The breakroom hums. Coffee machine gurgles hot brew. I pour a cup, black, steaming. Open-space eyes flick my way—colleagues buried in reports. Printer whirs in the corner, spitting paper. My skirt hugs tight, slit riding high. Azzaëlle, that’s me, ambitious bitch with obus tits straining my blouse, ebony bush itching under lace.
He watches from his desk. The barbon, broke old goat with failing balls, my secret fuck. Gray suit hangs loose. His gaze burns. I sip coffee, perfume mixing with roast—musky, teasing. Door clicks shut behind me. Locked. Clicks of his mouse stop. Tension coils like his useless cock.
The Building Tension
I saunter over. Reports scatter. ‘Focus on those dossiers,’ I purr, voice low. He shifts, pants tenting. I hike my skirt. Bend slow. Spread cheeks wide with both hands. Groan deep, offering my perfect ass. Inches from his face. He strains against chair ties—hands bound back. Bull-hard cock throbs, balls tight, sperm-loaded. But no touch.
My crimson clit pulses. Fingers dance there. He lunges, dick seeking my crack. I dodge, laugh sharp. ‘Not yet, old monkey.’ Vieux singe who knows orgasms too well. Tenancier of the water cooler, never greets new interns. His eyes lock on my hairy slit brushing his glans. Brain-fried, primal need.
First time? Standing fuck against this coffee machine. Now, daily torture. Stress turns to pure lust. Hierarchy flips—me on top. Pregnant belly swells subtle under blouse. Symbol of our forbidden renewal. His seed took root. Riskier thrills.
Printer jams, beeps urgent. Distant phones ring. Someone knocks. ‘Meeting soon!’ I grind air near his tip. He growls, hips buck wild. Coffee drips, scent thick with my arousal.
Door rattles. I untie him fast. Straddle thighs. Cock trapped between cheeks. Untie fully? No. Sink down, hot.
The Wild Explosion
His hands free, grab hips. I ride savage. Desk shakes. Reports fly. Coffee spills, warm on skin. ‘Fuck my pregnant cunt,’ I hiss. Raw, quick. He slams up, balls slap wet. Pussy grips iron rod. Clit grinds pubes.
Moans echo. Door locked holds. Imprimante restarts, covers grunts. His fingers dig ass. ‘Spread wider, slut.’ I do. Cheeks part, he thumbs hole. Thrusts brutal. Orgasm builds—mine first. Walls clench, juice floods. He unloads, hot ropes paint insides.
Cum drips thighs. I spasm, nails rake chest. He roars, spent. Bodies slick, coffee-perfume-sex stink.
Bell dings—meeting alert. I lift off. Cum trails leg. Wipe quick with report. Straighten skirt, blouse. Hair smooth. Smile wicked. ‘Good boy.’ Unlock door. Stride out.
Open-space stares. I grab fresh dossier. Sit in conference room. Legs cross, pussy throbs sticky. Boss follows minutes later, tie askew. Plays cool. I wink under table. Adrenaline peaks—caught? Never. Luxure hides perfect under pro mask.