Hard Drive

Madison knew her boss thought himself cool and detached. Then she opened his laptop and found the folder he kept hidden. The videos were all the same: girls on their knees, mouths stretched, eyes wet. Clarke Kent saved every second. She wanted him to hit record on her. She wore the skirt that barely covered her ass and waited until he stepped behind her chair. He leaned in to check the screen. She leaned back so her shoulder brushed his belt. He didn’t move away. His breath warmed her ear. Madison turned, slid down, and pressed her face to the front of his slacks. The zipper gave way. Clarke’s cock came out already thick. She took the head in slow, letting her lips stretch around it, tasting skin and salt. His hand settled on the back of her neck, not pushing, just resting. She sank lower, throat working, spit sliding down the shaft. Clarke groaned once, low, and she felt him twitch against her tongue. She pulled off to breathe, then licked lower until her nose met the warm weight of his balls. She sucked one, then the other, careful, wet, noisy. Clarke’s fingers tightened. He turned her, bent her over the desk, lifted the skirt. Spit still shone on his cock when he lined up behind her. Madison pushed back. The head pressed, opened, sank. She gasped at the stretch, forehead to the wood, breathing through every slow inch. Clarke moved in steady strokes, deep, patient, until her body took him all the way. He stayed buried, hips snug to her ass, letting her adjust. Then he started to move for real. Every thrust knocked a soft sound from her. She reached back, spread herself wider for him. Clarke’s grip on her hips tightened. He drove harder, the desk edge biting her thighs, and Madison met every push like she wanted proof she belonged on that drive. When he came it was deep, hips locked, breath hissing between his teeth, filling her until it leaked around the base of his cock. She stayed still, feeling it throb and settle inside her, already thinking about watching the replay.