Chapter 44
Inside.
Slowly.
Without looking at me, her hand on the doorknob for a second longer than necessary. Like someone taking a deep breath before diving in. And when she finally turned around, her eyes were different.
More serious. More certain.
A slow smile—and scarily calm—spread across her lips. There was something astonishing in that expression, a mix of self-control and coolness that made me wonder for a second if I wasn't facing someone way more dangerous than she seemed. Her eyes locked on mine, she didn't look away for even a second.
Without rushing, she kicked off her heels with her feet, then brought her hands to the wide belt cinching her waist. Unbuckled it with precision. The tight white blouse slid down her arms as she pulled it off, elbow through the sleeve hole, revealing a skin-toned, seamless bra that barely tried to hold in her young, firm, perky tits, standing up like they were defying gravity.
Before I knew it, her pants were on the floor.
The black panties, tiny, were fine lace with a draped edge, the low waistband accentuating her smooth belly even more, marked by a discreet piercing in her navel. The skin of her groin was so even, so clean, it looked like it'd never seen a razor—smooth, untouched, almost ethereal.
It was like a magic trick. I blinked, and the bra was gone.
Her tits, medium and perky, were fully exposed. Cone-shaped, perfect, nipples a chocolate shade, symmetrical, sticking out like they'd been hand-sculpted.
I didn't need to say anything else. Without hesitation, she swayed her hips lightly, like a snake, and let the panties slide down her legs to her ankles. She bent down with control and grace, picked up her clothes from the floor, and folded them neatly over the chair nearby, like finishing a ritual.
And there she was. Completely naked.
Standing in front of me, in a pose that took my breath away. Soft, light brown skin, pubic hair trimmed with millimeter precision, revealing plump outer lips in a warm color and protruding inner lips, visible, perfectly shaped—the definition of temptation and anatomy made to hypnotize.
I was frozen, in absolute silence, taking in every inch of that body like it was art.
It was her voice that snapped me back.
"And now?"
I pushed my chair back, making space between us. The gesture was quiet, almost solemn, and she got it right away. As my eyes roamed over her without hurry, I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. The sound of the metal echoed in the thick silence of the room, and then my cock sprang free and hard.
"Let's see how she handles this."
I've always been considered above average, and if this was a test—for her—it was a challenge too. One of the tough ones.
She circled the desk with the same grace as before, not rushing her steps, until she stopped in front of me. When she finally saw what I was packing between my legs, she just smiled. No exclamation, no fake over-the-top surprise. A restrained smile, almost respectful. "Interesting..."
"Is it too big for you?" I asked, watching every nuance of her reaction.
"No. I can handle it," she said firmly, kneeling down in front of me.
Gently, she took off my shoes, pulled down my pants and boxers, leaving my body totally exposed. Her hands wrapped around my cock naturally, and she leaned in, ready to take it in her mouth.
But before her lips could touch me, I grabbed her hair gently but firmly, making her look up.
"When the client talks about his cock… you compliment it. You don't ignore it. You never act like it's ordinary."
She laughed. That short, knowing laugh from someone who got the lesson exactly. The marketing class had started, after all. But here, the product was her.
"Wow… it's huge. I don't think it fits in me," she said, now with a tone so perfectly fake and rehearsed it almost fooled me. "Be gentle with me, please…"
"Very good."
She leaned in slowly, eyes still on mine, like she was daring me to look away first. Her hands gripped my cock firmly, and when her lips finally touched the head, I felt a shiver run up my spine. But what really hooked me—what had me glued—was the movement of her body.
She wasn't just sucking. She was giving herself to it.
Her torso undulated with every dip, every twist. Her hips swayed subtly, her shoulders slid like she was dancing to some internal, silent tune. A continuous flow of up and down that made it feel like her whole body was sucking me—not just her mouth.
It was hypnotic.
