Conference room door clicks locked. Monday, 1 PM sharp. Mid-August 2024. Back from vacation, twenty pounds heavier. Croissants mornings, chocolate nights. Tennis coach’s video haunts me. I hate my body, my sagging tits, my full hips. Libido crashed at forty. Couple strained. Need release, no strings. Googled tantric massage. Found Charlotte’s discreet ad on adult site. Local. Work colleague? No, but same town. Messaged. ‘Full naturist tantric, hand finish, 200 euros/hour.’ Booked. Not cheating, right?
Open space hums outside. Printer whirs. Mouse clicks staccato. Coffee scent wafts, mixes with her perfume as she opens door. Charlotte, fifty, light dress hugging curves. Firm tits, round ass, sparkling eyes. ‘Undress, sweetie.’ I strip slow, hide belly rolls, shy pussy. She sheds dress, naked. ‘Look, mine sag too.’ Full breasts sway. Puts me at ease.
The Ambiance: Tension Builds in the Open Space
Meeting table as massage bed. Towel down. Stomach first. Soft playlist hums low. Distant phones ring. ‘Relax, your ass is perfect,’ she whispers hot in ear. Oil drips. Hands glide thighs. Breasts press my back, nipples hard. Pure bliss. Printer drones on. Her fingers knead scalp, tits brush neck. Enveloping warmth. Too short.
‘Flip over.’ Heart pounds. Door lock rattles? Imagination. ‘Touch me if you want.’ Brain freezes. Legs massaged, up to pussy lips. Still shy, no juice yet. She leans, tits massage face. I suck nipple tentative. Salty. ‘Mmm, love that,’ she moans soft. Arms stretch over belly.
‘Let me slide on you.’ ‘Yes, so gentle.’ Feet start, oils up body slow. Eyes shut. Coffee-perfume haze thickens. Fingers wrap pussy, stroke clit. Wetness builds. She grinds cunt on thigh, whimpers escape. Climax near, I think. Risk thrills: colleague knock?
Wet heat sudden. Tongue laps pussy. Deep licks. ‘Like?’ ‘Fuck yes, surprise bonus.’ ‘Guide my head.’ Hands tangle hair, push rhythm. Tongue fucks hole. Electric.
‘Finger me now.’ ‘What?’ ‘Shove fingers in my wet cunt, table top.’ Hell yes. Lube slick. Two fingers plunge. She arches. Pussy grips tight. ‘Harder, bitch.’
The Explosion: Raw Fuck on the Conference Table
Oil slips too much. ‘Position switch?’ ‘Down you go.’ Feet hit carpet. She drops, tongue reclaims pussy. Then bends over table, legs spread. ‘Eat then finger deep.’ Fresh lube. Pussy devours fingers. Real moans echo. Mouse clicks outside mock us.
‘Doggy, pull hair.’ Head on table, ass high. Hands spread cheeks. Fingers ram pussy, thumb clit. View divine: puckered hole winks. Long thrusts. ‘I’m cumming!’ ‘Faster, flood me.’ Waves crash. Slow strokes after. Breath ragged.
‘Thanks, goddess.’ Bathroom guide. Tub fills? No, sink soap. ‘Wash my back?’ ‘Yes.’ Soapy hands roam. My tits linger hers. Switch. Her fingers tease pussy again, hard. ‘More?’
Back conference room. Table for 69. Her ass hovers face. Lick cheeks. ‘Finger my ass?’ ‘First time. Gentle?’ Index probes tight ring. She bucks. Tongue anus rim. Fingers pussy. She devours clit frantic.
‘Ass up high.’ Fists cheeks, fingers swap: pussy to ass. Slow entry, deeper. She begs quiet. ‘Fill me!’ Thrusts build. Pull out, rub clit to squirt on ass. She collapses, grins.
Shower rinse. Dry. Dress. ‘Your curves reassure, own them.’ Rare full go, she says. Trusts me. Heads to Paris transfer soon. No repeat. Self-esteem surges. Cheated boundary shattered. Crave more. Texted 44yo coworker already. Monday next.