$name1 stays late for a “strategy lunch” in the glass conference room and lets her married boss stretch her dripping cunt over the table while the empty floor watches through the windows.
$name1 had told herself she would never fuck at work. Twenty-nine, senior analyst, married to a man who believed her late nights were about spreadsheets. The glass conference room on the twenty-second floor had always felt safe — transparent, professional, nothing to hide. That was before Dominic scheduled a “strategy lunch” when the floor was empty and locked the door behind them.
He was forty-one, married, expensive shirt rolled to the elbows. The catering trays sat untouched. The blinds were up. Beyond the glass, rows of dark desks and the city skyline watched like an audience.
“Sit,” Dominic said. Not at the head of the table. On the edge of it, facing the windows.
$name1’s pulse kicked. She set her tablet down, hiked her pencil skirt, and perched where he pointed. Cool glass under her thighs. Her knickers were already damp from the way he had looked at her in the lift.
“You’ve been staring at my mouth in every meeting for six weeks,” he said, stepping between her knees. “Don’t pretend this is about the Q3 deck.”
“It’s not,” $name1 admitted. Her voice came out husky. “I keep imagining you fucking me on this table while anyone walking the corridor could see.”
Dominic’s jaw flexed. He shoved her skirt higher, dragged her knickers aside, and slid two fingers through her slick folds. $name1 gasped, hips jerking. Wet. Shamefully wet. He held his shiny fingers up between them.
“Look at that. Soaking through your professional fucking knickers for your boss.”
“Then stop teasing and put your cock in me,” she hissed.
He freed himself — thick, hard, already leaking. $name1 wrapped her fist around him, stroked once, smeared her own cunt juice down the shaft, then guided the head to her entrance. Dominic thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
$name1 cried out. The stretch burned sweet. Her heels dug into his lower back as he fucked her hard against the glass table, each slap of skin loud in the sealed room. Her bare arse squeaked on the polished surface. Beyond the windows the empty floor stretched out — if a cleaner or a late associate rounded the corner, they would see everything: her spread thighs, his cock pistoning into her dripping cunt, her tits bouncing as he yanked her blouse open and sucked her nipple through the lace.
“Fuck — harder,” she panted. “I want them to see how filthy I am.”
Dominic pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach over the table, and slammed back into her from behind. The cold glass pressed her cheek and her hard nipples. He fisted her hair, yanked her head up so she stared out at the open plan.
“Imagine someone walking past,” he growled, pounding her. “Watching your married cunt take every inch of my cock. Watching you drip on the strategy notes.”
$name1 moaned like a whore. She reached back, spread her own arse cheeks, and felt him sink deeper. Her clit rubbed the table edge with every thrust. She was close — too close — when he pulled out again, spun her, and shoved her to her knees on the carpet.
“Open.”
She opened. He fucked her mouth without mercy, cock thick with her own cream, hitting the back of her throat until her eyes watered. Spit ran down her chin onto her open blouse. $name1 hollowed her cheeks and took him, filthy and eager, one hand between her own legs rubbing her swollen clit.
“That’s it. Suck your boss’s cock like the dirty office slut you are.”
She popped off long enough to gasp, “Then come on my tongue — or fuck me properly until I scream.”
Dominic hauled her up, bent her over the nearest chair facing the glass, and drove back into her cunt. The angle hit something raw and perfect. $name1’s nails scraped the chair back. She came hard — walls clenching, juice running down her thighs — loud enough that anyone in the corridor would have heard. Dominic didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, brutal and relentless, until she was shaking and babbling yes and please and more.
He pulled free, spun her, and pushed her back onto the table on her back, legs hooked over his shoulders. This time he went slower, deeper, grinding against her clit with every stroke while he stared down at her ruined makeup and wet mouth.
“Your husband thinks you’re in a budget review,” he said. “Look at you. Cunt stretched around another man’s cock on company furniture.”
“I know,” $name1 whispered. “Don’t stop. Fill me. I want to sit through tomorrow’s stand-up with your cum leaking into my knickers.”
That broke him. Dominic slammed deep and came with a groan, pulsing hot ropes into her. $name1 felt every spurt, clenched around him, and came again — smaller, sharper — while his cum overflowed and dripped onto the glass.
They stayed locked for a long breath. Outside, the floor remained empty. The city kept watching.
Dominic eased out. Cum slid from her used cunt onto the table. He wiped her gently with a napkin from the untouched lunch, then kissed her filthy mouth like he meant it.
“Same time Thursday,” he said, voice rough. “Blinds up again.”
$name1 straightened her skirt with shaking hands, tasting him on her tongue, thighs sticky. She smiled at her own reflection in the glass — flushed, fucked, unmistakable.
“Blinds up,” she agreed. “And next time, leave the door unlocked.”
