Chapter 99 - Ninety-Nine: Cressida

Chapter 99: Chapter Ninety-Nine: Cressida

The control was absolute, intoxicating. I used her throat like a fleshlight, a tight, wet, living sleeve designed for my pleasure. Each deep, plunging thrust buried me to the hilt, my balls slapping against her chin. Schlop. Glurk. Thud. The rhythm was brutal, possessive.

But she was no passive toy. Even as I fucked her face, her experience... twenty years in the business, she’d said... shone through. It was in her tongue.

That fucking tongue.

It wasn’t just lying there. As I pistoned in and out, her tongue was a living, wicked thing. It would flatten against the underside of my shaft on the downstroke, creating a ridged, maddening friction. On the upstroke, it would curl, the tip flicking and teasing the sensitive ridge just below the head. When I was buried deep, her tongue would swirl in tight, clever circles around the base, massaging my frenulum in a way that made my knees weak.

It was a masterclass. A wordless dialogue of pure, carnal skill. She was working me over with just her mouth and that magical tongue, proving why she was the one in charge.

I looked down. Her face was a mess of smeared lipstick and saliva. Tears, born from the relentless throat-fucking, traced glittering paths through her makeup. But her eyes... those sharp, amber vixen’s eyes were open. They were locked on mine, glazed with pleasure but still keen, watching every micro-expression on my face, learning what made me twitch, what made my breath catch.

She was being used, fucked raw in her own office, and she was enjoying it, not just as submission, but as a professional appreciating a prime specimen and a client enjoying a particularly skilled service. The contradiction was dizzying. I was dominating her, and she was, in her own way, dominating me right back with that sinful, experienced mouth.

I groaned, my rhythm faltering for a second, overwhelmed by the dual sensation of her tight throat and that devilish tongue. "Fuck... your mouth..."

She couldn’t speak, but the corners of her eyes crinkled in what might have been a smile. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue becoming a blur of wicked sensation, coaxing, demanding, promising that this was just the appetizer. The old slut knew exactly what she was doing, and she was driving me insane with it.

The sensation was too much... the perfect, tight heat of her throat combined with that virtuosic, tormenting tongue. I was hurtling toward the edge, and I wanted to see more. With a final, deep thrust that made her gag, I pulled out.

My cock sprang free, glistening with her spit, swollen and angry. She stayed on her knees, coughing once, then letting out a low, throaty laugh. It wasn’t a sound of humiliation. It was one of shared complicity, of a game well-played.

"Getting close, were we?" she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her lipstick further. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and hunger. "Not yet, darling. You haven’t seen the full product."

Still on her knees, she reached for the laces of her corset. With a few practiced tugs, it loosened and fell away, joining her dress on the floor. She was naked now, and the view was staggering.

She was a mature woman, and her body showed it in the best possible way. Her tits were full, heavy, and magnificently shaped, with dark, generous areolas and nipples that stood stiff and eager. Her stomach had the soft curve of a woman who enjoyed life, leading down to a neatly trimmed triangle of blonde hair.

Then she turned around, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. She placed her hands on the edge of her massive oak desk and bent over, presenting her back to me.

Gods.

Her ass was a work of art. Massive, perfectly rounded globes of creamy flesh that swayed with a hypnotic weight. But it was what was between them that stole my breath. She reached back with both hands, spreading her cheeks wide open.

A lewd, unfiltered display. Her pussy lips, slick and glistening with her own arousal, pouted out invitingly from the shadowed cleft. And just above it, nestled tight between the powerful mounds of her ass, was the tiny, pink, tightly furled pucker of her asshole. She wiggled her hips slightly, making everything jiggle.

"The Velvet Wall’s premium package," she said over her shoulder, her voice thick with promise. "Still think you can handle an extensive six-hour shift after sampling the management, pretty boy?" She laughed again, a dark, inviting sound. "Or are you gonna stand there with that lovely cock and just look?"

