Naughty Irene

Naughty Irene

By INtrinSicliValud

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Oscar.

Gracias, señor, por dejarme jugar con su encantadora esposa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

 

Copyright © 2026 INtrinSicliValud

 

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: intrinsiclivalud100@yahoo.com

 

 

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

 

“When will you be home, Mami?”

At the brilliant shine in the eyes of their youngest girl, Irene Gallegos smiles. She runs a hand through the adorable pre-teen’s hair. The silken tresses glimmer in the faded orange glow filtering through the apartment’s open windows. It’s still early in the evening, and from below the sounds of Barcelona’s traffic continue to rumble.

“Monday, muñequita,” she replies.

“You’ll be with Uncle Conor?”

“Si.”

“I like him. He’s funny.”

“I like him too, my sweet.”

A surge of heat rushes through the fifty-two-year-old loving mother and devoted wife. Her focus shifts to her husband. 

Behind the kitchen counter, Oscar is silent in the shadows cast by the setting sun. His lower lip trembles. In twinkling eyes, that curious mix of desire and reticence makes her heart beat a little quicker. His attention is locked on an ensemble she’d only fantasized of wearing but a few short months ago. 

Sexy, deep red, and snug to her curvaceous figure, the dress is beyond daring. The hem rides so far up both thighs that most of the lace-topped dark stockings are on full display. Razor-thin, glossy crimson heels are lofty enough to make her wobble, but the sexy shoes do wonders for her legs.

The shaking of his lips quickens. Oscar has also done his fair share of fantasizing. The clothes were purchased by another man. Ah, and so much more has twisted both their lives. 

She swallows a laugh when his eyes fix on the slender golden key swinging between her breasts. Braless, the heavy globes threaten to sway free of the plunging neckline when she bends forward to place a kiss on Elena’s forehead.

The little one lands a peck on her cheek. It’s followed by another from Marita, their much quieter, older, and far-too-wise daughter. Avoiding the latter’s questioning gaze, she marches to Oscar. He gulps when she halts before him. Her hand rises to caress his cheeks.

“Make sure Papi behaves,” she calls out over her shoulder.

“We will!”

The stereo replies from both put a smile on her face, and she’s rewarded by his nervous grin. Under the languid rake of red nails, his jaw trembles. 

“You are going to behave, correcto, mi amor?” she whispers after leaning to find his ear.

“Si, corazón,” he murmurs. “Of course. Um, you look very nice in that dress.”

After a quiet snort, she gives his ear a playful nip. “Hmm, you know how Uncle Conor can get. Your naughty wife won’t be wearing it long.”

A shiver races through her husband. “No. No, you won’t.”

“And he’s going to let me suck his enormous, meaty cock again,” she murmurs, her words dripping with the sultriness that gets him shivering even more.

“Um, si, claro, I know.”

After another nip of his earlobe, making him jump, she steps away. Within his expression swirls a mixture of adoration and increasing frustration. New rules have been implemented. No, he’ll not enjoy her mouth on him anytime soon. With the return of the shaky grin and a throb in his trousers, her smile widens.

“Still love me?” she whispers.

“Yes,” he hisses.

“Good. If he permits it, I’ll send you some pictures, and”—she glances behind her to find the girls already distracted by their phones—“tell you everything we do once I return.”

The swiftness of his nod makes her swallow a giggle. But the quiet laugh escapes when her hand lowers to give his crotch a gentle squeeze. Beneath loose slacks, hard plastic surges into her fingers, and his eyes gain an intense glow. The cage ensures another rule remains in force: she no longer belongs to him. Heart, yes, although that has become complicated. Body, no.

As the most adorable whimper escapes him, his white-rimmed irises flick between her face and the dangling key. Reinforcement; he needs that. With fantasies about what will soon happen to her already glimmering in his eyes, her husband craves their new twisted world.

From the street below, the swift toot of a car horn breaks the moment. Pure Pavlovian, both nipples become steely pebbles so fast her breathing hitches. Her heart thumps. A spray of goosebumps is followed by a far more forceful pulse of heat across her skin. 

So deep, so very deep, that delicious fluttering roars to life. As if riding the gossamer wings of the prettiest butterflies, her soul also flutters. After placing a quick kiss—light enough to avoid smearing crimson lipstick—on Oscar’s lips, she hoists a silvery tote bag onto her shoulder.

Two minutes later, she sits quivering on the supple leather in the rear of a sleek black sedan. After a whispered greeting, only desperate moans escape as she snuggles into the warm embrace of a tall, muscular young man. Her flaring nostrils imbibe that wondrous cologne, an alluring combination of well-worn rawhide, exotic island spices, and the darkest of forests. 

