The boss’s office smells like stale coffee and his cheap cologne mixed with my perfume. Sharp, intoxicating. I lean over his desk with the last dossier. Printer hums in the corner, spitting paper. Open-space outside buzzes faintly—phones ringing, keyboards clacking. But here, it’s just us. Henri’s eyes linger on my tight skirt, my heavy tits straining the blouse. He’s 57, balding, paunchy. Not my type. But his stare? Hungry. Animal. I feel it between my legs.
He calls me in for ‘details.’ Again. I know he watches me from his glass wall every morning. Jupe droite hugging my ass, heels clicking. No panties today, per Marc’s order. My lover. My secret. Paul at home thinks I’m the perfect wife, mom of two. But I crave the edge. The risk of getting caught. Henri frôles me as I hand files. His breath hot on my neck. ‘Wait,’ he growls when I turn to leave. Door clicks shut. Lock turns. Heart pounds. Persiennes rattle down. Bureau désert. Just us.
The Building Tension
He hands me the printouts. My emails to Marc. Fucked against his car, his tongue on my shaved pussy, cum inside me. My replies: no panties, wet at dinner under the table. Face burns. I tear them. ‘Got copies,’ he whispers. Smug. ‘What do you want?’ Tears well. He circles like a shark. ‘You, Christine. All of you.’ His hand on my nape. Fingers trace skin. Buttons pop, one by one. Blouse open. Bra unhooked. Seins lourds spill out. Dark nipples harden in cool air.
I sob, but pussy throbs. Adrenaline surges. Risk of door bursting open. His mouth devours my tits. Sucks hard. Bites. ‘Fuck, so perfect.’ I stay still. Distant. But heat builds. He stands, unzips. Thick cock out. Veiny, hard. ‘Suck it, slut.’ I kneel. Mouth wraps around. Salty pre-cum. He grips hair, fucks my face. Gags me deep. ‘Good girl. Take it all.’ Mouse clicks forgotten outside. My phone in bag records every grunt, slurp. Insurance.
The Explosive Release
‘Mon le bureau.’ I hop up. Skirt hikes. Legs spread. No panties. Smooth pussy glistens. He drops, tongue dives in. Licks sloppy. Circles clit. Fingers plunge. I buck. ‘Oh fuck.’ Orgasms crash. One, two. Juices on his chin. He gulps whisky. Pants drop. Cock rams in. Stretches me. Pounds hard. Desk creaks. Papers scatter. His hands knead tits, pinch nipples. I kiss back now. Tongue battles. Bite his ear. ‘Harder, boss.’ He growls, slams deeper. Balls slap. I’m soaked. Lost in the thrill. Power flip coming.
Pulls out. Jets hot cum on my flat belly. Rope after rope. We pant. He offers whisky. I sip. Calm now. ‘Why so easy?’ I smile. Pull phone. Video plays: him buried in me, grunting like beast. Our moans tinny. His face pales. ‘You?’ ‘Filmed it all. Deal: no more bullshit. Big raise yearly. Promotion in three months. And extras when I want.’ ‘Slut.’ ‘Your slut now. You fuck good. Told Marc already—pimped our night.’ He stares. Hooked.
I straighten skirt. Wipe cum with tissue. Button blouse. Nipples poke through. Hair smooth. Perfume fresh over sex stink. Door unlocks. Click. I grab dossiers. ‘Meeting in five.’ Stride out. Heels echo. Colleagues glance. Smile tight. Back to open-space. Coffee brews. Printer whirs. Act normal. But pussy aches. Power mine. Ambition fuels the lust. Risk? My drug. Tomorrow, more.