Printer hums in the open space. La Défense buzzes. Clicks of mice echo. I clutch my dossiers tight. Pierre-Mari’s gaze burns from across the floor. Collaborateur to my ex, Marc. He knows my secrets. That navy blue lingerie set arrived by courier yesterday. Silk against my skin under this short skirt. Coffee aroma wafts, mixes with my perfume. Sharp. Intoxicating. He nods. ‘Conference room. Now.’ Heart races. Adrenaline spikes.
We slide past desks. Colleagues buried in screens. Door clicks shut behind us. Lock snaps. Echoes loud. Room smells of polished wood, stale coffee. Table vast like his desk drawer full of my panties. He steps close. ‘Show me.’ Fingers tremble on blouse buttons. Reveal lace bra hugging my tits. His breath quickens. ‘The gift fits perfect.’ Eyes drop to my skirt. I hike it slow. Navy thong clings wet already. Games like this thrill me. Risk of Linda finding his collection? Minimal. But the tease? Pure fire.
The Mounting Tension
His hand glides my thigh. Silk stockings smooth. Index hooks the elastic. Pulls slow. String slides down. Past knees. Onto heels. Damp fabric hits floor. Pussy exposed. Air cool. He watches. Cock strains pants. ‘You’re soaked, slut.’ Whisper rough. I nod. Stand tall. Naked below waist. Tension coils. Printer drones outside. Someone knocks? No. Just pulse pounding.
He shoves me against table. Skirt bunches. Ass up. Desk lamp flickers. ‘Fuck me quick.’ I beg. Zipper rasps. Cock springs free. Thick. Veined. Rams in. No mercy. Pussy stretches. Wet slap. Desk creaks. Papers scatter. Coffee mug tips. Spill dark. Mixes with my juices. He grips hips. Pounds hard. ‘Tight little cunt.’ Grunts. I bite lip. Moan low. Thrill of door lock. Footsteps pass. Could burst in.
The Raw Explosion
Thrusts brutal. Fast. Balls slap ass. Fingers dig. Bruise tomorrow. I arch. Clit grinds edge. Build explodes. Cum gushes. Heals slick. ‘Take it.’ Pulls hair. Neck cranes. Mirror shows us. Wild. Feral. His release. Hot spurts deep. Fills me. Dripping. We pant. Sweat beads. Perfume clings. Coffee bitter.
He zips up. Steps back. I straighten slow. Thong snatched. Back on. Damp. Skirt smooths. Blouse buttons. Hair fixed. Mirror check. Lipstick reapplied. Flush fades. ‘Meeting resumes.’ He says cool. Unlocks door. Clicks open. I grab dossiers. Walk out. Legs shaky. Cum leaks slow. Soaks thong.
Back to open space. Colleagues glance. Smile polite. Sit. Cross legs. Printer hums again. Mouse clicks resume. Sip cold coffee. Taste his scent. Perfume lingers. Roxane texts? No. Focus work. Ambitious. Professional. Inside? Pulsing. Wet. Ready for next risk. Hierarchy fuels it. Stress to sex. Perfection.