Twenty years younger, plus handsome beyond imagination, lovely Conor remains infatuated. The sparkles in stunning blue eyes declare as much. So do the large hands quick to tug aside the top of the dress, providing access to the thick crimson stems he adores. So many tremors race through her before staggering when hard fingers find achy stiffness.

Yet, as bliss begins its delightful blossoming, the same questions tumble like stones down a mountainside. How? Why her? Why now, after almost seventeen years of marriage?

When their lips meet, electricity speeds across every nerve, and her mind flickers. In the grasp of the hungry, needy youth, memories flow, once more trying to organize the jumble of life-changing, soul-changing, world-changing events. So many images.

Oscar’s stupid, incessant fantasy. Her shock. The confusion. Add to that the frustration at the office, and the endless dribble of days passing ever quicker as she slides deeper into her fifties. Most of those years with but a single man. No, she shouldn’t want more from life. She hadn’t, not really. Such was her lot; enough happiness had found her.

Then came the gift that is Conor, arriving as if out of nowhere. A shining knight, bearing his own struggles, softening hers, pushing, leading, directing, governing, while swaddling, caressing, and driving her ever closer to lust-fueled madness. Yes, she’s become besotted with him, no matter his faults, and the weaknesses he’s shared. 

Could she thank God? Should she? “Heaven-sent” is a stretch for such a youthful man possessing unfathomable needs, matching the ones he ignites within her. An existence, dull and normal, morphed, becoming so full of passion and heat, not to mention a good deal of danger, because so many pitfalls now lay revealed.

When did the entire world flip like a speedboat on rough waters, tossing an Irene-shaped piece of driftwood, mired in the cloying seaweed of life, onto the rockiest of enticing shores? 

It’d been the very dawn of summer. Everything—sounds, sights, smells—had been so vivid. The day, a prime example of Spain’s utter gorgeousness. One for the postcards the turistas still bought by the handful at tiny shops even in the digital age.

That Friday, heat was rippling off the city streets, and the sun seemed somehow larger in a bright blue sky. Amid a cacophony of music from local performers, the seasonal crowds sent laughter and applause into the heavy air. Voices in a hundred languages echoed as sunburnt vacationing figures moved among the stores and cafes. 

Caressed by a light breeze, the tall trees gracing the Rambla del Poblenou with cooler shadows added their whispers. Through rustling leaves, birds swooped, riding the thermals above the busy neighborhood. The same gentle gust sent wisps of wavy auburn swirling across her face. In the mottled sunlight they blazed, sparkling like strands of spun copper.

A hint of diesel from the traffic and busy seaport hung in the air, as did the smell of the Mediterranean, twinkling beyond the strand of golden beach in the distance behind her. As her heels clicked on the pavement, planters overflowing with vibrant blooms added the most wondrous swirl of fragrances. 

Yet, despite the beauty she often took for granted, her jaw kept clenching. It’d been a very long day of pure mierda. 

First, that morning. What Oscar had whispered…again. Her husband had gone mad…again. No matter what she’d already replied…again and again and again, so many times.

She shook her head. Nothing had ever happened. A simple conversation; no more. How could he clasp onto such a fleeting moment?

“Clasp? Dios, he’s been batting the damn thing around like a kitten.”

At her grumble and a muttered curse, an old man looked up from a shadowed bench before the thick trunk of a London plane. Amid deep creases, dark eyes twinkled. She shot him a nervous grin and hurried past.

After a morning distracted by Oscar’s latest futile attempt, she’d been dragged into Francesca’s failures once again. The flighty redhead could not figure out how to do her stupid job. Yes, she was new, but not that new.

“It’s insurance, not sending rockets into space,” Irene muttered.  

Just before the end of the day, having to explain to the boss what the girl had again ruined… Her teeth ground as she smacked more wisps from her cheek. Need to get a trim. No damn time.

After the conversation with the chief, she’d dashed from the office at the last minute. Already late for the monthly dinner with the gang from her old school, she was rushing, head down and heart racing.

“Out of shape.” She huffed as the heels clicked quicker on the stone pavement. “Need to find a way to get some damn exercise.”

A quick dodge around a couple sharing an ice cream and she rounded a corner; the full blaze of the sun made her squint. Right as her hand rose to shade her face, she dodged a cluster of round, pink-skinned foreigners speaking German. Their laughter echoing, she had a half second before something solid smashed into her. Sent twisting sideways, she yelped, and the pain in a still-injured knee squawked. A loud snap announced one well-worn heel sacrificing itself.

