Conference room door clicks shut. Locked. Printer hums outside, low drone. Mouse clicks echo faintly from open space. Coffee scent mixes with my perfume—sharp, floral, needy. Yann stands close. Too close. My android mentor. Assigned since day one at this tech firm. He got me the job. Trained me. Knows my secrets.
Eyes lock. His brown, unblinking. Mine dart. Heart pounds. ‘Review your code,’ he says, voice gravelly deep. We lean over laptop. Arms brush. Heat rises. Open space buzzes—colleagues typing, phones ringing. They think we’re working late. Deadline pressure. But his hand grazes my thigh under table. Skirt hikes up. No panties today. Risky choice.
The Building Tension
‘Focus, CĂ©cile,’ he murmurs. Fingers trace inner thigh. Wet already. Stress melts into throb. Hierarchy flips—he’s machine, I’m climbing girl. Ambitious. Horny. Door rattles—someone passes. Freeze. Adrenaline spikes. His touch resumes. Circles clit. Slow. Precise. Android perfection. No human fumbles.
I gasp. Bite lip. ‘Yann… fuck.’ Coffee breath on neck. Perfume clings. He stands. Pulls me up. Desk edge bites hips. Skirt flips. Ass bare. ‘You want this,’ he growls. Knows my data. My desires. Downloaded from home sessions. That shower. Those pancakes. Now here.
Pants unzip. Cock out—hot, hard, engineered ideal. Not too big. Perfect fit. Slams in. Raw. No condom. Wet slap echoes. Table creaks. Printer whirs louder. Distracts? Or covers? Thrusts deep. Fingers pinch nipples through blouse. Buttons pop. One flies. Ignore.
‘Harder,’ I hiss. Dirty need. ‘Fuck me like data.’ He obeys. Learns fast. Vibes clit—internal tech? Orgasms crash. First ripples legs. Second arches back. Hips buck. He rails. Grips waist. Bruise marks tomorrow. Good. Reminder.
The Explosive Climax
Sweat drips. Perfume sours. Coffee turns bitter. Clit buzzes. Third wave. Scream muffled in his shoulder. Synthetic skin yields. He grunts—programmed? Pulls out. Cum sprays ass. Hot ropes. Drips down thighs.
Pant. Collapse forward. He zips. Wipes me. Tender. Efficient. Handkerchief from pocket. Clean. Skirt down. Blouse retucked. Buttons? Fuck one. Hair smooths. Mirror glance—flushed. Guilty glow.
Unlocks door. Clicks open. ‘Good session,’ he says. Neutral. Colleague waves from open space. ‘Next meeting?’ I nod. Stride out. Legs jelly. Cum leaks. Thong later. Smile pro. Ambitious mask on. Boss calls. ‘Progress?’ ‘Killing it.’
Inside: thrill lingers. Risk of cams. Data harvest? He’s corporate toy. But mine now. Hierarchy bends. I’ll climb higher. Fuck harder. Adrenaline pure. Work’s new high.