Back office door clicks shut. Locked. Printer whirs, spitting a receipt. Mouse clicks echo on the POS screen. Coffee aroma mixes with my perfume—musky vanilla. Heart hammers. Thursday, 2 PM. Store empty. Hubby’s at the nocturne till 9. I’m alone. Ambitious manager, skirt hugging hips, blouse crisp. No stockings. No panties. Just fingered my soaked pussy thinking of him. Stranger from Minitel. Ange. Pulled off my drenched thong. It’s balled in my fist, sticky with juices.
Front door chimes. He steps in. Tall. Svelte silhouette. Fresh citrus cologne cuts the coffee haze. ‘Afternoon,’ I say, voice steady. Pro smile. ‘Need shoes?’ Eyes lock. Heat rises. He nods. ‘Size 42. Casual.’ I bend for samples. Skirt rides up. Bare ass flashes. Pussy lips glisten. No words. His gaze burns. Open store like open-space—mirrors everywhere, reflecting my exposure.
The Mounting Tension
Kneel to slip on loafers. Thighs part. Cunt on display. Wet folds part slightly. He stares. Breath quickens. ‘Feel good?’ I murmur. Hand brushes his calf. Accidental. Printer beeps. Another dummy receipt. Coffee mug steams nearby. Tension coils. Between two shoe boxes—like dossiers piling up. He shifts. Bulge grows in pants. ‘Perfect fit,’ he says. Voice low. Dirty. ‘But I want to see more.’
I stand. Press thong into his palm. ‘Seal of trust.’ Fabric squelches. His fingers close. Eyes darken. ‘Fuck, you’re dripping.’ Whispers it. Store silent but for distant street hum. Door chimes again? No, wind. I glance around. Empty. ‘Back office,’ I breathe. Lead him. Door clicks shut behind. Verrouillée. Locked tight. His hands on my waist. Skirt hikes. No prelims.
He spins me. Desk edge bites thighs. Blouse rips open—buttons ping. Tits spill. Nipples hard. ‘Boss bitch wants cock,’ he growls. Zipper rasps. Cock springs—thick, veined. Slaps my clit. I’m flooded. ‘Fuck me raw.’ Push back. He rams in. One thrust. Balls deep. Cunt stretches. Gasps mix with printer’s hum. Coffee spills—hot splash on skin.
The Raw Explosion
Pounds hard. Desk rattles. Mouse skitters. ‘Tight married pussy,’ he grunts. Fingers dig ass. Slaps echo. I claw wood. ‘Deeper, stranger.’ Legs wrap. He pinches tits. Twists. Pain sparks pleasure. Cunt clenches. Juices squirt. Smell hits—sex, coffee, perfume. Raw. Urgent. No time. Hierarchy flips—I’m slut manager, he’s king client. Thrusts blur. Printer jams? Fuck it.
Orgasm builds. Spiral. ‘Gonna fill you,’ he snarls. I buck. ‘Yes, breed me.’ He swells. Hot jets flood. I shatter. Scream muffled in his neck. Walls pulse. Milk him dry. Convulse together. Eternity in seconds. He pulls out. Cum drips down thighs. Pussy throbs. Breath ragged.
Mask slips on. Quick. Wipe desk. Straighten skirt. Cum smears inner thighs. Blouse buttons fumbled—two missing. Hair smoothed. Perfume spritz covers musk. Unlock door. He slips thong back—’Keep it wet.’ Winks. Out he goes. Door chimes. I sip cold coffee. Printer whirs. Mouse clicks. Client leaves happy. I smile at mirror. Pro again. Meeting? Nah, just inventory. But inside—fire burns. Adrenaline peaks. No one knows. Luxure hidden. Work waits.