“Ai, Señora!”

The panicked voice yanked her attention to the closest of two burly men lifting a wooden crate from the rear of a heavy steel cart. Off-balance, she continued to topple into the roadway. With the world going sideways, her gaze flicked to a massive white truck, growing larger by the millisecond.

Wow, every movie and book was correct; her life flashed before her eyes. Image after image. What had happened. Those things that might’ve happened. A few that should’ve, but…

Iron-hard fingers, large ones, gripped her; both arms were mashed against her sides as the fall to her doom halted. Through the whirl and glitter of her hair, the most brilliant eyes blazed. They were such a light shade of blue, enhanced by sun-darkened skin. Oh, and they adorned quite a handsome face, drawn and focused as the man hauled her upright. Beneath stylish, well-trimmed stubble, a firm jaw clenched as he flung a scowl past her.

“Bloody fools! Stupidos!”

In that very moment, a solemn truth struck hard: she’d never want that glare to find her. Nor suffer that tone. The men holding the crate only nodded and scurried off into the growing haze. When those gorgeous jewels returned to her, both warmth and shivers raced, and, yes, she let them tug on her.

“Are you alright, miss?” Lost in his eyes, she neglected to answer, and he coughed under his breath. “Oh, um, estás bien, señorita?”

For her, time had slackened. Details collided. His question was heard. A British accent. The halting Spanish was also tinted by the foreign intonation. 

Although the truck zoomed past, then roared into the distance, instead of slowing, her pulse continued to race. A thought flicked from the darkest corner of her mind. No, my dearest Oscar, you strange, strange man. She shrugged his twisted desire away and managed a slow nod up into that gleaming visage. 

In an instant, a smile appeared. Such a magical one, glossy, large, white teeth amid full red lips. With the sun behind him, a halo glowed around thick brown hair. Her heartbeat quickened.

More details arrived. He was very young, perhaps late twenties. And wore little. An athlete? Sweat glistened on bare shoulders. Thin straps held a loose blue top. Oh, wow. Such muscles—very large, and he had a lot of them. She found herself desperate to swallow the lump in her throat as his grip tightened on her.

One more thing careened into her like a cannonball bounding across a field. With her pelvis tight to him, a steady throb was obvious. She should leave. He must release her.

“S-si,” she whispered. “Bien.”

Even as the words echoed, her body refused the muttering of her mind. No muscle tensed, ready to pull from his warm embrace. Instead, she grew entranced, tracking the languid trickles of silvery sweat rolling down a beautiful, youthful face. 

For his part, the man made no move to release her. A gentle twist moved her further from the road as if she weighed nothing. When set on her feet again, the injured knee spasmed, and she winced. 

His smile vaporized. A focus filled his visage as he scanned the nearby area. 

“Here. Um, aqui.”

Before she could react, he had her beside a cafe’s small black metal table. Still tight to the solid, tall frame, she couldn’t slow the thunder in her chest. A quick survey showed passers-by returning to their distractions, yet reluctance bubbled to life within her.

While English was not her best language, Irene cobbled together a halting response. “No, I cannot…” As she started to pull from his grip, more stuttered words left her, “I must… My friends. There’s a—”

A curt laugh sealed her lips and brought her focus to him. Twin azure twinkles waited, tickling far further than they should.

“Rather afraid I shall have to insist, señorita. You’ve had quite a scare.”

“Que?”

He aimed a pointed glance at her leg, then nodded at her thumping chest. She scrambled for more English. 

“Oh, um, I will be—”

“Nuh-uh. I saved your life, at least permit me the pleasure of a little company.” He peeled from her, but only enough to gain a better view of the aching limb. “Besides, you won’t go far on that broken shoe. And the swelling needs to be addressed. You’re hurting, correct?”

While not every word translated, understanding arrived. The throbbing in the knee, courtesy of a tumble from the damn eBike ridden a bit too quickly about town, always did. 

Part of her—the logical, quiet, unassuming chunk that had ruled most of her life—wanted to grit her teeth and shake her head. Instead, the blurry world moved up and down.

“Si,” she murmured. “Um, yes, the knee, it does…pain me.”

“Right then. Done and done.” His wonderful smile bloomed.

With her heart somehow pumping quicker, she allowed him to lower her into a chair. As the scratch of metal on concrete announced him dragging its partner closer, his other hand rose, signaling a waiter.

How can any man be so beautiful?