Looking? Fuck looking. The sight of her spread open, that dripping pussy and tight little asshole presented like a feast, vaporized the last shred of my patience.

I was on her in two strides. My hands slammed down on the desk on either side of her, my body caging her in. I didn’t bother with gentle alignment. I gripped my dick, slick with her spit, and guided the thick, swollen head to her slick entrance. I paused for a heartbeat, letting her feel the pressure.

Then I shoved forward.

Not a thrust. A violation.

I drove my hips with all my strength, burying my entire length inside her pussy in one brutal, deep, bottoming-out stroke. The sound was a wet, meaty squelch that echoed off the office walls.

"GUH-HAAAAA!" Cressida’s cry was a shattered mix of shock and intense, immediate pleasure. Her body arched, her back bowing, her hands scrambling for purchase on the polished wood. I was buried to the hilt, my balls pressed tight against her swollen lips.

I gave her no time to adjust, no moment to breathe. I pulled back almost all the way, then slammed back in. Thud. Again. Squelch. And again.

I fucked her. Roughly. Savagely. With a hunger that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. My hips became a machine, pistoning into her with deep, grinding strokes that hammered her forward, making the heavy desk creak in protest with every impact.

Her pussy was a paradise... incredibly tight, supremely wet, and clenching around me with experienced, milking pulses that felt like she was trying to suck the soul out through my dick. She was older, seasoned, and her body knew exactly how to take a pounding and give back twice the pleasure.

"Fuck! Yes!" she screamed, her professional composure utterly obliterated. "Like that! Just like that, you hungry little bastard! Fuck your madam! Nnngh!"

I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into the soft, ample flesh of her ass, surely leaving bruises. The slapping of our bodies was a rapid, obscene drumbeat. Slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap. I was lost in it, in the blinding heat of her, in the raw power of taking this sharp, commanding woman on her own desk and reducing her to a screaming, bucking mess. The interview was over. This was the real test, and I was passing it with flying, filthy colors.

There was no gentle build, no sweet crescendo. It was a storm from the first thrust, and it raged unabated. I fucked her with a single-minded ferocity, each deep plunge into her wet, welcoming heat a claim staked, each rough withdrawal a promise of more. The desk shuddered, papers scattering, a glass paperweight wobbling precariously near the edge.

Cressida met me thrust for thrust, pushing back against me with a strength that belied her "mature" frame. Her moans were raw, unfiltered, a continuous stream of filth and encouragement that only fueled my frenzy.

"Harder! Don’t you dare hold back on me, boy! Nnngh! Make this old slut remember your name! Ah! Ah! Fuck!"

Her pussy was magic. It clenched and rippled around me, a masterful, muscular grip that seemed to find new ways to squeeze and milk my cock with every passing second. The pleasure was a white-hot wire, pulled tighter and tighter from my balls to the base of my spine.

I couldn’t form words anymore. Just guttural grunts and ragged breaths that matched the punishing rhythm of our bodies. My vision started to tunnel, the opulent office blurring into a haze of wood paneling and heaving flesh. All that existed was the feel of her, the sound of her, the desperate, climbing need to erupt inside her.

With a final, animalistic roar, I buried myself as deep as I could go, crushing her against the desk, and let go.

I came. Not a spurt, not a trickle.

Buckets.

It felt like a dam bursting. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot deep into her womb, jet after relentless jet, painting her insides white. I could feel it flooding her, a scalding, claiming deluge. My body shuddered violently with each pulse, my grip on her hips turning white-knuckled.

She screamed, a long, shattered sound of pure, unadulterated climax as her own orgasm tore through her, triggered by the feeling of being filled so utterly, so completely. Her pussy convulsed around me, milking out every last drop until I was spent, hollowed out, my softening cock still twitching inside her.

I slumped over her, both of us panting, dripping with sweat, glued together by my seed already starting to leak out around where we were joined. The office was silent except for our ragged breathing and the faint drip of fluid onto the carpet below. The interview had concluded. The terms were accepted. And the madam had just received a very, very thorough down payment.