Conference room door clicks shut. Locked. Printer hums low in the corner. Coffee aroma clings to air, tangled with my sharp perfume. Open-space glances earlier burned hot. Philippe sits there, my gambling loser boyfriend, eyes down. He drained our accounts. Thousands gone. Fucker. Now, colleagues circle the table. Four guys, hungry stares. Marco smirks from the dealer spot. My plan: strip poker. Sex stakes. Reclaim what’s mine. Make him watch.
Mouse clicks echo from forgotten laptops. I slam my code wrong thrice on the imaginary ATM in my head. Like the bank machine that ate my card. ‘Balance zero,’ it spat. Rage boils. ‘Play to win back,’ I hiss. Philippe flinches. Guys chuckle. ‘No ma’am,’ one mocks. Slap cracks his cheek. He freezes. ‘It’s Madame to you.’ Tension spikes. Hearts pound. Air thick.
The Building Tension
‘Blinds first.’ I peel off blouse. Lace bra peeks. Bets fly. ‘Small blind: blowjob. Ten bucks.’ Eyes widen. Coffee mug rattles. ‘Big blind: deepthroat plus finger in ass.’ Printer spits paper. Irrelevant. Philippe sweats. I kneel for winner. First guy. Cock out. Salty pre-cum hits tongue. Jetons cold on balls. Suck hard. Gland swells. Tongue flicks piss-slit. He groans. Clicks of belts unbuckle. My ex watches, dick twitching useless.
Lose skirt. String barely covers wet pussy. ‘All in?’ Marco bids high. Table clears. I straddle him. No condom? Fuck it, pull one quick. Cock rams in. Desk shakes. Papers fly. Printer whirs louder. Thrusts slap wet. ‘Fuck me harder!’ I growl. Nipples grind his chest. Coffee breath mixes moans. Finger my ass. Stars burst. He pounds. Balls slap clit. Orgasm rips. Juices soak latex.
The Raw Explosion
Others join. One in mouth. Gag reflex fights. Spit drips. Philippe chained to chair, eyes bulge. ‘Watch your slut win.’ Cum jets on tits. Hot ropes. Wipe with chips. Stack grows. Another bends me over. Ass up. Cock probes hole. ‘Anal for jackpot?’ Lube from drawer. Slow push. Burn. Then bliss. Printer jams? Who cares. Farts of air from thrusts. Moans echo. Door rattles—no one’s coming.
Marco flips me. Legs wide. Pounds deep. ‘Your pussy’s mine tonight.’ Dirty talk fuels. Clit throbs. Squirts hit floor. He fills rubber. Pulls out. Drip. Guys cheer. Philippe tears up. Shame cocktail.
Cum smears desk. I stand. Adjust bra. Smooth skirt. Wipe lips. Perfume over musk. Unlock door. Click. ‘Meeting over, boys.’ Smile crisp. Stride to open-space. Heels click. Coffee fresh. Act normal. Files in hand. Philippe stumbles behind. Broken. Revenge tastes sweet. Like victory chips. Tomorrow? More games. My rules. No mercy.