Want Me to Fix It, Daddy?

The door clicked shut.

The second guy—Mason, you think, or maybe Jake—just stood there for a moment. His eyes moved slowly from your hands gripping Tiffany’s hips, to the white thong pulled aside, to her legs trembling and spread wide over your desk. Her face was flushed, cheek pressed to the polished wood, strands of blonde hair stuck to her lips.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t laugh.

Didn’t look away.

Tiffany was breathing fast. You could feel it—her back rising and falling, her thighs tightening around your fingers still slick with her. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but nothing came.

Mason raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna share?”

Your cock was out already, brushing the wet heat of her pussy, the head sliding along her folds as you nudged forward again—just pressure, not yet pushing. She whimpered.

“She asked me to fuck her,” you said. Calm. Flat.

Tiffany moaned—soft, desperate.

“Please,” she breathed, “I’m so fucking wet—”

Mason stepped forward, knelt beside the desk. His hand reached up and cupped her face, turned it toward him.

“You want this?”

She blinked at him, eyes glassy.

“…Yes…”

“You always act like you’re just teasing. Wearing shit like this, touching every guy you pass.”

Her cheeks flushed darker.

“…I didn’t mean—”

He pulled her hair.

“Liar.”

She moaned. Loud.

You pushed in. Her pussy welcomed it—wet, tight, like it had been waiting for cock all week. She gasped as you slid deep, her body arching off the desk as her thighs quivered. You held her there—half impaled, panting, whimpering.

Mason stood.

“Lift her top.”

You did. She didn’t fight it. The black bodycon dress rode up higher, then over her tits—no bra now. Just tight lace cups that gave no support. You pulled them down too.

Tiffany’s small tits bounced free, nipples hard, flushed.

“She wore lingerie to work,” Mason muttered. “She wanted this.”

He stepped behind her, beside you now. Unzipped.

You kept thrusting—slow, deep—watching her stretch and drip, her body completely limp except for the shaking in her thighs and the sound of her gasping each time you bottomed out.

Then Mason’s fingers slid into her mouth. She didn’t flinch. She sucked them.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open up.”

She did. He fed her cock past her lips. Just the tip first. Then deeper.

She gagged.

Then again.

Her throat opened for him.

And just like that—Tiffany was filled. Mouth full. Pussy stuffed.

Her moans vibrated against his cock as you fucked her from behind. Her tits slapped the desk. Her ass rippled under your palms. Her thong slid lower, now barely around one thigh.

You picked up pace. Faster. Harder. Mason gripped her hair. Held her mouth open.

You watched as her eyes started to roll, tears streaking from the corners. She was a mess. And still, she moaned.

Schhllp—ghrk—schllkk— her throat swallowed every inch.

You reached down, rubbed her clit. She screamed around him. And came.

Body clenching, muscles spasming, her pussy sucking your cock so tight you nearly finished on the spot.

She came again when Mason pulled out, slapped her cheek with his slick cock, then shoved it back in. She moaned louder.

The door opened again. Another guy. Derek.

He paused.

Blink.

“Oh fuck.”

Tiffany looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide, face wet, mouth still full of Mason’s cock. She didn’t stop sucking.

Derek grinned.

“You guys started without me.”