The conference room door clicks shut. Locked. Printer hums outside, relentless. Mouse clicks echo in the open space. Coffee stench mixes with my sharp perfume—Chanel No. 5, ambitious armor. I’m Nathalie, 66, senior exec, skirt suit hugging curves gravity softened. Michel, old childhood pal, now colleague, sits across. Sixty-six too. Dossiers piled high. Stress thick. Our eyes lock. ‘Why chase far what’s under your nose?’ he says, voice low. Like our terrace chat weeks ago. Heart races. Hierarchy crumbles. I lean in. ‘Mutualize resources?’ He grins. ‘Deal: fuck me right. If I cum hard, we pair up. Life, sex included.’ Imprimante whirs. Door sealed. No one knows.
His hand grazes my thigh under table. Skirt hikes. Stockings whisper. ‘Sixty-six, still hard?’ I tease. He nods, bulge evident. Tension snaps. He pulls me up, pins against desk. Lips crash. Hungry. No gentle. Tongue invades. Coffee breath, his cologne. Hands rip blouse. Buttons ping floor. Bra snaps free. Heavy tits spill—pendant, real. Nipples harden instant. ‘Fuck, Nathalie, dreamed this.’ Sucks one, bites. I gasp. Mouse clicks fade. His fingers dive skirt, no panties today—brave. Pussy wet already. ‘Menopausal? Bullshit. Drip for me.’ Fingers plunge. Sloppy sounds. I buck.
The Mounting Tension
Desk clears—papers scatter. He shoves me back. Skirt up, ass bare. Kneels. Nose in bush. Tongue laps slit. Odorante, musky. Clicks clack outside. Thrill spikes—caught? Clit swells. ‘Direct, huh?’ Sucks button hard. Legs quake. ‘Oh fuck!’ First tremor. Years starved. Pushes head away—no, deeper. Gush. Cum shakes me. He rises. Pants drop. Cock average, rigid. No blue pill needed. ‘Test time.’ Rams pussy. Wet squelch. Desk creaks. Pounds slow, firm. ‘Like that?’ ‘Harder!’ Accelerates. Legs wrap waist. Nails dig back. Grunts mix moans. Printer spits. Someone passes—freeze. Then savage. Balls slap.
The Explosive Release
‘Anal?’ He lubes spit-finger. Circles rosebud. ‘Never.’ ‘Try.’ Masturbates clit meanwhile. Finger probes. Strange burn—good. Gland pushes. ‘Breathe.’ Inch in. Full. ‘All?’ ‘Yes, slut.’ Pistons ass. Tight grip. Clit fire. ‘Your enculée!’ Rails. Body betrays—loves. Orgasms crash. Squirts desk. He roars, jets deep gut. Stars burst. Collapse.
Pants heavy. Cum leaks thighs. Reajust fast. Blouse buttoned crooked. Skirt smoothed. Hair pinned. Mirror check—flush cheeks. Unlock door. Click. Step out. Open space buzzes. ‘Great meeting,’ he says casual. Nod. Coffee sip. Perfume masks sex. Next reunion. Smile pro. Inside: alive. Adrenaline pure. Hierarchy? My playground now.