Chapter 6: The Conference Room Gamble

The office had emptied by six-fifteen, the sixth floor sinking into that hollow quiet that only comes after the last keyboards fall silent. I slipped into the glass-walled conference room Sarah had booked under the fake label “budget review,” the long mahogany table gleaming under the low emergency lights. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the open-plan desks and, beyond them, the city skyline beginning to spark with evening traffic. Even with the floor mostly deserted, the space felt exposed—every shadow outside the glass could hide a lingering coworker or an early cleaner pushing a cart.

My pulse beat low and steady in my throat as I waited. The air carried the faint lemon polish of the cleaning crew working two levels down, their vacuum a distant, rhythmic drone that rose and fell like a warning. I stood near the head of the table, hands in my pockets to hide the tremor, cock already half-hard against my thigh from the memory of yesterday’s creampie still lingering on my tongue.

The door opened with a soft click. Sarah stepped in wearing her long coat, the hem brushing her calves, and locked it behind her without a word. She didn’t smile. She simply pointed to the center of the table.

“On your knees.”

I dropped there, the polished wood cool against my palms. She circled me once, heels clicking, then shrugged the coat off her shoulders. Beneath it she wore only the charcoal pencil skirt from earlier, hiked high enough to bare the lower curve of her ass. No blouse. No bra. Just the heavy, natural sway of her breasts and the soft give of her belly as she moved.

She planted her hands on the table and bent forward, skirt riding up to her waist. The position spread her cheeks slightly, offering me everything—her pussy already glistening, the tight pucker of her asshole just above it. The scent hit me in a slow wave: warm skin after a full day, a deeper, sun-ripened musk that had nothing to do with perfume and everything to do with hours of sitting, walking, existing.

“Start with my ass,” she said, voice low. “Make it wet.”

I leaned in, nose brushing the smooth cleft, and dragged my tongue upward in one long, deliberate stroke. The flavor was richer here than under her desk—darker, almost smoky, the natural tang of a long day concentrated where her cheeks had pressed together. I circled the tight ring slowly, pressing the flat of my tongue against it until the muscle softened and yielded. She pushed back, a low hum vibrating through her body. I licked deeper, fucking the tip of my tongue inside while my hands gripped the plush underside of her thighs, holding her open.