Chapter 45

Part 2

To read the first part click here

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 scary calm — spread across her lips. There was something astonishing in that expression, a mix of self-control and coolness that made me think for a second 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 used her feet to kick off her heels, then took 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 contain her young, firm tits, perky like they were defying gravity.

Before I knew it, the 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 in 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 a little, 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 on 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 her full outer lips in a warm color and her inner lips protruding, visible, perfectly shaped — the definition of tease 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 move was silent, almost solemn, and she got it right away. As my eyes roamed her slowly, 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 hurrying, until she stopped in front of me. When she finally saw what I was packing between my legs, she just smiled. No exclamations, 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 pulled her hair slowly, firmly, making her look up.

“When the client talks about his dick… 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 there, the product was her.

“Wow… it’s huge. I don’t think it’ll fit 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 twisted with every dip, every swirl. 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 seem 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 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 a little, making her abs tense and her ass push back in an almost theatrical move. The sight was so intense, so wild, I could barely breathe right. And when she looked 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 around backward, 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 a 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 seemed custom-made. I felt every part of me being sucked and welcomed at the same time.

She stayed there for a second, fully seated, fitted to the hilt. Her round, firm ass pushed 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 small shift, I felt my cock rub her inner walls with almost painful precision.

And then I saw it.

Her asshole, perfectly visible from there, had a soft chocolate tone, flawless. No marks, no flaws. A striking contrast to the lighter skin around it. A hypnotizing view, 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. Up and down with controlled, sensual moves, 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 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 the view of the curve of her back, 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.

Up and down like a trained dancer, muscles synced in a ballet of lust. And me there, 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 exciting as it was, there was something there that made me want to break that mask, cut 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 dragged my tongue hard, seeking her soft inner lips, already swollen with arousal. The texture was hot, wet, delicate. Her 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 involuntary — a real moan, unfiltered, 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. The expression, open. Pure lust.

She spread wider, legs apart, ass up, hips begging.

And she said with a breathless voice, low, full of urgency:

“Fuck me.”

Like an animal driven by instinct, I positioned my cock at her hot, wet entrance and let it start sliding in. Inch by inch, I invaded her body while hearing her 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 swirl inside her, pressing 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 almost all the way out before plunging back in. She was gasping, 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.

In and out with command, setting the speed by what I heard, what I felt squeezing around me. Her body reacted to every thrust like it was made for me.

I ramped it up without mercy, pounding hard, deep, with spot-on strokes that mixed the sound of our bodies with her moans. What was once held back, muffled, started leaking through her teeth — until there was no holding back. The moans turned to screams, and her breathing got heavy, uneven, 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. 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 contracted, revealing the delicacy of her muscles, trembling under my touch. And then the scream came — high, real, mixing relief and desperation, pain and ecstasy in one note.

She tried to rise up, escape her own climax. Tried to lift in the middle of the orgasm, but I didn’t let her.

I held her firm by the tits, hands flat and squeezing hard, pulling her back to my rhythm, my control. I kept fucking, no room for retreat. And another orgasm hit. And another. And she was shaking without being able to control her own body, yielded, loose, mine.

And I didn’t stop.

Only when I felt my whole body pulse, 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 guts. I pulled her hair hard, and she, totally surrendered, dazed with pleasure, just followed the move, without a hint of resistance. The yank didn’t draw any complaint from her — just more obedience.

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 whore? 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 eyes glued shut by 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 cream. She was having fun with the mess.

“What is it, girl? What are you laughing about?”

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 whore… or your girlfriend.”

She paused, gave a mischievous little smile, and added:

“Are you rich?She came asking for marketing tips. She left marked as a tested product. In the end, she didn’t know if she wanted to be a whore… or my girlfriend.”