Annabelle takes her cock

The restaurant was one of those establishments that seemed designed to impress clients—low lighting, white tablecloths, and wine glasses that chimed when you touched them. The whole sales team was there, eight of us arranged around a circular table that made it impossible to hide completely, but Annabelle had engineered the seating with her usual efficiency. She sat to my right, close enough that our chairs touched, while the rest of the team spread out, laughing and drinking and complaining about train delays.

To anyone watching, she was the same boss she'd always been—commanding the conversation, correcting Marcus when he exaggerated his quarterly numbers, and reminding everyone about the early start tomorrow. Her voice carried that crisp authority that had made men twice her age jump for years.

But beneath the white tablecloth, her left hand had found my thigh the moment the bread basket arrived.

"Pass the butter," she said aloud, her fingers squeezing my leg through my trousers at the exact same moment.

I nearly knocked over my water glass. She didn't even look at me; she just kept discussing market penetration with the junior sales rep across the table while her hand travelled upward with agonizing slowness. By the time the appetizers arrived, she'd mapped every inch of my inner thigh. By the main course, her palm was pressed flat against my growing erection, her thumb tracing the outline of my cockhead through the fabric with small, maddening circles.

"You're doing very well this quarter," she announced to the table, her hand tightening around my shaft as she spoke. "All of you. But some of you"—she squeezed, and I had to cough to cover my groan—"have really exceeded expectations."

"Thanks, Annabelle," someone said.

"Yes," she purred, finally looking at me with those dark brown eyes. "Thank you for your... consistent performance."

Her fingers danced along my zipper, finding the sensitive ridge beneath the head and pressing just enough to make my hips jerk. I grabbed my wine glass and drank deeply, trying to look casual while my cock throbbed against her palm. She kept me there—hard, aching, desperate—through the entire meal, her touch varying from feather-light brushes to firm grips that made my balls tighten.

"More wine?" she asked the table, and as everyone nodded, her hand slipped lower to cup my balls, rolling them gently before traveling back up to grip my shaft again.

I was leaking pre-cum by the time dessert arrived, my cock straining painfully against my trousers, the fabric damp where she'd been working me. She released me just long enough to take a bite of her chocolate torte, her tongue collecting a smear of ganache from her lower lip, then her hand was back—worse now, because she used her other hand too, reaching under the tablecloth with both hands to unbutton my trousers just enough to slip her fingers inside.

"Fuck," I breathed, barely audible.

"Language," she whispered back, her nail grazing the bare skin of my cockhead.

She had me fully out now, hidden by the tablecloth, her hand working my bare shaft in slow, twisting strokes while she discussed tomorrow's exhibition schedule with perfect composure. I was going to come. I was going to shoot all over her hand under this table while eight of my colleagues ate the delicious crème brûlée.

Minutes later, the others started standing, stretching, and complaining about early mornings.

"Night, Annabelle," Marcus called.

"Goodnight," she said sweetly, her thumb pressing into my slit, spreading the pre-cum that leaked there. "See you all tomorrow."

One by one they filtered out until it was just us and the empty dessert plates. Her hand never stopped moving, pumping me slowly, her grip tight and wet from my arousal.

"My pussy wants dessert," she whispered against my ear, her hot breath making me shiver. "And I don't mean the chocolate."

She gave me one final squeeze that made me gasp, then stood and walked toward the exit without looking back. I fumbled with my trousers, tucking myself away with shaking hands, my cock still diamond-hard and throbbing.

---

I barely made it to my room. The key card took three tries to work; my hands were so unsteady. I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and heard the connecting door to her room click open before I could even close my own door behind me.

Annabelle stepped through, and the air left my lungs.

She was wearing only her stockings—black, held up by an elastic band on her thighs, displaying beautifully her completely naked pussy. No blouse, no skirt, no bra. Just her, in the dim light of the hotel room, her heavy F-cup tits swaying slightly as she walked toward me, nipples hard.

"Close the door," she said, her voice that same commanding tone from the office. "Now."

I kicked it shut. She was on me before the latch clicked, her hand grabbing my cock through my trousers with a grip that made me grunt.

"Is this mine?" she asked, squeezing hard enough to hurt in the best way.

"Yes," I breathed. "Fuck yes."

"Good."

She dropped to her knees in front of me, her big tits resting against her thighs as she reached for my belt. "I've been thinking about unwrapping my present all through dinner."

My trousers fell to my ankles. My cock sprang free, thick and slick with the pre-cum she'd been milking from me for the past hour. She made a hungry sound in her throat, her red-painted lips parting as she kissed the tip.

"Look at you," she murmured, one hand wrapping around my base while the other cupped my balls.

"So hard for me. So fucking ready."

Then she took me into her mouth.

Her warm mouth surprised me—wet and sucking on my tight. She didn't tease this time. She sank down until her nose pressed against my pubic bone, my cockhead lodged deep in her throat, and held there, her eyes watering as she looked up at me with those dark, demanding eyes. Her tongue worked the underside of my shaft, fluttering against the vein that ran along the bottom, while her throat muscles contracted around my sensitive tip.

