Lay it on her

You really lay it on her. The careful pace disappears. Your hips slam forward in a hard, relentless rhythm that drives every thick inch into her arsehole again and again. The table jolts under the force. Cheryl’s body rocks with each thrust, the firm cheeks of her arse rippling as you bury yourself to the hilt and drag back only to slam home once more.

She starts talking through the moans, voice rough and broken but clear enough.

“That is it. Take it. I have been thinking about this exact cock stretching my arse since the first time I watched you adjust yourself under the desk. Harder. Do not you dare hold back now.”

You give her harder. One hand stays locked in her hair, the other grips her hip tight enough to bruise, holding her in place while you fuck the tight heat without mercy. The wet sound of her arsehole accepting the thick length fills the room, mixed with the slap of skin and her rising voice.

“Fuck, you're deep. I can feel you in my stomach. Keep going. Use me. This is what you wanted when you called me jealous. Prove it. Fill my arse until I cannot walk straight tomorrow.”

Her words only drive you further. You lean over her, chest against her back, and set a punishing pace that leaves her gasping between sentences. Cheryl keeps egging you on, the earlier anger completely transformed into filthy encouragement, pushing back to meet every thrust while the conference table creaks and the empty office beyond the glass stays dark and silent.