Quarterly Review – Conference Room Table

I wore the shortest pencil skirt the dress code would allow — barely covering the curve of my ass — and no panties, of course. My “performance review” was scheduled for 6:45 pm after everyone else had left.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mr. Reynolds locked it and told me to bend over the conference table. I did exactly that — palms flat on the cool glass, back arched, skirt riding up until my bare pussy was completely exposed under the fluorescent lights.

He didn’t bother with small talk. Just dropped to his knees behind me and buried his face between my cheeks, tongue working my clit while his fingers spread me open. I moaned so loud the sound bounced off the glass walls. He stood up, unzipped, and slammed into me in one brutal thrust — no condom, no warning, just raw corporate ownership.

He fucked me hard across the table, papers scattering, my tits bouncing out of my half-unbuttoned blouse. Every thrust pushed me forward until my face was pressed against the cold surface, lipstick smearing, while he growled about how I was “the best investment this department ever made.”

When he was close, he pulled out, spun me around, and came all over my face and open mouth — thick ropes landing on my tongue while I looked up at him like the perfect little office whore. I swallowed what landed in my mouth, the rest dripping down my chin onto my blouse.

He wiped himself on my skirt, then transferred $3,200 to my account while I was still catching my breath.

“Good girl,” he said, adjusting his tie. “You’re getting that promotion… and a new lingerie allowance.”

I smiled, tasting him on my lips, already thinking about who I’d let use the supply closet next.

Office hours are 9–5… but my holes work overtime for the right tribute.