Conference room door clicks shut. Locked. Printer hums in the corner. Mouse clicks echo from his laptop. Coffee aroma mixes with my perfume, thick and heady. Late night at PJ headquarters. Dossiers on white slave trade and heroin trafficking spread across the table. Me, Inès, 24, blonde crop, ambitious officer craving the forbidden rush at work. He’s the captain, my partner on this case. Daytime open-space glances burned hot. Now alone. Tension crackles between stacks of files.
I lean back, eyes heavy, feigning sleep over a report. Skirt rides up my thighs. Heart pounds. Adrenaline spikes—I live for this edge, pro facade cracking into raw lust. He dims the lights. Drapes his jacket over my lap like a blanket. His hand lands soft on my left thigh, just above the knee. I hold my breath. Eyes sealed shut. Pulse races.
The Build-Up
Minutes drag. His fingers creep higher, inner thigh. Nerve-wracking slow. Airplane-dark here too, just screen glow. My breath hitches, but I play dead. Thighs part a fraction. He reaches my panties—brown lace, thick weave. Pubes peek through. Authentic blonde. His touch grazes the fabric. Thighs clamp hard, then spring open. He freezes. I relax. Wetness builds already.
He rubs gentle circles over my mound. Slip soaks fast. I undulate subtle, hips rocking unconscious-like. His fingers snake aside the edge. Direct on my slick lips. Index dips in—I’m drenched, it slides deep. Guilt flashes in him, I sense it. But my pussy welcomes, clenches. He pumps slow, then swirls my clit. Pure fire. Bassin meets his hand, urging.
The Release. First orgasm crashes. I bite my lip, thighs crush his wrist. Gush floods his fingers. He watches, mesmerized. Doesn’t stop. Two fingers now, stretching my heat. Softer rhythm. I buck again, quicker this time. Clit throbs. Second peak hits brutal—moan slips muffled. He grins devilish.
The Explosion
Thighs grip him tight, begging more. Hand aches for him, but pride fuels. Third wave builds fast. Fingers plunge, curl inside. I shatter, pussy pulsing wild. He pulls out finally. Sniffs his slick digits—my scent drives him mad, musky sweet.
Lights flicker on. ‘Morning’ meeting soon. I stretch languid. ‘Sleep well?’ he probes. I smirk. ‘Didn’t sleep till 2 a.m. Eyes closed don’t mean dreaming.’ His jaw drops. Laughter erupts, shared, electric. Hand squeeze under table—’Fuck me now,’ mine screams. He yanks me up. Desk clears in frenzy. Skirt flips, panties shoved aside. His cock springs free, thick, veined. Slams in raw—no condom, pure risk. ‘Fuck, your pussy’s soaked for me,’ he growls. I gasp, ‘Harder, make me cum again.’ Desk rattles. Printer whirs louder. Coffee spills. Pounds deep, frantic. Balls slap my ass. I claw his back. ‘Gonna fill you,’ he grunts. Orgasm rips me—fourth, screaming silent. He erupts, hot seed floods.
Panties snap back. Skirt smooths. Blouse tucked. His cum trickles down thigh—thrilling reminder. Door unlocks. We sit, dossiers straight. Colleagues enter. Fresh as fish. ‘Ready for briefing?’ I chirp. He nods, eyes twinkling. Mask perfect. Lust simmers beneath.