A few days ago, I found out that my wife keeps a little diary. It was while looking for an archive on our computer that I found her file entitled "Memoirs of a social worker", yes that is her job. Reading these memories confirmed what I suspected for some time already, she is cheating on me and has become a real slut. Even though we love each other and are very good together, I have to admit that serious health issues prevent me from honoring her properly. You will share with you my situation as a cuckold, so I decided to publish regularly from today his famous memoirs. Here is the first part:My name is Jeanne de Trébout, I am 55 years old and I work in the Parisian suburbs in the social field. When I started, twenty-five years ago, I was only a young social worker (AS) and I found myself assigned to the Hauts de Seine. Under the direction of an experienced AS, I mainly took care of the elderly.About fifteen years later, I was transferred to a town hall in Val de Marne where I found myself in charge of monitoring and controlling childminders.My husband Edouard, aged almost 65, has a good position in a large Parisian bank and we have always lived in the 9th arrondissement of Paris in a beautiful Haussmann building.On the sex side, like many men of his age, Edouard is what one could call a pépère and it must be recognized that the regular monitoring of the world stock market prices and the daily reading of the newspaper Les Echos seem to be enough for him as pleasures. in existence. A monthly report "for hygiene" constitutes the main part of his physical activity. I don't miss sex; running may have become a palliative! Of course, like many abandoned 50-something wives, I have a sex toy that I sometimes use in my bath. But I must admit, over time, I don't feel any sexual deprivation and that suits me very well. A month and a half ago, I left the social service of my small town hall in Val de Marne to join the regional health and social affairs department of Île de France. Located in rue de Mouzaïa, this department brings together many departments, including that of social surveys, where I hold the post of project manager. This job requires me to make many trips to the different departments of the inner suburbs of Paris which constitute my area of ​​investigation.Today I am traveling to Stains where I have to visit a woman who is raising her four children on her own since her husband has been in prison for various crimes. I park in the parking lot at the foot of two towers and regret a little having dressed BCBG to come to such a district because I risk to make a spot among all the North African women dressed in djellaba or abaya and wearing the hijab. After spotting building C, I take the elevator and go up to the 8th floor. I announce who I am and I specify that I have an appointment with Madame Dahoud; the woman replies that it is indeed her. Once installed in the living room, she serves me a mint tea then I take out the various documents that I have to fill out as part of my investigation. I explain to her that this must be used to determine the social assistance to which she is entitled. As she has trouble understanding, she tells me that she is going to ask her son Mohamed to attend our conversation. She calls him and a young man in his early twenties arrives, looking casual, kind of scum. He gives me a "hi" and slumps down on an armchair. His mother explains the situation to him in Arabic and I start to fill out my documents. The young man keeps looking at me from head to toe and I'm a little embarrassed. I keep crossing and uncrossing my legs to find the position that suits me but it seems to excite him,After an hour, I completed most of the documents but there are still some supporting documents missing that Ms. Dahoud must recover. I give her my cell phone number so she can let me know when she has them and I'll come back to see her. When leaving, Mohamed gets up and tells me that he will accompany me back to my car.In the small elevator, he sticks behind me and ostensibly rubs against me. Not wishing to cause a scandal, I change my position but he comes back to stick to my back. Suddenly his hands embrace me and he kisses me on the neck saying - You smell great, I love your perfume!I try to free myself but he is stronger than me. He manages to turn me around in front of him and grabs my mouth. I resist but his tongue forces the passage and he plays with mine. Meanwhile, his hands go up my skirt and his palms slip under my garters and then caress my buttocks. I can't move because he serves me so hard. Despite the fabric of his pants, I feel his swollen cock excite my crotch. Despite the fear of being raped in that elevator, the situation turns me on. It must be said that it must have been five or six years since I felt a man want me like this. Fortunately, the elevator stops and the door opens.I hasten to get back to my car but Mohamed is still close to me. We pass a group of five or six young people her age and the comments are rife - Hey Momo, is that your new girl?- Are you doing cougar style now?- Did you do it in the cellars or at home?- Think about friends next time!Arrived at my car, I sit behind the wheel but before I have time to close the door, the young man puts his hand on my thighs and goes up to the thin fabric of my thong. He said to me - You're all sweaty! I hope we will get to know each other better next time. He brings his hand to his nose and inhales my intimate perfume. I start and storm off. - What a dirty little shit!I say to myself.In the evening, while we are in the bedroom, I undress in front of Edouard, hoping that he will take care of me. Yes, I must admit that the behavior of this intrepid young male excited my mature bourgeois body. Throughout the day, I thought about the scene in the elevator and had a lot of twinges in my lower abdomen. Would this macho stallion have awakened my desires put to sleep by long years of family life and sexual abstinence?Faced with my husband's lack of reaction, I said to him - Honey, you can go to bed without waiting for me. I have had an exhausting day and I am going to take a good bath.Discreetly, I grab my dildo hidden in my bedside table and slip it into my robe pocket. Once immersed in my bubble bath, I grab the object, slide it between my legs and close my eyes. As the dummy sex vibrates deep inside me, I see myself in the elevator shaft. Mohamed's outstretched cock bangs against my butt. I imagine him pushing the stop button on the cabin and forcing me to rest my hands on the wall in front of me. He lifts my skirt, spreads my thong and rubs his cock against my slit. A violent orgasm paralyzes me and I remain motionless in the hot water of my bathtub. For a good five minutes, my lower abdomen continues to be agitated with waves of pleasure. I don't remember having experienced such an orgasm with my dildo. When I come back to my room Edouard reads Les Echos. I sit next to him and quickly fall asleep.It was two days later, at work, that I received a text message “I got the papers. You can drop by tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. »Signed Fatima Dahoud. I immediately answer “No problem. I will be there ". One of the advantages of having seniority in the service where I work and of having a project manager position like mine is that you can organize yourself as you wish without having to make accounts to anyone.Once in bed in the evening, I close my eyes and here I am again in the elevator shaft with Mohamed. Glued to my back, he works me like a madman; one hand stroking my breasts and the other exciting my clit. I enjoy a long time, under his virtual assaults and under my very real hand between my legs. I feel like I'm going crazy! While until now I have only caressed myself on rare occasions, here I am becoming addicted to masturbation thinking of this young thug from a city of Seine Saint Denis. I do not understand what is happening to me.The next day, by taking the elevator to reach the 8th floor, I avoid thinking about my fantasy of the night before. I ring the doorbell and it is Mohamed the son who com ...

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