Sunday Office Fuck

It was a lazy Sunday morning, March 23, 2025, sun barely peeking through the curtains, when my phone buzzed like a horny alarm—my boss, a 45-year-old married beast with a voice thick as his black cock, rasped, "Office. Now." My husband lounged on the couch, his dick already half-hard under his shorts as I smirked at him. "Go get that big black dick, babe," he said, stroking himself through the fabric, eyes glinting with filthy excitement. My pussy twitched, dripping wet at the thought, clit pulsing as I sauntered to the bedroom to dress like the Chennai slut I am—black saree with golden stripes clinging to my curves, mustard jacket framing my shoulders, red bra shoving my D-cup boobies up, nipples stiffening against the lace, and black panties soaked before I even pulled them over my shaved mound.

The drive through Bangalore’s quiet streets was torture—my pussy lips swollen, dripping juice down my thighs, clit throbbing against the seat. I imagined his black cock, thick and veiny, and my G-spot ached for it. The office loomed empty, a glass-and-steel cage, my heels clicking like a countdown to dick. He stood by the window, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway, dark skin glistening, his bulge obvious. No hello—just his hands yanking me in, lips crashing mine, tasting of bitter coffee and raw lust. I moaned, "Fuck me already," tongue wrestling his, my saree’s pallu slipping, golden stripes pooling at my feet. He ripped my blouse open—buttons popping—exposing my red bra, my boobies heaving, nipples hard as pebbles. "Fucking perfect tits," he growled, sucking them through the lace, teeth grazing my nipples till I whimpered, "Oh shit, bite harder."

He shoved me down, unzipping fast—his black cock sprang free, a monster, thick as my wrist, veins pulsing, precum oozing from the tip. "Suck it, you dirty bitch," he snarled, and I obeyed—lips stretching wide, spit drooling down my chin as I took him in, tongue swirling his salty head. "So fucking huge," I moaned, gagging as he hit my throat, my pussy dripping onto the floor, clit begging for touch. He fisted my hair, fucking my mouth, his black shaft slick with my spit and his precum, my boobies bouncing as I bobbed. He yanked me up, eyes feral, and bent me over the desk—saree hiked, panties shredded, my dripping pussy exposed, clit swollen, G-spot screaming for him. "You’re a fucking flood," he grunted, slamming his black cock in, stretching me wide. I screamed, "Fuck yes, pound me!" as he thrust—30 minutes of brutal slams, my pussy squelching loud, *slap-slap-slap* against his hard stomach, my bouncing ass jiggling, boobies swinging free from the bra. "Take it all, slut," he roared, hitting my G-spot with every thrust, my cum gushing out, dripping down my thighs. He pulled out, snapped on a condom—sildenafil already in his system from last night—and fucked me harder, his black cock glistening, cum spilling over the condom’s edge as he unloaded, grunting, "Fucking tight cunt."

Breathless, he smirked, "Drinks?" We hit Reservoir, whiskey shots burning my throat, his wife oblivious in Hyderabad. Over the clink of glasses, he leaned in, "Your pussy’s tighter than my wife’s—how’s it feel taking this black dick?" I grinned, sipping, "Fucking amazing—my husband’s gonna jerk off hard hearing this." He laughed, "Good, let him watch next time." The sildenafil talk came up—he bragged, "20 mg keeps me rock-hard all night, you’ll see." My clit twitched, pussy dripping again just thinking about it. At his place, he popped another dose—his black cock already bulging through his pants. He stripped me slow—saree unwound, mustard jacket flung, red bra snapped off, my boobies bouncing free, nipples dark and stiff, black panties peeled down my shaky legs, wet with my juice.

I straddled him on the bed, his sildenafil-pumped black cock a steel rod, veins popping, head swollen. "Ride me, you whore," he ordered, and I sank down, my dripping pussy swallowing him, clit grinding his pelvis, G-spot quivering. "Oh God, so fucking deep," I moaned, bouncing hard, my boobies flopping wildly, ass jiggling with every slam, *thwack-thwack* as my pussy slapped his stomach. He gripped my hips, bruising them, bed creaking, "Fuck me back, bitch!" I screamed, "Yes, yes, harder!" as he thrust up, hitting my G-spot, my cum squirting out, soaking his black shaft. He flipped me—ass up, face down—spreading my cheeks, tongue diving for my clit. "Sweet fucking pussy," he mumbled, sucking my swollen bud, lapping my dripping juice, teeth grazing till I bucked, "Eat it, fuck yes!" He tongue-fucked my slit, hitting my G-spot from inside, my cum flooding his mouth as I screamed, "I’m cumming, shit!"

Sildenafil raging, his black cock stood like a tower—thicker, harder, unyielding. He rammed it back in, my pussy squishing, *squelch-squelch-squelch*, ass bouncing like jelly, boobies swinging under me. "Scream louder, slut," he barked, pulling my hair, fingers circling my clit till I shattered again, "Oh fuck, yes!" dripping all over the sheets. Legs over his shoulders next, he went wild—his black cock pistoned, wet and ruthless, my pussy slamming his stomach, *slap-slap-slap*, my G-spot exploding, cum gushing out in waves. "You’re my fucktoy," he groaned, snapping on another condom, cumming hard—thick white spurts overflowing the rubber, dripping onto my thighs. On the bed, sweaty and wrecked, he panted, "How’s it feel, huh?" I gasped, "Fucking unreal—my pussy’s still pulsing." He smirked, "Sildenafil’s a miracle—your cunt took it like a champ."

Monday morning, we woke tangled, no office—just energy drinks, his black cock still half-hard from the drug. In the shower, water pounded as he pinned me, rigid again. I dropped, sucking him filthy—spit dripping, "Love this fucking cock," moaning as I deep-throated, his black shaft throbbing, precum mixing with water. He fucked my mouth, then yanked me up, slamming into my dripping pussy—fast, brutal, *slap-slap* against his stomach, my bouncing ass smacking the tiles, boobies jiggling, clit screaming. "Harder, fuck me!" I yelled, legs around him, pussy gushing down my thighs, G-spot on fire as he grunted, "So fucking wet," snapping on a condom last-second, cum dripping off it onto the floor. We rinsed, smirking, my nipples still hard, pussy still dripping. "How was that, slut?" he asked, toweling off. "Best fuck yet—my husband’s gonna cum buckets hearing this," I laughed, already aching for more.