Saturday, 8 AM. Conference room door clicks locked. Open space empty outside. Printer whirs faintly. Coffee aroma clashes with my perfume. Tension simmers between two fat dossiers on the table. Our eyes lock across stacks of papers. I proposed this 24-hour lockdown project. From 8 AM Saturday to 8 PM Sunday. No less, no more. Perfectly insane. I buzz with ambition. He arrives panting. I grab him. ‘We max it out. Push to our limits. Anything goes.’ Drag him down. His mouth dives into my pussy. Spectacular plunge. Drains him fast. Pride kicks in. He unleashes tricks. Tongue flicks, sucks my clit hard. I shatter. Paradise. Moans echo off glass walls. Barely catch breath. Muscles burn. ‘Get behind me now. Match my rhythm. No break yet.’ He hesitates. Fakes a cramp. Slides cock in easy. I’m dripping. I grind fierce. Infernal pace. He falters. Legs shake. But holds. I sigh deep. Pure bliss. Morning grinds us. I’m wired. He slumps more. Determination steel in me. Pauses recharge. I sip coffee. Eyes devour his sweat-glistened chest. Gaze my curves. Reprise slow. Copious foreplay. My fingers tease his shaft. Lips on nipples. Build ‘paroxysm dynamic’ for afternoon peak. He tempers my wild moves. Too much for him. Still, drags long. Tragically long. Cock softens sometimes. Shame hits. I angle away from his stare. Or coax him gentle. ‘Come on, fuck me harder.’ We edge to climax. I accelerate bursts. Skin slaps echo. He groans. Tries exhausting me. Sudden thrusts. I gasp, writhe. Slows. Gasps. Ramp up again. Secret goal: make me beg quit till morning. Fail. ‘Ohhh! More!’ I’m grized. Push to evening pause. Divine sleep calls. But first check. He’s limp. Spent. ‘Not great. Gotta recover.’ I straddle. Rub creamy lotion on his cock. Warm. Relaxing. Hands expert. He hardens. ‘See? Got more. Special lube too.’ Revived enough. We restart. I lead. Tease desire. He takes over ashamed. Pounds me. I scream into night. Collapse. Switch. Lube him up. Toys from bag. Vibrator buzzes. I ride savage. Like first hours. Snatch sleep in bursts. Twice. Sunday dawn. First half nailed. Morning suave. New positions. Scissor. 69. Climax each. 10 AM break. Afternoon siesta. Short. Fuel final push. ‘Good rhythm held. No slack now. End legendary.’ Second wind hits. Charge to peak. I arch. Eyes shut. Head back. Sighs build. Cries. Shrieks. Begs. He burns. Muscles taut. Grunts wild. Vrooms in. We explode. 7 PM Sunday. Victory near. Theatrical finish. Lingerie on. His tight briefs. Fevered eyes. Transgress all. I coy: ‘Yes in theory… shy in practice.’ He positions me bent over table. Checks readiness. ‘Ready?’ ‘Fuck yes.’ Slow rock. Builds. Ondulate. Tango. Chaos. Frenzy. Bacchanal. I howl. He roars. Push-pull. Storm breaks. Vertigo. Collapse. 8 PM. 24 hours crushed. Exhausted. Soaked. Triumphant. Adjust skirt. Smooth blouse. Unlock door. Back to world. Mask on. Like nothing happened.