Chapter 7: The All-Hands Meeting Tease

The morning after the conference room still clung to me like a second skin. I woke with the faint salt of her stockinged toes on my lips and the memory of her pussy clenching around my cock while the cleaning cart rolled past the glass walls. Lisa had already left for work, the apartment quiet except for the drip of the kitchen faucet. I dressed in a fresh shirt and tie, but my mind was already in the main conference room, picturing the long table, twenty chairs, and Sarah at the head of it with nothing underneath that charcoal pencil skirt.

By eight-thirty the sixth floor hummed with pre-meeting energy. People clutched travel mugs and laptops, trading complaints about deadlines and weekend traffic. I grabbed coffee from the break room, the bitter heat doing nothing to settle the low twist in my gut. My phone buzzed once in my pocket. A single photo from Sarah: her bare pussy, lips slightly parted and glistening, taken under her desk five minutes earlier. No caption. Just the image burning behind my eyes as I took my seat near the middle of the long table in the main conference room.

Sarah was already there, seated at the far end like always for these quarterly all-hands. Twenty of us filled the room—accountants, claims adjusters, IT, sales. The projector screen glowed with the agenda. She looked every bit the senior accountant: charcoal pencil skirt smoothed over her thighs, sheer blouse buttoned high enough to pass inspection, hair pinned neatly. Legs crossed under the table. Professional smile in place. No one would ever guess.

The meeting kicked off with the usual rhythm—department updates, slide after slide of charts and forecasts. My pulse ticked higher with every minute. I knew she wore nothing beneath that skirt because the photo proved it. The knowledge sat heavy between my legs, my cock thickening against my zipper while the room discussed pipeline numbers.

Sarah’s segment came midway through. She stood briefly to connect her laptop, then settled back in, voice clear as she clicked to her first slide on revenue projections. That was when my phone lit up under the table edge. One text.

Fix the projector cable. Now.

I dropped my pen like it had slipped from my fingers. “Cable’s loose again,” I muttered to no one in particular, loud enough for the two people beside me to hear. Chairs scraped as I slid underneath the table on my knees, crawling between polished shoes and briefcases until I reached the head. The space was tight, shadowed, the air warmer where her legs waited. She had uncrossed them. Her skirt was already hiked just enough, thighs parted in silent invitation. No panties. Her pussy waited bare and flushed, the outer lips puffy and shining with the slick that had built through the first half of the meeting.