Office extasy

She has a cure for office stress. When he steps into her office on another made-up errand and the door clicks shut, the pretext dies instantly. She drops to her knees, lips parting around him before he’s fully hard, taking him deep with slow, wet pulls. His hand knots in her blonde hair, guiding her rhythm, but she sets the pace—hungry, unhurried, eyes flicking up every time he groans. When she stands, she turns, palms flat on the desk, skirt already hiked. He presses into her from behind, and after a few slick strokes he eases lower, sinking into her tight ass. She bites her lip, pushes back, taking every inch until his hips meet her skin. They move in short, urgent thrusts; her breath comes in soft gasps that she tries, and fails, to swallow. He pulls out at the edge, strokes himself twice, and finishes across her flushed face—thick ropes landing on her parted lips and lashes. She licks a stray drop, smiling like someone who just turned a dull workday into something worth remembering.