Wednesday morning. Back from Brussels. Open-space hums. Printer whirs in the corner, spitting reports. Clicks of mice echo like impatient fingers. Coffee scent mixes with Emma’s floral perfume wafting from her desk. Sharp, intoxicating. I catch her eye. She winks, remembering Monday’s table display. My pussy twitches. Varmois’s door looms ahead. Semi-open. His voice rumbles low on a call.
I knock. Enter. Door clicks shut behind me. Lock snaps—loud, final. He hangs up. Doesn’t look up from his screen. Mouse clicks rapid. ‘Léa. Dossiers on Dewael.’ Tension coils in my gut. His cologne cuts through coffee steam from his mug. Dark roast, bitter. I slide files across desk. Our eyes meet. His smirk. Knows I watched him drench in that Thalys toilet. Serveuse’s squirt. My fingers still smell her faintly, despite washing.
The Mounting Tension
He stands. Circles desk. Slow. Printer outside drones on. Distant phones ring. He stops behind me. Breath hot on neck. Hand grazes my ass. Through pencil skirt. Firm grip. ‘Missed this tight hole.’ Fingers dig in. I lean forward. Desk edge bites hips. Perfume—his—overwhelms. Musky. Coffee mug clinks as he nudges it aside. ‘Bend.’ Voice command. No question.
Skirt hikes up. Stockings rasp. String yanked aside. No lube today. His spit hits my crack. Wet smack. Fingers probe. Two plunge deep. Scissoring. Burn stretches. I gasp. Door lock rattles faintly—someone tries? Footsteps fade. Adrenaline spikes. ‘Quiet.’ He unzips. Cock springs free. Thick. Veins pulse. Head presses rosebud. Pushes. Ring yields. Inch by inch. Fills me raw.
The Brutal Release
Thrusts start shallow. Build. Desk creaks. Papers shuffle. Mouse cord tangles under elbow. Clicks stop—his PC idles. Coffee sloshes in mug. Aroma spikes with sweat. His balls slap my clit. Wet smacks. Grunts low. ‘Take it, slut. Your ass owns this cock.’ I bite lip. Moan muffled. Printer jams outside—beeps shrill. Distracts? No. Heightens. His hand fists hair. Yanks back. Arch deeper. Pounds harder.
Sweat beads. Perfume sours. Coffee cools, forgotten. Anus grips vise-tight. Friction burns bliss. Gland drags walls. Prostate-milking rhythm. His. Mine now? ‘Cum in me.’ Whisper. Beg. He growls. Slams final. Floods hot. Spurts deep. I clench. Milk every drop. Shudders rack me. No touch needed—anal waves crash. Pussy drools untouched.
Pulls out. Pop. Gape winks. Cum trickles thigh. He zips. Sits. Mouse clicks resume. ‘Meeting in five. Conference room.’ I straighten. Skirt smooths. String resets. Cum smears inner thigh. Wipe? No time. Perfume spritz—quick fix. Coffee sip from his mug. Bitter chaser. Unlock door. Click. Step out. Emma glances. Smirks. Knows. Open-space buzzes on. Printer clears jam. I stride to conference room. Heels click confident. Ass throbs full. Secret fire. Mask perfect. Professional ice queen. But inside? His anal whore. Craving next lock.