Peeking through the crack of that office door—blonde stockings snagging on furniture, red lips wrapped around something that isn’t hers. A hand guides her down, fingers tangled in hair as she gags and squirms. The bottle glistens between those thick thighs when they finally pull back to let her breathe. She knew someone was watching but didn’t stop. Legs spread wider now, heels digging into the couch cushions as they push again—this time deeper this time harder. The plastic creaks with every thrust until her whimpers turn desperate. No one said anything about cleaning up after.
