I’m Aisha, a 27-year-old marketing assistant at a sleek Mumbai-based tech firm, where ambition and adrenaline fuel every day. My boss, Vikram Malhotra, is 40—a commanding figure with sharp features, salt-and-pepper hair, and a body that fills out his tailored suits in all the right ways. He’s the kind of man who exudes power, his deep voice barking orders in meetings, but I’d caught the way his eyes lingered on me—my tight blouses, my pencil skirts, the sway of my hips as I walked past his office. The tension between us had been simmering for months, and last night, it exploded when I fucked him on the conference table, a reckless, sweaty clash of lust and dominance.
It was a late Thursday evening, the office nearly deserted after a grueling project deadline. Vikram had called me into the conference room to review final reports, the glass walls reflecting the city’s twinkling skyline. I wore a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to hint at cleavage, and a black skirt that hugged my thighs. He was in his usual suit, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that made my pulse race. “Aisha, these numbers need to be perfect,” he said, leaning over the table, his voice stern but his gaze flicking to my chest. I smirked, leaning in too, close enough to smell his cologne—woodsy, intoxicating. “They are, sir. Maybe you’re just distracted,” I teased, my tone daring him.
He straightened, his eyes narrowing, but a flicker of something dark passed through them—desire, raw and unfiltered. “Careful, Aisha,” he warned, stepping around the table until he was inches from me. My heart pounded, but I didn’t back down. “Or what, Vikram?” I shot back, dropping the formalities, my voice low and provocative. That did it. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, pulling me against him. “You’ve been testing me for weeks,” he growled, his breath hot against my ear. “Time to see what you’re made of.”
Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, fierce and possessive, his tongue plunging into my mouth with a hunger that left me dizzy. I kissed him back just as hard, my hands clawing at his suit jacket, shoving it off his shoulders. He tasted of coffee and sin, his stubble scraping my skin as he devoured me. His hands were relentless—ripping my blouse open, buttons popping across the floor, exposing my lacy black bra. “Fuck, you’re stunning,” he rasped, yanking the bra down, my breasts spilling free. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing until I moaned, loud and shameless, my fingers digging into his hair.
He didn’t stop there. His hands slid under my skirt, hiking it up over my hips, his fingers finding my panties and tearing them off in one swift pull. I gasped as the cool air hit my wetness, but his touch was hotter—rough fingers stroking my slit, dipping inside me. “So fucking wet for me,” he muttered, pumping two fingers deep, curling them until I was trembling, my moans echoing off the glass walls. “Vikram… please,” I begged, my hips grinding against his hand, desperate for more. He smirked, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring into my eyes. “You want your boss’s cock, don’t you?” he taunted.
I nodded, breathless, and he didn’t make me wait. He shoved me back onto the conference table, the polished wood cold against my bare ass as he spread my legs wide. My skirt was bunched around my waist, my blouse and bra a tangled mess, but I didn’t care—I wanted him. He unbuckled his belt, dropping his pants, and fuck, his cock was a sight—long, thick, throbbing with need. He stroked himself, watching me squirm, then stepped between my thighs, rubbing the tip against my entrance. “Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his voice rough. “I want it, Vikram… fuck me,” I pleaded, and he did—thrusting into me hard, filling me in one brutal stroke.
I cried out, the stretch intense, my pussy clenching around him as he started moving—deep, punishing thrusts that rocked the table beneath us. “You’re so tight, Aisha,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me into every slam of his cock. My breasts bounced wildly, my nipples raw from his earlier assault, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Harder… fuck me harder,” I moaned, my nails raking down his back, tearing at his shirt. He growled, picking up the pace, his hips slamming into me with a force that made the table creak, papers scattering to the floor.
The room was a blur—glass walls, city lights, the obscene sound of his cock pounding my wet pussy. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my neck to his lips as he sucked and bit, marking me. “You’re mine now,” he rasped, his free hand sliding between us, finding my clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. I screamed, my body arching off the table as pleasure ripped through me, my pussy spasming around him, my first orgasm hitting like a tidal wave. “Vikram… oh fuck,” I gasped, my juices soaking him, dripping onto the table.
But he wasn’t done. He pulled out, flipping me over so my stomach pressed against the wood, my ass in the air. “Look at this,” he muttered, smacking my ass hard, the sting making me moan. He spread my cheeks, teasing my entrance with his cock before slamming back in, this angle even deeper, hitting spots that made me see stars. “You like that, huh?” he grunted, fucking me like an animal, his hands gripping my hips so tight I’d bruise. “Yes… yes… don’t stop,” I sobbed, my face pressed into the table, my body rocking with every thrust.
He reached around, pinching my nipples, twisting them until I whimpered, the mix of pain and pleasure driving me wild. “Come again for me,” he ordered, his fingers back on my clit, rubbing relentlessly as he pounded me. I did—harder this time, my pussy clenching so tight he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Aisha… I’m gonna cum,” he roared, and with one final, savage thrust, he exploded inside me, his hot release flooding me, spilling deep as he held me against him. My body shuddered, another orgasm tearing through me, my cries muffled against the table as I milked him dry.
He collapsed over me, his chest heaving against my back, our sweat mingling on the polished wood. Slowly, he pulled out, his cum dripping down my thighs, pooling on the table beneath us. He turned me around, kissing me softer now, his lips lingering on mine. “You’re fucking incredible,” he panted, his hands cupping my face. I smiled, still trembling, my body buzzing from the intensity. “So are you, boss,” I whispered, tasting him on my tongue.