Deep teaching

Maya had planned it carefully.

She walked into the office in a microskirt so short it was basically a belt, no panties, the bare lips of her cunt already slick from anticipation, inner thighs faintly shiny. The idea was simple: sit on his lap during their “training,” grind slow and shameless, make him crack first.

John watched her come around the desk with calm, dark eyes.

He patted his thigh the same way he had before.

Maya climbed on, knees bracketing his hips, already starting to roll her hips—her bare, wet folds dragging along the ridge of his cock through the sweatpants—then his hand shot down between them. In one smooth, practiced motion he shoved the waistband down, freed his cock, angled it up, and let her sink.

She dropped straight down.

Balls-deep in a single wet slide. No warning. No grind-first. Just the fat head splitting her open and the thick shaft punching in until she was seated on him, stretched full. Maya’s mouth fell open in a silent, shocked O. Her cunt clenched hard around the sudden, thick intrusion, walls fluttering as they stretched to take every inch, a rush of slick pouring out around the base. John’s hands settled on her waist, steady, and he began rocking her—slow, shallow lifts and drops, using her like a sleeve while he kept his eyes on the monitor. Each drop made a wet, obscene sound. Each lift left her rim clinging to him, shiny and stretched.

“Keep going,” he said mildly. “You were explaining the new filter.”

Maya tried.

Every ten minutes or so she managed a shaky sentence about formulas or conditional formatting, voice cracking every time he pulled her down especially deep and the head of his cock kissed her cervix. The rest of the time she just clung to his shoulders and moaned under her breath, the wet sound of her cunt taking him over and over filling the quiet office. Her microskirt was bunched around her waist. Her thighs trembled. Slick dripped down his balls and onto the chair in a spreading dark patch. He never sped up. He just kept using her in that same lazy rhythm, occasionally rolling his hips up to grind against her clit until she shuddered and clenched, then going right back to the screen.

John lasted longer than she expected.

When his breathing finally roughened and his grip tightened, he didn’t fill her. He simply lifted her off his cock with easy strength. She came free with a wet gasp, a string of her cream stretching from her open cunt to the glistening, throbbing head. He guided her down between his knees and nudged that soaked, angry cock against her lips, smearing her own slick across her mouth.

Maya’s instincts took over.

She opened wide and let him push in.

John leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lightly on the back of her head, and used her mouth the same way he’d used her cunt—slow, deep strokes, casual, like she was just another tool for relief. Maya moaned around him, eyes glassy, and started sucking in earnest. Her tongue worked the underside. Her throat relaxed. She took him deeper on every pass until her nose brushed his stomach and her eyes watered, spit running down her chin onto her tits. The wet, messy sound of it mixed with the click of his mouse.

He came with a low, drawn-out groan.

Thick, heavy pulses flooded her mouth. Maya swallowed greedily, throat working, drinking every spurt like she’d been waiting for it all week. It kept coming—long, generous ropes that she had to gulp to keep up with—until she felt almost full, the taste of him rich and salty on every breath, a little leaking from the corner of her lips. When the last aftershock faded she kept him in her mouth, gentle and devoted, cleaning him with soft pulls of her tongue, licking the shaft and the head and the mess at the base while she knelt under the desk in a puddle of her own making, cunt still dripping onto the floor.

John stroked her hair once, absently, then reached for the mouse again.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “We’ll pick up the lesson later.”