Tan lines from last summer’s bikini still mark her hips as she straddles him, thighs slick with his pre-cum. That first deepthroat gag makes his fingers dig into her waist—no warning, no mercy. Office rules? Never mentioned here. His belt buckle clinks against the couch cushion when she flips onto all fours next, ass up like she owns the place (because she does). Phone buzzes ignored. Voices outside the door fade into white noise. Only sounds: wet slaps of pussy swallowing cock mid-stroke, her moans hitting that ‘I’m about to cum’ pitch every time he bottoms out. No lube needed—just pure friction and years of practice at making men forget their own names.
