An advertising agency, a delayed meeting, a closed door. Explicit for ages 18+.
We had lost the pitch two weeks ago. It was a big account — pharma, three-year contract — and the client had chosen the Vienna agency, which had been cheaper. Linda, the account director, had said nothing in the meeting the day after the decision. I, her creative director, had led the meeting, and I had tried to make the best of it. But the pressure was palpable, an invisible tension building between us, day by day, hour by hour.
Linda and I had worked together for two years. We were both in our early forties, both divorced, both married to the agency in a way that no longer allowed for a private life. We had never had anything between us. We had often talked about it, professionally, about how it would be a bad idea — hierarchy, potential for conflict, everything two adults who had already experienced a breakup know. But I had often watched her when she leaned over her desk, her skirt stretched tight over her round ass, or when she pursed her lips in meetings, her tongue briefly running over her lower lip. I knew she felt my gaze, but we had never talked about it.
On that Thursday when everything happened, she left after everyone else. It was half past eight. I had wanted to finish a final briefing for Monday. She came into my office without knocking. She closed the door. She turned the key. I heard the click of the lock, and immediately the air grew thicker, heavier. Her breath was audible, a soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the dark green dress she was wearing. It was a dress that had caught my eye for days — it hugged her hips perfectly, emphasized the curves of her body that I had imagined so often in sleepless nights.
“Maximilian.” Her tone was firm, but her eyes flickered.
“Linda.” I leaned back in my office chair, letting the pen I was holding fall.
“I can’t do this anymore.” She took a step closer, her heels clicking softly on the parquet floor.
“Can’t do what?” Even though I knew. I knew exactly. The way she looked at me had changed in recent weeks. It was no longer a professional gaze, but something raw, hungry.
“Sitting sixty hours a week next to a man I’ve been wanting to say something to for two years.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I want you, Maximilian. I’ve wanted you for months. I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”
I stood up. Slowly, but determinedly. I came around the desk, and every step felt like a decision we had both already made. I looked at her, at that dark green dress that caressed her body, the slight flush on her cheeks, the way she clasped her hands in front of her chest, then let go, then clasped them again. She was nervous. But that only made it hotter.
“Linda.” I stopped in front of her, so close that I could smell her scent — a mix of expensive perfume and her own feminine warmth.
“Yes.” She looked up at me, her lips slightly parted.
“If we do this, we do it once. We talk afterward. We decide what it becomes.” I reached for her hand, pulling her gently closer.
“Agreed.” Her breath hitched as my fingers stroked the back of her hand.
I leaned in and kissed her. Not a soft, hesitant kiss. My mouth met hers with such force that she let out a soft, surprised sound. My tongue pushed between her lips, met hers, and immediately the kiss grew deeper, more demanding. Her hands ran into my hair, pulling me tighter against her. I felt her body press against mine, her breasts pressing into my chest, and I instantly grew hard, my cock straining in my pants.
I pushed her backward against the desk. She yielded willingly, her hands sliding from my hair to my shoulders, then to my belt. She sat on the edge, on the stack of briefings I had prepared for Monday. No matter. She pushed her skirt up, with both hands, pulling the dark green fabric over her thighs until her legs were bare. She wore black pantyhose that encased her long legs, and beneath it, a black thong, a thin strip of fabric that ran directly over her wet slit. I could see the fabric already darkening.
“My God, Linda.” I knelt before her, right between her open legs. She spread them wider, pulling me closer with her hands on her ass. I leaned in, pressing my face against her pantyhose, right onto her pussy. The scent of her arousal hit me, sweet and salty at once. I opened my mouth, licking over the fabric, feeling the warmth, the moisture seeping through.
Linda moaned softly, her pelvis moving against my face. “Maximilian… not like this… I want to feel you…” She reached down, pulling the thong aside with both hands. The thin black fabric slid over her wet labia, revealing her soaked, pink slit. Her pussy was already completely drenched, her inner lips swollen and glistening. She pushed my hands away, then my tie, then my jacket. “Now. Lick me. Now.”
I didn’t need a second invitation. I lowered my head, pressing my tongue directly onto her clit, that small, hard pearl protruding from under its hood. She flinched as I touched her, her hand clawing into my hair, pressing me harder against her. I licked her in long, broad strokes, from her opening up to the tip, then circled my tongue around her clit, faster and faster, more demanding. Her taste exploded on my tongue, salty and sweet, the juice of her arousal flowing from her pussy.
“Oh, fuck… Maximilian… yes…” Linda whimpered, her upper body leaning back, her hands bracing on the desk. She opened her legs even wider, placing her heels on the edge of the desk so her pelvis was thrust fully upward, her pussy right in my face. I plunged my tongue into her, deep into her wet, hot cavern, and she nearly cried out. “Yes, right there… lick me… lick my cunt…”
I licked her with a greed I had never felt before. My tongue explored every fold, every curve, while my hands clamped onto her thighs, pushing them further apart. She was so wet that her juice ran down my chin. I focused on her clit, sucking it gently while my tongue flicked over it, and her hips bucked wildly against my mouth. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, her hand in my hair tightening until it hurt. “I’m coming… Maximilian… I’m coming…” Her body tensed, her back arching, and then a wave of her climax washed over her, her pussy contracting against my tongue, her juice flooding my mouth. I drank it all, lapping her up as she shuddered through her orgasm.
When she finally relaxed, gasping for air, I stood up. Her eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pleasure. I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and pulled out my cock. It was hard, throbbing, the tip already wet with precum. She looked at it, her lips parting, and without a word, she reached for it, wrapping her fingers around the shaft. “I want you inside me,” she whispered, guiding me toward her wet, waiting hole. I leaned over her, pressing her back onto the desk, and thrust into her in one smooth motion. She was so tight, so hot, and she cried out as I filled her completely. I began to fuck her, hard and fast, driven by months of pent-up desire. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper, her nails digging into my back through my shirt. We came together, a raw, explosive release, and I collapsed against her, our bodies slick with sweat, her pussy still clenching around me.
We lay there for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then she laughed, a soft, breathless sound. “Well,” she said, “that was a long time coming.”
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
