Late 2000. Belgian consulting gig. Bruges project. Tiny team, multinational. Always behind. Nights stretch to midnight, two a.m. Printer hums in the corner. Coffee stench mixes with her perfume—musky, floral. Sharp. Open-space empty. Just us.
Denise. Tall, mixed Black beauty. Older than me. Gwendoline here—office girl, ambitious, craving the forbidden thrill. I spot her fragility under that stiff shell. Team mocks her haughty vibe. She’s the scapegoat. I arrive fresh, quiet, to bolster the crew.
The Rising Tension
One night, she’s alone in her office. Crumbling. I knock. Door clicks shut behind me. Lock snaps—echoes. She rants, confused. Pressure cracks her. Then tears. Big, heaving sobs. I hug her shoulders. She shrugs me off. ‘No pity.’ But she breaks harder.
I stroke her neck. Soft. Warm. Coffee breath, her scent invading. Nipples harden. I want her. Bad. Eyes lock. Heat surges. She bolts. Grabs bag. Gone. Stings. I crunch candies. Back to keyboard clicks.
Weekend solo Bruges stroll. Canal glow. Ice cream bliss. Monday night. My office. Mouse clicks frantic. Nine p.m. Door creaks. She enters. Tailored suit hugs curves. Nervous shuffle. ‘Thought about the other day… sorry I pushed you.’ Heart races.
‘Sit.’ I pull her close. Hand in mine. Sweaty palm. I joke. Fail. Kiss cheek. Her lips hunt mine. Thick, full. Tongue dives. Hungry. Coffee-parfum cocktail dizzying. Printer whirs faintly. World shrinks.
The Explosive Release
Her hand gropes my tits. Clumsy. Sweet. Mine unbutton her blouse. Classic bra, naughty edge. Skin—caramel smooth. Full breasts hang heavy. Dark nipples beg. I devour. Lips everywhere. Neck. Cleavage. She gasps.
‘Sit on desk.’ Papers scatter. Chair scrapes. Legs spread. Skirt hikes. Panties peek—sweet, spicy musk. I yank aside. Shaved pussy glistens. Tongue flicks clit. Swollen. Throbs. She moans. Low. Desk creaks under her.
I tease. Lick. Dip inside. Pull back. Her hips buck. ‘Please…’ Begs. Fingers claw wood. I dive deep. Suck button. Fast. Furious. Body arches. Printer spits pages—ignored. Coffee cold. Her scent owns the air.
She explodes. Legs kick. Nails gouge desk. Waves crash. I lap more. Mini-orgasms ripple. She slumps. Panting. Eyes glazed. Tender now. Kiss forehead. Arms wrap.
She fixes blouse. Slow. No rush. I smooth skirt. Lights flick off. Click. Arm in arm. Giggling. Door unlocks. Out into night. Hotel nearby. More awaits. But office mask slips back—pro tomorrow. Thrill lingers.