Printer hums faintly in the corner. Door clicks locked behind us. Coffee scent clings to the air, mixing with my musky perfume. Sunday morning overtime in the conference room. Empty open space outside. Just Pierre and me, ambitious VP and her muscled manager husband, turning work stress into pure lust. We dive into our ritual 69 on the polished table. My thick bush tickles his bearded face as I swallow his thick cock, long and proud. Kids at home watching cartoons—door bolted, no disturbances.
Voice from the street below the window. ‘Mrs. Neral! Mrs. Neral!’ It’s nosy Mrs. Michel. I pop off his glistening glans. ‘Pierre, it’s her.’ He mumbles from my dripping pussy, ‘Ignore her, suck my dick.’ But she insists. I grab my blouse, half-buttoned, lean out the window. ‘Morning, Mrs. Michel. What’s up?’ Pierre crawls under the table, parts my thighs, dives back in. Tongue laps my clit, mustache in my jungle. I grip the sill.
The Building Tension
She chatters about her daughter’s baby. Banal shit. His tongue voracious now. I twitch, thighs quake. ‘You okay, Mrs. Neral?’ ‘Ate too fast,’ I gasp. Finger slides in, I bite my lip. Moan escapes as disguised ‘yes.’ ‘Take charcoal!’ I slam the window. Peignoir? No—skirt hiked, I impale on his upright cock right there. Hands on his shoulders, ass slamming down. Tits in his face. ‘Pig! Fuck me deep!’ He jackhammers up. Vulgar grunts echo off glass walls.
Knock—daughter’s voice on intercom. ‘Mom! Dad! Grandma’s on phone—leak!’ We disengage, wet slap. I curse, smooth skirt, grab receiver. Pierre tents his pants. Later, shower in exec bathroom. Phone rings again—team lead Paul Martin for lake picnic. No quickie. Frustrated drive. My short dress rides up, hand on thigh. His bulge strains. ‘I’m soaked, divorce if no dick.’ ‘Soon, slut.’
The Explosive Release
Lake team-outing. Martins arrive. Bikini Myriam barely covers. Post-swim, Régis whispers to Pierre: ‘Watch kids, we fuck in woods.’ Bastards beat us. I fume, tits heaving. Myriam later: ‘We ass-fucked, me on top. Scream-worthy.’ Jealous heat builds. ‘Pierre’s huge, no tabs.’
Their house dinner. We shop quick. Industrial lot nearby, deserted Sunday. Park. I unzip him—purple head throbs. Suck sloppy over gearshift, tits out. ‘Trunk now.’ Naked in hatchback, legs wide on bumper. He slams balls-deep. Car rocks. ‘Wiggle that fat ass, bitch!’ ‘Harder, stud—gorgeous cock!’ Sweat drips. Switch doggy, tits swinging—he milks them. Then squat reverse, samba tits. Finally missionary, feet braced. ‘Cum now!’ I shatter, he floods me, splatters trunk.
Klaxon. Cop car, lights. Panic dress—no panties. IDs out. ‘Public indecency!’ ‘Married, officer.’ She eyes his bulge, whispers. They let go. Laughing drive back. ‘Flicette wanted you.’ ‘Cop ogled my rack.’ Risk high, cum still leaks. Back to office facade Monday. Adjust blouse, stride to meeting. Cool pro. Secret slut thrives on the edge.