Friday morning drags in the stuffy seminar room. Colleagues drone on about risk calculations. I steal glances at Bertrand across the table. His eyes lock mine, smirking. My pussy twitches under my skirt. Last night’s orgasms echo in my body. Cum stains on my dress? Washed away, but not the memory. His cock in my mouth, spurting thick ropes I swallowed like a slut. Heat floods my thighs. I’m soaked already. No panties today—his idea. Risky. Thrilling. The young speaker blabs bullshit. I interrupt sharply, voice steady. Bertrand winks. My clit throbs. Lunch break hits. I slip to the bathroom, fingers dipping into my dripping slit. Fantasizing his tongue there. Back in session, his foot brushes mine under the table. Electric. I bite my lip. Noon finally. Apéritif dînatoire in the hotel lounge. Wine flows. Laughter. Colleagues chat. Bertrand leans close. ‘Meet me in the stairwell. Now.’ Heart pounds. I nod, excuse myself. ‘Ladies’ room.’ Stairs echo empty. He grabs me, pins against wall. Lips crash. Tongue invades. Hands hike my skirt. Fingers find my bald, slick cunt. ‘Fuck, Christiane, you’re gushing.’ I moan, grinding on his hand.
His belt clinks. Zipper down. Cock springs free—hard, veiny, precum beading. I drop to knees on cold concrete. No hesitation. Mouth engulfs him. Salty skin stretches my lips. I suck deep, tongue swirling the head. Gagging slightly, loving it. His hands in my hair, gentle thrust. ‘Suck that dick, princess. Make it sloppy.’ Spit drools down my chin. Balls slap my face. He groans low. Pulls me up. Spins me. Face to wall, ass out. Skirt over hips. He spits on my asshole, rubs it in. ‘Gonna fuck this wet pussy raw.’ Thrusts in—balls deep. I yelp. Fills me completely. Walls clench. He pounds hard, hips slamming my ass. Wet slaps echo. ‘Take it, you cheating slut. Cum on my cock.’ Fingers pinch clit. I shatter. Legs buckle. Squirting down thighs. He grunts, pulls out. ‘Turn.’ I do. Kneel. Mouth open. He jerks furiously. Cum erupts—hot jets on tongue, face, tits. I swallow greedily, scooping more. Lick clean his twitching shaft. Dress ruined again. We pant, kiss sticky.
The Awakening: Pulse-Racing Temptation Builds
Back to lounge, flushed. Colleagues oblivious. Wine glass hides my smeared lipstick. Bertrand chats casually. My pussy leaks his load down legs. Secret burns delicious. Drive home looms—husband’s lies waiting. But this? Mine. No regrets. Just hunger for more. His texts later: ‘Your mouth owns me.’ I smile in dark car. Proper wife outside. Cock-hungry whore inside. Vengeance? Fuck that. This is awakening. I’ll sneak away again. Interdit pulses in veins. No one suspects the prude actuary craves cum facials in stairwells. Thrill of hiding it? Better than any fuck.