Printer hums low in the corner. Clicks of my mouse echo sharp. Coffee aroma mixes with Sandrine’s floral perfume, thick in the air. We’re crammed in my notary office—me, Philippe, the girls: Sandrine, Béatrice, Blandine. Signing partnerships. My heart races under starched blouse. Philippe’s eyes lock mine across the massive walnut desk. Tension coils like a spring.
Open-space buzz outside fades. Colleagues shuffle papers. Phones ring distant. I glance up from dossiers. Sandrine shifts, skirt riding high. Béatrice licks lips, eyeing Philippe’s kilt. Blandine’s fingers drum impatient. Door’s ajar—Anne-Sophie’s heels click past. I rise, lock it. Click. Deadbolt snicks home. All eyes turn. Air thickens. Perfume battles coffee steam from my mug.
Rising Tension in the Open-Plan Chaos
Philippe sweats. A drop beads his temple. He pales, grips chair arm. ‘Rechute,’ Sandrine whispers. I nod. No time. ‘Anne-Sophie!’ I buzz intercom. ‘Cancel everything. Three hours. Glace à la fraise, serviettes. Now.’ Door rattles—tray slides in. Lock clicks again. Clothes fly. Skirts hike, blouses unbutton. Philippe’s kilt tents obscene. Nestor strains, veins pulsing.
Sandrine drops first. Kneels, engulfs him. Wet slurps fill room. Printer whirs oblivious. Béatrice yanks my skirt—’Boss first?’ No boss now. Fingers plunge my slick heat. I gasp, shove dossiers aside. Desk clears—pens scatter, clatter. Philippe hauls me up. Legs wrap waist. He thrusts savage. Desk groans under us. Wood bites my ass. Coffee mug tips—dark spill steams.
‘Fuck, Agathe, so tight,’ he growls. I claw his back. Girls circle, moaning. Blandine rides his face—juices drip. Béatrice fingers herself, perfume spikes. My cunt clenches his monster cock. Pounds deep, hits spots raw. Orgasms rip—mine first, scream muffled on his neck. He switches. Sandrine bends over desk. Slap-slap of flesh. Printer jams—beeps frantic. Ignore it.
Desk-Pounding Release and Quick Cover-Up
Béatrice next, legs wide on chair. I grind her clit, taste salt-sweat. Philippe rails her bald mound. Blandine queues, hairy bush glistening. Door rattles—Anne-Sophie knocks? ‘Busy!’ I bark. Thrusts blur. Cum sprays—first load on Sandrine’s tits. He stays rock-hard. Girls take turns. Doggy row: asses up, four cunts wink. I lubed with jojoba oil—slick pops echo. Anal plunge. Tight rings grip. Moans crescendo.
Four hours grind. Ice cubes melt in mouths—clito-melba chills swollen clits. My ass throbs from his battering. Finally, he wilts. Spent. We pant, slick bodies gleam. Serviettes wipe cum-streaks. I readjust garters, smooth skirt. Blouse buttons crooked—fuck it. Hair pins back. Desk reset: papers align, coffee mopped. Unlock door. Click.
Anne-Sophie peeks, flushed. ‘All good?’ ‘Perfect.’ Smile pro. Girls file out, wobbly knees hidden. Philippe nods—deal sealed. Back to open-space. Printer hums again. Coffee brews fresh. Perfume lingers faint. No one knows. Pulse still hammers. Adrenaline buzz. Hierarchy hides my slut core. Crave next ‘meeting.’