The office was dead quiet by the time I slipped my heels back on, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound left. I knew you’d still be here—always the last one to leave, buried in some endless Zoom call with clients halfway across the world. I’d spent the last hour pretending to finish reports, but really, I was just waiting for the right moment. The moment when the coast was clear, and that thick cock of yours was all mine.
Your door was cracked open, the glow of your monitor casting shadows across your face. You didn’t even look up when I stepped inside, too busy arguing with some suit about quarterly projections. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under my tits, the fabric of my dress clinging just tight enough to show off the lace thong you’d bought me last week. The one you’d made me model for you on a video call while you jerked off in that hotel in Berlin.
“You’re still here,” I murmured, my voice low enough that only you could hear.
Your eyes flicked to me for half a second, then back to the screen. “Five more minutes,” you mouthed, but I saw the way your fingers twitched against the desk. You wanted me. Badly.
I didn’t wait. The zipper at the side of my dress gave way with a soft hiss, and I let the fabric pool at my feet. The air conditioning hit my skin, making my nipples harden against the sheer black bra you’d picked out. Your breath hitched—just slightly—but I caught it. The guy on the screen droned on about market trends, oblivious, while you sat there, your cock already stirring in your slacks.
I dropped to my knees in front of you, my hands sliding up your thighs. Your muscles tensed, but you didn’t stop me. Couldn’t. Not when I’d spent months sending you pictures of my tits spilling out of my blouse at my desk, not when you’d bragged to clients that your assistant was the hottest fucking thing they’d never see, not when you’d made me prove it by sending them a snap of my fingers tracing my pussy through my panties while you watched on a split screen.
Your belt came undone with a sharp tug. The button of your slacks popped open, and I didn’t bother with finesse—I yanked them down just enough to free that thick, veiny cock of yours. Already half-hard, already leaking at the tip. I licked my lips, my mouth watering, and wrapped my fingers around the base.
“Fuck, Elena—” you hissed, your voice strained as you tried to keep your composure for the call.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I dragged my tongue up the underside of your shaft, swirling around the head before taking you deep into my mouth. Your hips jerked, and I heard the faint creak of your chair as you fought to stay still. The guy on the screen was still talking, clueless, while I hollowed my cheeks and took you to the back of my throat.
“—and if we adjust the timeline, I think we can hit those numbers by Q3,” you managed to say, your voice tight, your hand tangling in my hair as I bobbed my head, my lips stretched obscenely around your girth.
I pulled back just enough to flick my tongue over your slit, tasting the salty pre-cum before diving back down. My fingers dug into your thighs, my nails leaving little crescent marks through your slacks. You groaned, low and rough, and I felt your cock twitch, thickening even more in my mouth.
“Gotta go,” you muttered abruptly, and the screen went black before the guy could even respond. Your hands were in my hair instantly, guiding me, fucking my mouth with short, sharp thrusts. “That’s it, take it. Take that fucking cock like the dirty girl you are.”
I moaned around you, the vibration making your hips stutter. My free hand slid between my legs, my fingers finding my clit through the damp lace of my thong. I was soaked, my pussy throbbing, aching to be filled, but this wasn’t about me. Not tonight. Tonight was about watching you lose control, about making you come so hard you’d remember it every time you sat at this desk.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your grip on my hair tightening. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna fill that pretty mouth—”
I pulled back just enough to whisper, “Not my mouth,” before diving back down, my lips sealed around your cock as you exploded.
The first spurt hit the back of my throat, thick and hot, but I didn’t swallow. I pulled off with a wet pop, your cum dripping from my lips, my chin, my fingers still working my clit as I crawled out from under the desk. You watched, dazed, as I stood up, my tits heaving, my skin glistening with sweat.
Then I leaned over your desk, my ass pressed against the edge, and spat every last drop of your cum onto your monitor.
It slid down the screen in slow, obscene rivulets, pooling at the bottom. I smirked, running a finger through it before bringing it to my mouth and sucking it clean. “Next time,” I purred, stepping back into my dress, “I’m riding that cock on this desk while you take a call. Let’s see how professional you can stay then.”
I didn’t wait for a response. The click of my heels echoed down the empty hallway as I walked out, leaving you hard, sticky, and desperate for more. And I knew—oh, I knew—you’d be texting me before I even made it to the elevator. Begging for another taste. Another show.
Another chance to prove just how far we could push this game.