Printer hums low in the corner. Mouse clicks echo through the open space. Coffee scent lingers, sharp and bitter, mixing with Lucie’s spicy perfume. I glance up from my dossier. She’s across the floor, legs crossed, short khaki skirt riding high on those thick thighs. Caramel skin. Killer ass I’ve eyed since day one. Lucie Nzonzi, new from Burundi ops. Revenge in her eyes for that prick Mombassa. He crushed her dad’s career. Fired him after some corporate coup. Now we strike back.
Our plan’s tight. Sabotage his presentation. Fake emails, leaked docs. Kofi, my old mentor from HQ Paris, fed us intel. Like his tips on the African branch shakeup. Mombassa’s the thumb squeezing the team. Time to chop it off.
Tension Builds Across the Open Space
Meeting alert pings. Conference room. I grab files. She follows. Door shuts. Click. Locked. AC whirs. No one else here yet. Tension crackles. Her breath quickens. Eyes lock. “Chloé, we got him,” she whispers. Hand brushes my hip.
I spin her. Pin against table. Lips crash. Tongues invade. Wet. Hungry. Taste her heat. Hands grip that ass. Firm. Round. “Fuck, Lucie, this booty been teasing me all week.” Squeeze hard. She moans into my mouth.
Blouse rips open. Buttons scatter. Her tits spill out. Massive. Nipples dark, hard peaks. I suck one. Bite. She arches. “Yes, boss bitch, devour me.” Skirt hikes up. Panties soaked. I yank them down. Pussy bare. Swollen. Dripping.
Table edge digs in. Papers fly. Dossiers on Mombassa crumple under us. I drop to knees. Spread her thighs. Tongue dives. Lick clit slow. Then fast. Juicy slurps fill room. Fingers plunge in. Two. Curl. Hit G-spot. She bucks. “Oh shit, Chloé, finger-fuck me harder!”
Her cum floods my mouth. Sweet. Musky. Legs shake. I stand. She spins me. Pants down. Ass exposed. Her tongue rims me. Fingers probe pussy. Ass. Dirty. Deep. “Your cunt’s so tight, slut. Gonna make you squirt.”
Explosive Fuck on the Conference Table
Printer outside drones on. Distant phone rings. Door handle rattles? No. Just wind. Build. Tension peaks. She adds thumb to clit. I shatter. Scream muffled in her neck. Waves crash. Pussy clenches. Soak her hand.
We pant. Sweat mixes with perfume. Coffee waft from vent. Arm stings. Paper cut from dossiers? Nah, scratch from her nails. Like my ‘wound’ fantasy from the plan. She licks it. Tender. “Let me fix you, Mangouste.”
Clock ticks. Others coming. Lipstick smears wiped. Skirt smoothed. Blouse buttoned. Hair fluffed. Door unlocks. Click. We exit. Cool as ice.
Open space buzzes. Mombassa storms in late. Face red. Presentation fucked. Glare at us. We smile. Innocent. Shake hands. “Great work, team.”
Adrenaline surges. Pro mask on. But pussy throbs. Ass cheeks clench her phantom grip. Next meeting? Repeat. Hierarchy bends to my lust. Stress? Pure fuel. No one suspects the corporate killer’s secret fucks.