Printer hums in the open space. Click-click of mice. Coffee brews, mixing with my cheap perfume. I’m Anne-Marie, the frumpy senior clerk nearing retirement. Gray straggly hair, bloated face, sagging tits under my blouse, beer gut straining my skirt. Ugly as sin, but I crave the thrill. Damien’s my new temp. Twenty-three, awkward, virgin vibes. Hides behind files, blushes at glances. I’ve caught him staring at my fat ass waddling between desks. Heart races. Hierarchy fuels my lust.
Morning rush. Dossiers pile up. Our eyes lock over spreadsheets. He fumbles papers, drops a stapler. Clang echoes. I smirk, lean in. ‘Need help, kid?’ My voice husky. He stammers, cheeks red. Pause hits. Breakroom door swings. I pour coffee, hand him a mug. Steam rises, our fingers brush. Electricity. ‘You’ve been watching me,’ I whisper. He denies, eyes down. Printer spits sheets nearby. Tension coils.
The Building Tension
Afternoon drags. Open space buzzes. Phones ring, chairs scrape. I text him: Meet in small conference room. ‘Review files.’ He nods, scared puppy. Door clicks shut. I twist the lock. Snick. Heart pounds. Adrenaline surges—someone could knock any second. Coffee odor clings, my perfume heavy. ‘Damien, I know you’re dying for it. Shy boy, no girl’s touched that cock yet.’ He freezes, bulge growing. I step close, my heavy breasts brush his chest.
His breath hitches. I grab his tie, pull him in. Lips crash. Tongues sloppy, desperate. Hands roam. I unbutton my blouse fast. Bra snaps free. Massive, veiny tits flop out. Nipples hard, dark. He gasps, gropes them rough. ‘Fuck, Anne-Marie…’ Printer drones outside. I shove him against the table. Skirt hikes up. Panties soaked. ‘Lock confirmed?’ He nods, trembling. I yank his pants down. Cock springs—thick, veiny, untouched. Precum drips.
The Raw Explosion
On my knees. Slurp his shaft. Salty, throbbing. He groans, fists my hair. Office chatter filters through door. Thrill spikes. I suck hard, balls deep. He bucks, cums quick. Hot spurts hit my throat. Gulp some, spit rest on tits. ‘Too fast, boy. Now fuck me.’ I bend over table. Papers scatter. He fumbles behind, rubs my wet slit. Pussy lips swollen, graying bush matted. Guides him in. Thrust. Deep, raw. Table creaks. Slap-slap of flesh. ‘Harder, you pussy! Fuck this old cunt!’
He pounds frantic. Grunts mix with my moans. Clit throbs under my fingers. Door rattles—someone passes? Panic fuels orgasm. I clamp, juices squirt. He unloads inside, pulsing. Sweat drips, coffee scent turns musky. Cum leaks down thighs. Quick wipe with tissues. Printer whirs louder now.
I straighten skirt, button blouse. Tits tucked, hair smoothed. ‘Meeting’s over. Back to work.’ Unlock door. Click. Step out calm, pro face on. He staggers behind, dazed. Open space oblivious. Chair squeaks as I sit. Glance at him—smirk. Mask perfect. Rush lingers. Hierarchy intact, but my pussy hums. Risky slut wins again.