Asuka Kyono’s pencil skirt clings to the curve of her ass as she leans over the printer, the fabric riding high enough to tease a glimpse of her lacy stocking tops. The Japanese office lady is alone on the fourteenth floor, cherry-pink manicured fingers clutching a stack of quarterly reports she has no intention of delivering tonight. She knows he’s watching through the smoked-glass partition, dick swelling inside tailored trousers, pupils blown wide at the way her hips sway each time she bends. The air-conditioning hums, but the real heat rolls off his cock in waves, thick and impatient as he finally shoves the door open.
“On your knees,” he growls, voice husky with corporate power and raw need. Asuka’s glossy lips part in a teasing smile before she sinks obediently to the plush carpet, palms flat on his thighs. The scent of after-shave and musky precum floods her senses as she unzips him, freeing a rigid shaft already slick with anticipation. He threads fingers through her sleek black hair, guiding her mouth down until her throat closes around every inch, saliva glistening down her chin like silk. She bobs slow, deliberate, tongue swirling under the head each time she pulls back, moaning around him loud enough for the security cameras to catch every greedy slurp.
But tasting him isn’t enough tonight. Asuka rises, skirt sliding up over the swell of her hips to reveal no panties, just bare shaved pussy lips flushed deep rose and dripping. She bends over the conference table, palms splayed across glossy mahogany, ass tilted high and inviting. “Fuck me,” she whispers, voice dripping honey. “Right here where we sign the deals.” He positions himself behind her, the blunt crown of his cock nudging her entrance before he drives in with one brutal thrust. The stretch burns deliciously; Asuka’s back arches, a strangled cry echoing through the empty floor. He sets a punishing rhythm, hips slamming against her ass cheeks, sending ripples through flesh and the heavy reports fluttering to the carpet in disarray.
Each thrust hits so deep she feels him in her lungs, clit pulsing against the cool table edge with every slam. Her nipples drag over the polished surface, fabric rasping, nipples pebbling under silk blouse until they’re stiff enough to cut glass. She reaches back, fingers circling her swollen bud, matching his tempo. “Harder,” she hisses, voice cracking. “Show everyone who owns this Japanese office lady.” He obliges, cock pistoning in and out, veins throbbing, sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. The squelch of soaked cunt around him is obscene, wet sounds echoing louder than their ragged breaths.
Orgasm crashes over her like a typhoon, walls clenching so tight he can barely move. He grips her waist, fingers digging crescents into soft flesh, and erupts with a roar, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her pulsing heat. She milks every drop, grinding back against him until they both collapse over the table, breath ragged, semen dripping obscenely down her thighs. Outside the window Tokyo’s neon skyline flickers, a silent witness to the savage takeover of corporate propriety by primal lust. Asuka straightens slowly, juices still seeping from her freshly-fucked pussy, and flashes a wicked grin at the security mirror. “Next board meeting,” she purrs, voice hoarse, “we’ll need a bigger conference table.”