She went down slowly, letting my cock slide deep into her throat, then came up with the same smoothness, eyes half-closed, lips wet and parted, enveloping me with softness and pressure. The sound was wet, teasing. Saliva dripped on purpose, strings shining between her mouth and my cock, while her tits swayed subtly with the serpentine movement of her body.
With every descent, she arched her back slightly, tensing her abs and pushing her ass out in an almost theatrical move. The sight was so intense, so wild, I could barely breathe right. And when she looked up at me again, with the head still between her lips, eyes wet and surrendered, I knew one thing for sure:
She wasn't testing anymore. She was performing. Masterfully.
It wasn't just a blowjob. It was a show. A seduction lesson. A silent spectacle of control and surrender, where every move of her body was designed to make a man forget who he is, where he is…
"Sit."
She came toward me from behind, slowly, like her own nakedness weighed more than the air. She sat on my lap with precision, knees firm, feet planted elegantly on the floor beside the chair. And then, with control that seemed choreographed, she positioned herself over me.
When she lowered down, it was like magic.
No force, no rush—just slid, making my cock disappear inch by inch inside her. Her hot pussy, insanely tight, wrapped around me like a mold. The heat was almost suffocating, perfect wetness, a fit that felt custom-made. I felt every part of me being pulled in and welcomed at the same time.
She stayed there for a second, fully seated, fitted to the hilt. Her round, firm ass pressed against my lap. The movement was minimal, but the effect was devastating. The touch of her skin, the weight distributed, the silence broken only by our breathing. With every tiny shift, I felt my cock rub against her inner walls with almost painful precision.
And then I saw it.
Her asshole, perfectly visible from there, was a soft chocolate shade, flawless. No marks, no flaws. A striking contrast to the lighter skin around it. A hypnotic sight, a silent invitation that made me even harder.
She started to move.
But not like other women. She didn't bounce, didn't jump. She glided. Rose and fell with controlled, sensual movements, keeping her feet firm on the floor and using her own body as leverage. Her thighs set the pace, her ass muscles clenched and released with mastery, squeezing my cock inside her with every motion. It was like her pussy was breathing with me—tightening at the entrance, loosening in the middle, and closing again at the end.
When she was in total control, she leaned forward.
The move opened up the view of her back's curve, her hips swaying subtly, arms braced on my knees. She rubbed her clit against my balls with every descent, moaning low, setting the rhythm with her own pleasure.
She was in charge.
Rose and fell like a trained dancer, muscles synced in a ballet of lust. And me, totally surrendered, could only think one thing:
"This woman was born to be worshipped, but has she ever been properly fucked?"
There was a control in her that bugged me. Everything was calculated, thought out to the millimeter. Her movements were too pretty, too precise. A performance. And as hot as it was, something in it made me want to break that mask, push through the pose, and touch what was real.
When she came down fully, swallowing me whole, I grabbed her waist firmly. Hard. Without warning, I stood up with her in my arms and laid her face-down on the desk in one smooth move. Her hair spread out, her chest pressed to the cold surface, her legs still shaky trying to figure out what was happening.
Without thinking, I dropped down and buried my face between her legs, hungry, angry, with pent-up desire. I ran my tongue hard, seeking out her soft inner lips, already swollen with arousal. The texture was hot, wet, delicate. The outer lips were barely there, and the inner ones, protruding, jumped against my mouth like they were begging for more.
She trembled.
Her body reacted before her mind. For the first time, a sound escaped unbidden—a real moan, raw, no filter, no pose.
I shoved two fingers in firmly, no warning, no gentleness.
She let out a sharp little yelp of surprise and turned her face to look at me. Her eyes were different. Her expression, open. Pure lust.
She spread wider, legs apart, ass up, hips begging.
And she said in a breathless, low voice full of urgency:
"Fuck me."
Like an animal driven by instinct, I positioned my cock at her entrance, hot and wet, and let it start to slide in. Inch by inch, I invaded her body while listening to the moan build, rising in pitch with every push. It was like the sound from her mouth was the exact thermometer of how much she could take—and wanted.
