From Cheryl’s Perspective

I barely have time to register the chair rolling away before he is on me. One moment I am sitting there with the photo still glowing on the phone and the next he has hauled me out of the seat and bent me over the conference table hard enough that the edge digs into my hips. Papers scatter. My hands slap down on the polished wood. The skirt is shoved up, my knickers are yanked aside with a sharp tear, and then I feel the thick, heavy head of his cock dragging through the wetness I have been trying to ignore all day.

He pushes in with one long, relentless thrust that forces every inch of him inside me at once. The stretch is sudden and overwhelming. I cry out before I can stop myself, the sound shocking in the quiet room. He is bigger than the one in the photo, thicker, and he does not give me a second to adjust. His hips start slamming against my arse in a hard, driving rhythm that rocks the entire table. Each thrust buries him to the hilt and drags almost all the way out before slamming home again.

I have spent months watching the frustrated way he moves around the floor, the way he adjusts himself under the desk, the hungry looks he thinks I do not notice. Now that hunger is unleashed on me and it is exactly as vigorous and relentless as I hoped. He fists a handful of my hair and pulls my head back, forcing me to arch while he keeps pounding into me.

“This what you wanted?” he demands, voice rough against my ear. “This what the photo was for?”

“Yes,” I manage, the word breaking apart on a moan. “God, yes. Harder.”

He gives it to me harder. The wet sound of his cock driving into me fills the conference room. My body clenches around the thick length of him, greedy for every stroke. When his free hand reaches under me and finds my clit I come apart almost immediately, the orgasm crashing through me so hard my legs shake and my forehead drops to the table. He does not stop. He fucks me straight through it, chasing his own release with the same passionate intensity, hips never slowing until he finally buries himself as deep as he can go and empties inside me in thick, pulsing waves.

I stay bent over the table afterwards, breathing hard, skirt still rucked up around my waist, the warm flood of him leaking out of me while the fluorescent lights hum and the rest of the office stays dark and silent beyond the locked door.