Dirty secrets with the secretary

Frank gives her plenty of filing and copying, the usual office grind. Her giant tits strain the fabric of her blouse each time she bends to load the copier. The look he gives her says something else. She notices, and stays late. Doors lock. She drops to her knees in front of his desk and takes him in her mouth, lipstick smearing on warm skin. He grips the edge of the chair while her head moves, slow then fast, the room quiet except for wet sounds and the dull hum of the copier still running. His hand slides down, palms the heavy weight of her breast, squeezes until her nipple pebbles under his thumb. She moans around him, the sound vibrating through his shaft. When he stands, she stays on her knees, mouth open, eyes lifted. He pushes deeper. She takes it, throat working, a string of spit sliding down her chin onto the deep cleavage. He pulls her up, turns her, lifts the skirt. One thrust and he’s inside, her hands flat on the desk, papers scattering. Each stroke makes her tits bounce inside the open blouse. The fabric pulls tight across her chest until he yanks it aside, letting them swing free. She pushes back to meet him, breath coming hard, whispering how good it feels. He reaches around, fingers on her clit, circling until her legs shake. The late-night excuse is already forming on both their lips for when they walk out the door.