When I was fully in, I felt her body tense. I ground slowly, deep, making my cock twist inside her, pressing against her sensitive walls. She whimpered, the pain mixed with pleasure slipping out in a muffled moan.
And I smiled.
The sensation was indescribable. That hot, tight pussy alive around me. I started the motion—slow at first, thrusting firmly, pulling out almost all the way before plunging back in. She was panting, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, body shaking under mine.
I picked up speed gradually, listening to everything that came out of her mouth: moans, ragged breaths, scattered words that barely made sense. It was like dirty music, the kind of sound that guides the rhythm effortlessly.
And I was guiding.
Thrusting in and out with control, setting the pace based on what I heard, what I felt squeezing around me. Her body reacted to every stroke like it was made for me.
I ramped up the rhythm without mercy, pounding hard, deep, with precise thrusts that made the sound of our bodies mix with the moans. What was once held back, muffled, started leaking out between her teeth—until there was no holding back. The moans turned to screams, and her breathing got heavy, erratic, like she was about to lose her breath.
I saw her eyes blurred with tears, streaming down her pretty face, makeup melting like the pleasure was dissolving the last layer of control. Her mouth wouldn't close anymore, parted, moaning broken words, incomprehensible, like she was begging for help without knowing if she wanted to be saved.
She looked at me with pleading eyes, but what was there wasn't pain—it was surrender. It was raw pleasure, the kind that borders on unbearable.
And then it happened.
The sound of my thrusts got louder, wetter, more rhythmic. And her whole body tensed, like it was hit by an electric shock. Her skin tightened, revealing the delicacy of her muscles, trembling under my touch. And then the scream came—high-pitched, real, mixing relief and desperation, pain and ecstasy in one note.
She tried to rise up, escape her own climax. Tried to lift herself in the middle of the orgasm, but I wouldn't let her.
I held her firm by the tits, hands flat and squeezing hard, pulling her back into my rhythm, my control. I kept fucking, no room for retreat. And another orgasm hit. And another. And she was shaking uncontrollably, surrendered, loose, mine.
And I didn't stop.
Only when I felt my whole body pulse, the heat rising up my thighs, the cum announcing itself... that's when I let myself think about stopping, and when I couldn't hold back anymore, I felt the heat surge like thunder through my core. I yanked her by the hair hard, and she, totally given over, dazed with pleasure, just followed the motion, without a hint of resistance. The pull didn't draw any complaint from her—just more submission.
I put her on her knees in front of me, body trembling, knees pressing into the floor, face lifted.
"Open your mouth. Tongue out…"
She obeyed.
I jerked off right there in front of her, firmly, angrily, with pent-up desire and loss of control. She wanted to be treated like a slut? Then she would be. This was the final surrender. And I'd be ruthless.
The jets came strong, one after another, hot and thick, hitting her face full on—eyes, hair, mouth, cheeks. Every spurt was an act of possession, a deliberate disrespect, a marking ritual.
And what caught me off guard… was the smile.
She smiled.
With her eyes glued shut with cum, makeup ruined, hair wet… she laughed. A light, satisfied, dirty, full laugh—like someone who not only survived but won her own test.
When my orgasm ended and the emptiness hit me, I collapsed back into the chair. Exhausted. Satisfied. Body hot and mind starting to regain reason.
She stood up slowly, still naked, and sat on the edge of the desk. Laughing to herself as she tried to clean up, fingers sliding the cum across her face like it was expensive lotion. Enjoying the mess.
"What is it, girl? What are you laughing at?"
She looked at me, still wiping the corners of her mouth, and answered with that sparkle in her eyes:
"Now I don't know if I want to be a slut… or your girlfriend."
She paused, gave a mischievous little smile, and added:
"Are you rich?"
She came asking for marketing tips. She left marked like a tested product.
In the end, she didn't know if she wanted to be a slut… or my girlfriend.