obeyed, my lungs filling with the rich, intoxicating smoke. Each hit made my head spin slightly, my body loosening, my inhibitions melting away. Julian’s hand rested on my waist, his touch grounding me as the effects took hold.

"You like that?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice softer, my body already buzzing with pleasure.

He took the vape back, inhaling deeply before passing it to me one last time. "One more."

I took it, my fingers trembling slightly as I held the smoke in my lungs, my chest rising and falling with the effort. When I finally exhaled, the world felt lighter, my senses heightened, my body humming with anticipation.

Julian’s hand slid up my thigh, his fingers hooking under the hem of my dress, pushing it up just enough to expose the lace of my thong.

Then his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging deep, claiming me with a hunger that left me gasping. His fingers dug into my hip, pulling me closer, his cock already hardening against my thigh, thick and insistent through his slacks.

The car was waiting, but neither of us cared.

The car service was waiting, the driver holding the door open. I slid in first, my dress riding up just enough to tease my thighs as I settled onto the leather seat. The moment I was seated, Julian moved to the other side of the car, his broad frame filling the space as he climbed in. Before shutting the door, he leaned out, handing the driver his phone with a few quick taps—then pressed a crisp hundred-dollar bill into his palm.
"Privacy," he said, his voice low, commanding.
I didn’t see what he did, but I felt the shift in the air—the way the driver’s demeanor changed, his posture stiffening slightly before he nodded and pulled away from the curb.
The second the car was in motion, Julian was on me.
Then his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging deep, claiming me with a hunger that left me gasping. His fingers dug into my hip, pulling me closer, his cock already hardening against my thigh, thick and insistent through his slacks. I didn’t waste a second—I reached between us, my fingers fumbling with his belt, then the button of his pants, before finally yanking down his zipper.
His cock sprang free, long and veiny, already leaking at the tip, the head dark and swollen with need. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking him slow and firm, my thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathering at the slit.
"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the seat as I leaned in, my lips brushing the sensitive underside of his cock.
I didn’t care. I wanted him to. I wanted him to lose control, to forget where we were, to forget everything but the way my mouth felt around his cock. I took him deep, my lips stretching around his girth, my tongue swirling around the head before pulling back with a wet pop.
"Shit, baby," he hissed, his fingers tangling in my hair, guiding me. "You’re gonna make me come before we even get there."
I didn’t stop. I hollowed my cheeks, bobbing my head up and down, my hand pumping his shaft in time with my mouth. His breath came in ragged gasps, his thighs tensing, his cock swelling even thicker, the veins standing out against his skin.
"Fuck—" His voice was a broken groan as he pulled me off him, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "Not yet. Not like this."
I pouted, my lips glistening with his precome, but he wasn’t done with me yet. He yanked me up, his mouth crashing back onto mine, his tongue fucking my mouth like he was starving. His hand slid between my legs, his fingers finding me already soaked, my thong ruined from his earlier touch.
"You’re dripping for me," he growled against my lips, his fingers circling my clit, pressing just hard enough to make me whimper. "You like knowing I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this?"
"Yes," I gasped, my back arching into his touch. "Only you."
He didn’t waste another second. With a rough grip on my hips, he spun me around, bending me over the seat, my ass in the air, my dress hiked up around my waist. I felt the thick, wet head of his cock pressing against my entrance, hot and heavy, already slick with my arousal.
"You’re so fucking tight," he groaned, pushing inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust. I cried out, my nails digging into the leather seat as he filled me completely, stretching me open, his cock hitting every sensitive inch of me. He didn’t move at first—just stayed buried inside me, his hands gripping my hips, his breath hot against my ear.
You feel so good," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. "So fucking perfect."
Then he started to move.
His hips snapped forward, his cock dragging against my walls, each thrust deeper than the last. I could feel him everywhere—my pussy clenching around him, my clit throbbing with every roll of his hips. The car was still moving, the driver none the wiser, but Julian didn’t care. He fucked me like he was starving, as he needed me to survive.
"Harder," I begged, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with my own. "Please, Julian—"
He didn’t need to be told twice. His grip tightened, his strokes turning rougher, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every snap of his hips. I could feel my orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Come for me," he demanded, his voice a dark command. "Now."
And I did.
My pussy clenched around him, my walls fluttering as my orgasm crashed over me in waves. Julian groaned, his own release hitting him hard, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he came with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into my skin.
"Fuck—" he hissed, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside me, his cum filling me up, hot and thick. "So fucking good."
For a long moment, we just stayed like that—breathless, tangled together, the world outside the car fading into nothing.

Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out the sleek black vape pen, already warm from his earlier use. The screen glowed faintly in the dim car light, the battery humming softly. He held it out to me, his fingers brushing mine as he passed it over.

"Take another hit," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "Hold it this time. Deep."

I took the vape, my fingers trembling slightly as I pressed the button. The coil heated instantly, and I inhaled deeply, the warm, sweet smoke filling my lungs. The flavor—earthy, slightly citrusy, with a hint of honey—coated my throat before I held it in, my chest rising as I savored the burn. Julian watched me, his gaze dark and intense, his cock still half-hard as he leaned back against the seat.

"Good," he murmured, his voice rough. "Now exhale slowly."

I did, the smoke curling from my lips in a lazy stream, my body already beginning to relax. My muscles loosened, my mind drifting slightly as the THC hit my bloodstream. Julian took the vape back, inhaling deeply before passing it to me again.

"Again," he instructed, his hand sliding up my thigh. "Hold it longer this time."

I obeyed, taking another deep drag. The smoke filled my lungs, and I held it in, my chest expanding as I felt the warmth spread through my body. My breath hitched as the high began to take hold, my limbs growing heavier, my thoughts slowing.

"That’s it," Julian praised, his voice rough with approval. "Keep going."

I took another hit, my fingers trembling slightly as I held the smoke in my lungs, my chest rising and falling with the effort. The world around me felt softer, my senses heightened, my body humming with pleasure. Julian’s hand rested on my waist, his touch grounding me as the high deepened.

"Again," he commanded, his voice low and insistent.

I inhaled once more, the smoke filling my lungs as I held it in, my chest expanding. The high was building, my body loosening, my mind drifting in a warm, euphoric haze. Julian’s fingers traced the curve of my hip, his touch sending shivers through me.

"You like that?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice softer, my body already buzzing with pleasure.

Julian took the vape back, inhaling deeply before passing it to me one last time. "One more. Hold it until you can’t anymore."

I took it, my fingers trembling as I held the smoke in my lungs, my chest rising and falling with the effort. The high was deepening, my body floating in a warm, euphoric haze. I exhaled slowly, the smoke curling from my lips as Julian’s hand slid between my legs.

"Keep going," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Take another."

I did, inhaling deeply once more, holding it in my lungs as long as I could before exhaling slowly. The smoke curled from my lips, my body growing heavier, my mind floating in a pleasant, intoxicating haze.

Julian’s hand slid up my thigh, his fingers hooking under the hem of my dress, pushing it up just enough to expose the lace of my thong. His breath was hot against my ear as he murmured, "Good girl. Keep taking hits until we get to your house."

I obeyed, taking another deep inhale, holding it in my lungs as long as I could before exhaling slowly. The high was taking over, my body loosening, my mind drifting in a warm, euphoric cloud. Julian’s fingers found me already soaked, his touch sending waves of pleasure through me.

"You’re so fucking responsive," he growled, his voice rough with approval. "Just like that. Keep going."

I took another hit, my lungs filling with the sweet, intoxicating smoke. The high was deep, my body floating, my senses heightened. Julian’s fingers circled my clit, pressing just hard enough to make me whimper, my body already buzzing with pleasure.

"That’s it," he praised, his voice rough with desire. "Keep taking hits. Let the high take over."

I inhaled deeply once more, holding it in my lungs as long as I could before exhaling slowly. The smoke curled from my lips, my body floating in a warm, euphoric haze as Julian’s fingers worked me closer to the edge.

The car ride seemed to blur together in a haze of pleasure, the high deepening with every hit. Julian’s touch was electric, his voice rough with desire as he guided me through the intoxicating experience. My body was his to command, my mind drifting in a warm, euphoric cloud as the high took over completely.

By the time we reached my house, I was floating, my body buzzing with pleasure, my mind drifting in a warm, euphoric haze. Julian helped me out of the car, his arm around my waist as he guided me inside.