Click. Mouse skitters across my desk. Open-space buzzes. Printer whirs in the corner, spitting reports. Coffee aroma clashes with my vanilla perfume. Jean-Pierre’s gaze lingers from his glass office. Older boss, widowed, retired coach turned consultant. Firm body, silver streaks in brown hair. I rent his spare room cheap. Ambitious intern, piano student by night. Tension simmers weeks. Stolen looks over dossiers. His gruff voice on calls softens for me. After his runs, muscles ache. I offer massage first time. Awkward hands on his back. Slip tents. He hides it. Heart races. Risk of HR door knock. Adrenaline hooks me.
Door clicks shut. His office. Late afternoon. ‘Sore from hike?’ I tease. He nods, strips to boxers on leather couch. Oil slicks my palms. Knead shoulders. Firm traps yield. Down spine. Ass cheeks flex under fabric. ‘Flip,’ I whisper. Eyes closed, he obeys. Pecs hard. Abs ripple. Circles near pubes. Thighs part. Inner squeeze. Cock swells. Bulge strains elastic. Red tip peeks. Breath hitches. Printer drones outside. Colleague footsteps fade. Door locked. My pussy throbs. Perfume thickens air.
The Building Tension
No words. Hand dives under waistband. Grip hot shaft. Thick, veined. He gasps. Lips crash. Tongue invades. ‘Fuck, Anna,’ he growls. Boxers yanked. Cock springs free. My blouse off. Skirt hiked. No panties. Wet slit grinds his thigh. ‘Want this boss cock?’ I hiss. Straddle. Guide purple head to folds. Sink down. Stretch fills me. ‘Tight little intern pussy,’ he grunts. Hands claw tits. Nipples pinch hard. Bounce fast. Desk lamp flickers. Coffee mug rattles. Slaps echo. Wet smacks. Clit grinds pubes. ‘Harder, fuck me like your slut,’ I moan. Balls tighten. Vagina clamps. He thrusts up. G-spot hammered. Orgasm rips. Squirts juice. He erupts. Cum floods deep. Hot jets. Bodies quake.
Panting. Sweat beads. Cock slips out. Cum drips thighs. Wipe quick. Blouse buttoned. Skirt smoothed. Hair tucked. He zips slacks. ‘Meeting now,’ I say cool. Smile wicked. Unlock door. Stride out. Open-space stares. Printer hums on. Grab coffee. Perfume masks sex musk. Sit in conference room. Notes ready. Legs crossed, pussy pulsing. He enters last. Eye fuck across table. Secret sealed. Rush hits harder than close. Hierarchy bends. Lust rules. Back to spreadsheets. Heart pounds. Who’s next?