I’m in my office, that cozy corner I set up for chill chats. Clear desk, tasteful decor. Magali sips coffee across from me. Air’s relaxed, intimate. We talk everything—work, secrets, flirty stuff. She’s dressed to kill: tight skirt hugging her hips, crisp blouse begging to gap at the chest. Last button? ‘Forgotten.’ My navy suit clings to my V-taper—broad shoulders, narrow waist, powerful thighs. She steals glances at my ass. I lock eyes on hers; they’re killer.
Gift chat starts. Christmas flop. Bought her the same pink vibrator as mine. She rejected it hard: ‘I want you inside me, not plastic.’ Hid it here after. Dumb to toss. She asks color. I grab the box from my drawer. Pink, like hers. She fiddles with it. Jokes about black ones for BBC fantasies. I shrug—plastic’s plastic.
The Awakening
She plants those eyes on me. ‘You should try it.’ Heart skips. Throat dry. Cock stirs. Guys do that? Nah. She laughs, calls me stiff. Relief. Then—bam. She drags the toy slow over her cleavage. Traces her tits, hard nipples poking through. Gloups. Blood rushes south. I’m rock hard under slim pants. Office door locked? Risk amps it. No one knows.
Her tongue flicks the tip, mimics sucking cock. Eyes drill mine. Unbuttons blouse. Tits spill over lace bra. Full, perfect. My pulse hammers. Forbidden heat builds. This is crossing lines—work turf, midday.
She sinks into the leather armchair. Skirt hikes up thighs. She sucks toy deeper, hand dives between legs. Pulls panties aside. View’s obscene: sheer fabric, trimmed bush, swollen pink lips glistening. Finger slips in. Moans soft. Grabs toy, flicks vibrate. Presses to clit. Eyes hood, body jolts. Pure lust.
Panties off. Legs splay wide. Bas autofixants frame her dripping slit. Toy buzzes loud. She fucks herself slow, circles clit. Breath hitches. Juices coat it. I stare, mesmerized. Cock throbs painfully.
‘Show me yours,’ she rasps.
The Raw Act
Jacket off. Shirt unbuttons—pecs flex, abs ripple. Belt snaps. Pants drop. Boxer tents huge. She eyes my bulge. ‘Out. Now.’ Elastic pulls down. Cock springs free, thick, veiny, head purple. Balls tight, heavy.
‘Mmm, love that fat cock.’ Toy glides between tits. ‘Here?’ Deep throat slobber. ‘Or here?’ Plunges into pussy. ‘Here.’ Faster strokes.
‘Jerk it. Match me.’ Hand wraps my shaft. Stroke slow, pre-cum slicks. Her cunt squelches. Vibes hum. She cranks speed. Hips buck. Clit pinches red.
Eyes on my fist pumping. ‘Cum for me. Spray it.’ Voice wrecked. I pound faster. Balls tighten. She rams toy deep, fingers blur on clit.
Groan rips out. Cum erupts—ropes hit abs, pool in navel. Hot, thick. She watches, unhinged. Body arches. Trembles seize. Cries muffled. Pussy clenches toy, floods chair.
We pant. Glow hits. She smirks: ‘Told you it works.’ Toy tossed aside. Wipe up quick. Clothes on. Desk straightens. Like nothing happened. But pulse races still. Secret burned in. Office normalcy masks the rush—that illicit high, her taste on air. No one suspects. Our thrill, locked forever. Crave more already.