The conference room door clicks shut. Locked. Printer hums faintly outside, open-space chatter fades. Paul and I, after drinks at the team happy hour. He’s the sales hotshot, fifteen years mastering women’s asses. Me? Malai, new Thai trans designer, ambitious, hiding my secret under pencil skirt and cashmere sweater. Coffee stench mixes with my jasmine perfume. Electric.
Eyes lock across spreadsheets all week. His stares linger on my tight ass during meetings. I drop hints, echoing Patricia’s old tease—he should know how it feels. He bites. Now, alone, files scattered. Mouse clicks echo from his laptop as he ‘finishes reports.’ Tension coils. Heart pounds. Risk of janitor? Thrilling.
The Mounting Tension
I lean close, breath hot on his neck. ‘Ever wondered what it’s like, Paul? Getting fucked up the ass?’ His cock twitches in pants. Printer whirs again. I trace his bulge. He groans. ‘Malai… fuck.’ Door rattles faintly—someone passes. Adrenaline surges. I push him against table. Skirt hikes, my cock strains tanga. His hand dives under, finds it. Freezes. Then grips. Hard.
He drops to knees. Unzips me slow. My cock springs out—straight, not monster size. Perfect for his virgin hole. He sucks awkward first. Tongue swirls gland. I moan soft. ‘Good boy. Deeper.’ Clicks of distant keyboards spur us. His mouth fills, gagging slight. I face-fuck gentle. Saliva drips. He hardens too. I yank him up, strip pants. His ass cheeks spread on table edge.
Lube from purse—always ready. Finger his tight pucker. He winces. Printer spits paper. ‘Relax, anal king. Your turn to learn.’ Tongue rims him wet. He bucks. ‘Fuck, Malai…’ Cock lubed, condom on. I press in slow. Gland pops past ring. He grunts pain. Bites lip. I freeze, let him adjust. Coffee odor thickens sweat.
The Brutal Release
Push deeper. Inches slide. His hole grips vise-like. ‘Hurts… but good.’ I piston slow, then faster. Table creaks. Mouse cord tangles feet. Prostate hit—his cock leaks pre-cum. ‘Harder! Fuck my ass!’ I pound brutal. Balls slap. He jerks himself. I swell inside. ‘Gonna cum!’ Rope after rope in condom. He explodes too, spurting desk.
Pull out. Switch. He caps up, bends me over table. No lube needed—I’m primed. Rams in raw power. ‘Your turn, slut.’ Fucks fierce. My tits mash glass. Seine view mocks through blinds. Door lock holds. I cum hands-free, cock painting floor. He floods me deep.
Panting. Wipe quick. Cum smears wiped on napkins. I readjust skirt, lipstick fresh. He zips, smooths shirt. Perfume masks sex stink. Unlock door. ‘Back to meeting?’ Casual smile. Colleagues none wiser. Printer drones on. Secret sealed. But his eyes beg more.