Your wife had a late meeting that ran over. Most of the floor had already cleared out. She was packing up her bag when her colleague — mid-thirties, white, the quiet one from accounts who’d been watching her for months
You were at your own office when it happened.
$name1 had a late meeting that ran over. Most of the floor had already cleared out. She was packing up her bag when her colleague — mid-thirties, white, the quiet one from accounts who’d been watching her for months — lingered by her desk. She looked up over her glasses, dark hair a little loose from the day, soft blouse stretched across her heavy tits, and simply held his eyes a second too long.
She didn’t say anything.
She just stood, smoothed her skirt over her thick thighs, and walked toward the corridor that led to the bathrooms. After a moment he followed.
She was already inside the disabled cubicle when he slipped in behind her and locked the door. The second it clicked she turned, took his hand, and pressed it between her legs so he could feel the heat through her tights. She was already wet. He rubbed her there for a long time, two fingers working against her clit while she leaned back against the wall, glasses slightly fogged, soft breaths the only sound. She came quietly like that, thighs trembling, one hand gripping his wrist.
Only then did she tug her tights and knickers down to her knees, turn around, and brace her hands on the sink. He pushed into her cunt from behind in one slow thrust, groaning at how wet and ready she was. He fucked her in short, controlled strokes so the wet sound wouldn’t carry, one hand reaching around to squeeze her heavy tits through the blouse, the other gripping her soft hip. She watched them both in the mirror — her dark hair messy, glasses slipping, soft body jolting with every thrust — until she came again, biting her lip hard.
He pulled out at the last second and finished across the small of her back and the upper curve of her arse, thick ropes of cum striping her pale skin. She stayed bent over the sink for a moment after, catching her breath, then simply cleaned up with tissues, smoothed her skirt down, and checked her reflection over her glasses.
When she came out of the bathroom he was already gone. She went back to her desk, collected her bag, and left the building like nothing had happened.
You got home an hour later to find her already changed into lounge clothes, hair brushed, glasses clean. She kissed you on the cheek and asked about your day. When she sat on the sofa and curled her legs up, you caught the faintest carefulness in the way she moved… and the soft, satisfied look she always had after she’d been used at work.
She never mentioned the colleague or the bathroom.
She didn’t need to.