My office door clicks shut behind him. Lock snaps. Printer hums in the open space outside. Coffee aroma wafts in, mixing with my sharp perfume. Heart pounds. Box on desk. His prototype stares up—sleek V-shape, vaginal arm thick and smooth, clit prong thin with that spinning tongue ball. No panties today. Habit. Jupe courte hikes up. Legs spread wide on leather chair. Wet already from the pitch. Fingers part lips. Slide the thick part in deep. Feels alive. Thin arm nestles perfect, silicone hood over my clit. Invisible. App downloads fast. Pairing buzzes inside me.
Mouse clicks echo. Emails pile up. But I test. Low vibe first. Pulse against walls. G-spot swells. Fingers grip desk edge. Voices murmur beyond door—colleagues chat layoffs. My screen glows with controls. Twist dial up. Arm thickens, stretches me. Tongue ball rotates slow. Fuck. Breath hitches. Coffee mug steams nearby, scent thick. Door rattles—assistant? ‘Not now!’ Voice steady, pro. He leaves. Posture shifts: legs cross tight. Humidity spikes inside. Heart races to 120. Stand? No. Sit firmer. Jeans? No, skirt. Tailleur tight.
The Tension Builds
Auto mode tempts. Colleagues laugh outside. Printer whirs louder. I click it. AI wakes. Sensors read me—wet, aroused, seated. Patterns build. Slow build: vibes tease, arm pulses rhythmic. Clit sucks gentle. Desk chair creaks under thighs. Sweat beads. Perfume clings heavy. Phone buzzes—sign this? Voice cracks. ‘Later. Important project.’ Hang up. They joke: hot guy? Laugh dies in my throat. Surge hits—vibe max, tongue spins wild. Body jerks. Lips bite hard. Moan swallows. Waves crash. First orgasm rips. Legs clamp. Heart explodes 160 bpm. Juices soak chair. Gasp ragged.
Not done. AI adapts. No repeat. Now strokes deep, clit pinches. Second builds fast. Fingers claw keyboard. Fake type. Noises mask gasps: mouse click-click, printer spits paper. Tension coils. Risk burns—knock any second. Third hits brutal. Back arches off chair. Desk rattles pens. Cum hard, thighs quake. Vision blurs. Smell my musk under coffee. Still seated. Auto hungers more. Afternoon blurs: peaks roll, slow climbs to shattering drops. Four, five. Legs jelly. No break. Control mine? No, it owns me now.
The Explosion Unleashed
17h nears. Manual low hum. Grab bag. Unlock door—click echoes. Stride out calm. Heels click floor. Colleagues glance. Smile tight. Parking lot. Car starts. Vibe low, drive home. Call clients—orgasm mid-sentence, wheel grips white. Home. Auto again. Cook standing, spasms hit. Hubby logs in from SF. Sadist. All functions blast. Edge denied. Cut it. Sunday park. No panties under sundress. Grass lays me flat. Three monsters cum, records. Discreet mode walks me—pics spike, legs cross sudden. Dinner with friend. Cocktails flow. Two sneaky orgasms under table. Post selfie: new product tease.
Monday 8:30. Wash toy. Soap fresh, wish he smelled me. Note: Genius. You present. No panties ever. First customer me. But no peek. Meeting room waits. Pro mask on.