Printer hums in the open space. Coffee scent mixes with my perfume. Dossiers pile up. I glance at Alain across the desks. His eyes linger. Valérie—wait, that’s me—whispers to Clément, my desk neighbor. ‘Let’s love like Gauls.’ He smirks. Quick Google on my phone: Gauls fought naked, worshipped Priape. No fear.
Door clicks shut. Conference room locked. We push the table aside. Chairs scrape. Mouse clicks fade outside. Heart pounds. ‘Strip,’ I say. Clothes hit the floor fast. Alain faces Clément, both bare. Tension crackles. They grab shoulders, roll on carpet. Grunts echo. Pens rattle on table. My heels click closer.
The Building Tension
Alain pins Clément. Cocks brush. Accidental at first. Then erections twitch. No shame now. Nails dig into ass. Balls gripped hard. They wrestle balanced, sweat mixing with coffee aroma. I watch, thighs clenching. Door handle jiggles—someone passes. Adrenaline surges.
‘Priape time,’ I mimic Jacques Chancel. Alain hops on chair, god-pose. Head high, cock limp. I kneel first. Fingers stroke him horizontal. Lips seal, suck vertical. Priape rises. Clément joins. Hands, then mouth. ‘Religion, not gay,’ I gasp. His tongue works magic. I take over, sucking deep. God throbs. Minutes pass. Saliva drips.
‘Alain needs help,’ he pants. I pump, suck. Clément matches me. Pure worship. Now us. Back on table. ‘Péter?’ I giggle. Fart rips. ‘Pétons dans la soie!’ But no silk here. Dirty jokes fly. ‘Hanneton vs morpion—morpion sticks to balls.’ Laughter mixes moans. I jerk him over my fart. Cum sprays.
The Wild Release
Aurélie knocks. Door unlocks quick. Coffee cup in hand. ‘Smells off.’ ‘Gaul fucking—no roses yet.’ She sniffs. ‘Jealous?’ Cum drips my thighs. ‘Prof sucked me dry—dead tongue.’ Roman chat: ‘Mulier equitans.’ Woman on top. Control. I mount Clément. Pussy swallows cock. We watch it plunge. Slow, then fast.
He softens. ‘Focus!’ But I flood him—hot piss, farts bubbling. He hardens rock-solid. Aurélie crosses herself. ‘Eau et gaz everywhere.’ She strips. Joins. Three-way tangle. Cocks, cunts grind. Grunts, slurps. Table shakes. Printer whirs outside.
Alain returns. ‘Etymology wrong—galer means fun.’ Cock deflates. Laughter kills it. Clothes on fast. Zipper up. Skirt smoothed. Perfume sprays. Door unlocks. Back to open space. Dossiers open. ‘Meeting now,’ I say coolly. Smiles exchanged. Coffee sips. As if nothing. But pussy throbs. Next thrill waits.