Chapter 4: The Wife’s Visit – Close Call and Distraction

Three weeks had carved Elena into something exquisite and ruined. Every morning she greeted Mr. Voss on her knees, throat opening like a trained sleeve around his cock before the first coffee was poured. Every afternoon the vibrating panties buzzed against her clit while she tried to type, the thick plug in her ass shifting with every step. He’d taken her in the elevator twice already—once at 7:20 p.m. when it jolted to a stop between floors and he fucked her standing, mirror reflecting her bouncing tits and his hand clamped over her mouth. He’d filled her ass on the business-trip planning desk last Friday, then made her wear the creampie home under a short coat. She was no longer pretending this was just a job. She was addicted—dumb, desperate, and dripping for the next command.

This particular Tuesday, Mr. Voss had been smiling more than usual. His wife, Sophia, noticed the change the moment he walked through the penthouse door the night before. He’d fucked her slow and deep on their silk sheets, the way he used to, but there was a new edge—something feral and satisfied that made her suspicious.

“You seem ... happy lately,” she’d murmured against his chest afterward, fingers tracing his wedding ring.

“New secretary’s efficient,” he’d answered, voice smooth. “That’s all.”

Sophia Voss was stunning in her own right—elegant, blonde, Pilates-toned body poured into designer dresses—but she wasn’t stupid. She decided to surprise him at the office the next afternoon.

Elena was on all fours under Voss’s desk when the outer door opened at 2:17 p.m. She had just finished swallowing his second load of the day, lips still shiny, when the intercom buzzed.

“Mr. Voss? Your wife is here.”

He didn’t even flinch. He tucked his spent cock away, zipped up, and pressed the button. “Send her in.”

Elena’s eyes widened in pure panic. She was naked from the waist down—skirt bunched at her hips, plug still buried in her ass, fresh cum trickling from her well-fucked pussy onto the carpet. The soaked black thong she’d been wearing earlier lay crumpled on the floor beside his shoe, dark with her arousal and his spit.

Voss’s hand slid under the desk, gripped her hair, and pushed her deeper into the shadows. “Not a sound, slut. Stay right there.”

The door opened. Sophia stepped in, heels clicking, cream silk dress hugging her curves. She looked every inch the perfect wife—pearls at her throat, subtle perfume, the kind of beauty that turned heads in charity galas.