Pussy

You decide on her cunt. The thick head of your cock finds the soaked entrance and you push forward in one long, relentless thrust that buries every inch inside her.

Cheryl’s breath leaves her in a sharp cry. Her hands scrabble on the table. Before you can start moving she twists her head and speaks, voice already strained.

“You cannot cum inside me. I am still holding out hope for a baby with my husband. Pull out when you get close.”

Something in the way she says it sounds faltering and unconvinced, the words automatic rather than certain, but you hear them. Then the months of frustration take over and you stop caring about anything except the tight, wet heat wrapped around your cock.

You set a brutal pace from the first stroke. Hips slam against the firm curve of her arse, driving the full 8.5 inches into her cunt again and again. The table jolts. Papers fly. Cheryl’s body rocks under the force and she pushes back to meet every thrust, the earlier anger completely gone, replaced by raw need.

“Fuck, you are tight,” you growl, one hand fisting her brunette hair and pulling her head back. “Months of my wife treating this cock like a problem and here you are, married and still taking every thick inch like you were built for it. That baby story is bullshit and we both know it. You just do not want to admit how much you needed this.”

Cheryl moans brokenly, the sound half protest and half agreement. You fuck her harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the conference room.

“Listen to that cunt,” you tell her, voice rough. “Soaking wet for the same man you spent the day lecturing about timelines and wedding rings. You walked in on me and Ruby and it made you so jealous you could not think straight. Now look at you. Bent over the table with your married pussy stretched around my cock, begging for it with every push of those hips.”

You reach under her, find her clit, and rub in tight, mean circles while you keep pounding into her. Cheryl’s arms threaten to give out. You lock an arm around her waist and hold her exactly where you want her, using her body with the full force of every cold rejection Natasha has given you, every night spent hard and ignored, every bathroom stall release that solved nothing.

“This is what you get for needling me all day,” you continue, dirty talk pouring out unchecked. “For the crystals and the astrology and that smug little smile. For acting like you are above it while your cunt is dripping down your thighs. Take it. Take every frustrated stroke. I am going to fuck this pussy until you forget your husband’s name and the only thing you can think about is how full you are.”

Cheryl’s voice breaks on a cry. She is close already, the hard pace and the relentless pressure on her clit pushing her fast. You do not ease off. You beat it into her, deep and punishing, the table creaking under the rhythm, her yoga-toned body accepting the thick length without any of the careful restraint your wife has always demanded. The fluorescent lights hum. The office beyond the glass stays dark. You keep talking, keep fucking, the months of pent-up need pouring out of you in every hard thrust and every filthy word while Cheryl’s married cunt clenches and flutters around you, the faltering baby excuse already forgotten under the sheer force of what you are giving her.