"Jesus, Annabelle—"

She pulled back slowly, her lips dragging along my length, leaving a trail of saliva that glistened in the lamplight. Her red lipstick had smeared slightly, making her look obscene and perfect. She took a breath, her chest heaving, her big tits bouncing with the motion, then dove back down.

This time she worked me properly—her head bobbing in a rhythm that matched the desperate pounding of my heart, her hand twisting at my base in tight, wet circles. The sound of her sucking filled the room—wet, sloppy, desperate sounds as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, her tongue swirling around my head each time she reached the top.

She used her free hand to play with my balls, rolling them gently, then travelled back to press against my perineum, making my hips buck forward. I grabbed her hair—not guiding, just holding on as she took me deeper, her throat relaxing to accept more of my length.

"That's it," she gasped, pulling off with a wet pop. "Fuck my mouth. Use me."

I thrust forward, and she opened wide, letting me slide between her swollen lips, her eyes rolling back as I hit the back of her throat. She moaned around me, the vibration traveling through my shaft, and I felt my orgasm building already—too fast, too soon.

She felt it too. She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest heaving, her nipples hard and glistening with her own spit.

"Not yet," she said, standing up. Her big tits pressed against my chest as she took my hand. "You're going to fuck my pussy hard now. And you're going to make me cum before you pump me full. Understood?"

"Understood," I growled.

She led me to the bed and pushed me down onto my back. I watched, transfixed, as she climbed over me, her stockings rasping against the sheets, her shaved pussy glistening and swollen and ready. She positioned herself above my cock, her hands on my chest for balance, and slowly—so slowly it made us both groan—she sank down onto me.

"Fuck!" she cried out, her head falling back, her brown hair cascading down her back.

She was soaked, her heat gripping me like a fist as she took my full length in one smooth motion. Her pussy clenched around me, her inner walls rippling as she adjusted to my thickness. For a moment she just sat there, impaled completely, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath.

Then she started to ride me.

Annabelle set a brutal pace immediately—lifting herself until just my tip remained inside her, then slamming back down with enough force to make her big tits bounce violently. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room—wet, rhythmic slaps as she impaled herself again and again.

"Harder," she demanded, her voice ragged. "Fuck me harder."

I grabbed her hips and thrust up to meet her downward strokes, our bodies colliding with force that shook the bedframe. She leaned back, arching her spine, offering her breasts to the ceiling as she bounced on my cock. Her nipples were hard and dark, her stomach muscles tensing with each lift.

"Right there," she panted. "Right fucking there—"

Her first orgasm hit her like a wave. She cried out, her pussy clamping down on me in rhythmic contractions, her entire body shuddering. She bit her own arm to muffle the scream, but it wasn't enough—I could still hear her wailing as she came, her juices flooding around my shaft, making every thrust slick and loud.

"Don't stop," she gasped, even as she was still convulsing. "Don't you dare stop."

I rolled us over, pinning her beneath me, and drove into her with deep, upward thrusts that made her squeal. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my lower back, pulling me deeper. I reached between us to rub her clit in fast, tight circles while I pounded her.

"Again," she begged. "Make me cum again—"

I fucked her harder, angling my hips to drag my cockhead against her G-spot with each stroke. Her second climax built slowly—her body trembling, her moans rising into desperate cries, her pussy fluttering around me in pre-orgasmic spasms.

"Oh god, oh god, oh—"

She broke. Her second orgasm was even stronger than the first—her back arching off the bed, her big tits pressed against my chest, and her pussy gripping me so tight I had to fight to keep moving. She screamed into my shoulder, her nails raking down my back, her body shuddering uncontrollably beneath me.

"Now," she gasped when she could speak again, her eyes glazed and wild. "Cum now. Pump my cunt full. Fuck your boss! FUCK ME!"

I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. I buried myself to the hilt, my hips jerking uncontrollably as my orgasm crashed through me. My cock swelled and erupted, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into her clenching pussy. She cried out at the feeling, her tunnel muscles milking me, squeezing every drop from my balls as I emptied myself completely inside her.

"Yes," she moaned, her hips rolling to take more. "Yes, give it all to me—oh!"

I kept cumming, my vision going white at the edges, until I was spent and trembling above her. She held me there, her pussy still fluttering around my softening cock, her hands stroking my back.

"Good boy," she whispered.

Then she shoved me off her and stood up, walking to the mirror to inspect herself. Cum was already leaking from her swollen pussy, running down her inner thighs, mixing with her own arousal.

She turned to face me, her big tits still heaving, her hair a wild mess around her face, and smiled—that same commanding smile from the office.

"Get some sleep," she said, walking toward the connecting door. "I will have you before breakfast tomorrow."

She paused at the door, looking back at me with those dark, satisfied eyes.

The door clicked shut behind her.

To be continued.