I’m not the same woman I was six months ago. Bourgeoise, Catholic, prude, faithful. Now, debauched and alive. It started with Stéphane, the temp. His beastly charm. His scent like a bull in heat.
Monday lunch, company cafeteria. Printer hums in the distance. Coffee stench mixes with my floral perfume. Open-space buzz: keyboards clack, phones ring. He sits at the table’s end. Dark eyes lock on mine. Intense. Undressing. I shift. Legs cross. Heart races.
The Building Tension
All week, the game. His gaze heavy. Raffish pervert behind cultured eyes. I manage thirty subordinates. Authority intact. But his stare erodes me. String pink today. Tailleur hugs my generous ass, C-cups.
Friday. Last to lunch. Almost empty. He slides opposite. No hello.
“Pink string, right?”
Voice low. Commanding. Forgets ‘vous’. I flush crimson.
“Why say that?”
“Saw it peek from your skirt. Love that bourgeois ass in tight suits.”
“Stéphane!”
Not anger. Heat blooms between thighs. Fist of fire.
“Hottest in this office. Wanna soak that string. Feel your mouth on my cock. Fuck you, Séverine. Submit that prim pussy.”
Electrified. Breath short. Face burns. Cafeteria clears.
“Finish. Meet room 422, top floor. Empty office by archives.”
He leaves. I eat mechanically. Pulse thunders. Coffee bitter on tongue.
Stairs. Avoid elevators. Legs jelly. Knock. Door clicks open. He lounges in old chair. Stacks of files. Faint printer drone below. Coffee wafts up shafts. My perfume thickens air.
“Lock it. Center room.”
Click. Lock snaps. Heart slams.
“Spin. Show body I’ll own.”
Arms up. Twirl. String drenched.
“Lift skirt. Ass out.”
Fabric whispers over stockings. Cool air on skin. Pink lace vanishes in cheeks.
“Good slut. Come here.”
“Yes.”
Hands knead. Rough. “Prime bourgeois ass. Made for slapping, gripping.”
Sigh escapes. Thumb circles anus. Fingers tease through lace. Wet.
“Dripping like a virgin. Excited?”
The Explosive Release
“Yes…”
“Spread lace. Show cunt.”
I do. Offer sex. Principles shatter: fidelity, decency.
“Bend. Legs wide.”
Finger plunges. Gasp. “Loves fingers in sloppy hole, the exec bitch.”
Words scorch. Second finger. Twists. Clit flicks. Tongue later. Rivers flow.
Pulls out. Presses hard cock on thigh. Wood under pants. Fingers gleam.
“Taste your slut juice.”
Eyes shut. Suck. Salty tang. Lick eager. Back to pussy. Again. Lost.
Orgasm hits. Bite lip. Muffle cry. World blanks.
Shame flickers. Gone with neck kisses.
“Panties off. Keep ’em. Next week, same spot. No nylons. Stockings only.”
Slide down thighs. Hand over.
Afternoon hell. Bare under skirt. Chair sticks to skin. Replay loops.
But he doesn’t stop. “Bend over desk.” Old wood creaks. Files shift. Door lock echoes. He unzips. Cock springs. Thick. Veins pulse. Slaps ass. Sting.
“Gonna fuck this married cunt raw.”
Thrusts in. No condom. Stretches. Fills. Gasp.
Pounds hard. Desk rattles. Printer hums approval. Coffee scent mixes sweat, musk.
“Take it, boss slut. Milk my dick.”
Hips buck. Clit grinds edge. Fingers dig wood. Clicks of distant mouse like countdown.
“Cum on cock, Séverine.”
Explosion. Walls clench. Scream stifled. He grunts. Floods deep. Hot spurts.
Pulls out. Cum drips thighs.
Mask on. Wipe desk hasty. Skirt down. No panties. Lipstick fix. Perfume spritz. Unlock. Click.
Stride out. Heels click tile. Elevator dings. Back to meeting. “Agenda?” Voice steady. Face serene. Subordinates nod. None suspect. Cum leaks slow. Secret thrill pulses. Adrenaline high. Bourgeoise facade perfect.