My chest is still heaving, my face sticky and warm with his release. The taste of us—bitter, musky, profoundly intimate—is still on my tongue. I feel his cum starting to cool on my cheek, a drying map of his possession. I am a wreck on the office floor, and I have never felt more complete.
Ansh looks down at me, his expression one of cool, satisfied appraisal. He’s still half-hard, his cock glistening and wet, a messy masterpiece of what we just did.
“Look at that fucking mess,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the floor into my bones. He takes a step closer, his dress shoes framing my head. “You’ve got my load all over your pretty face, Rohan. But my dick is still dirty.”
He nudges my thigh with the toe of his shoe. “Clean it. Use that talented fucking tongue. Get on your knees and make it spotless.”
The command is a jolt of pure electricity. My body, exhausted and trembling, finds a new reserve of energy. I push myself up, my muscles protesting, and shuffle forward on my knees on the rough carpet. The movement makes a fresh trickle of his cum slide from my ass down my inner thigh. The sensation is filthy and perfect.
I lean forward, my face inches from his damp, spent cock. The smell is overwhelming—sex, sweat, us. I don’t wait for another order. I dart my tongue out, a quick, cat-like lick from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just owning. “Lick my fucking balls clean, you desperate slut. Show me how much you love the taste of your own ass on my skin.”
I obey without hesitation, lowering my head further. I take his heavy sac into my mouth, rolling my tongue over the wrinkled skin, lapping up the remnants of our encounter. I suck one ball gently, then the other, tasting the salt of his sweat and the faint, musky essence of his release. I am lost in the act, a slave to his command and my own degrading need. This is what I am for.
“Good boy,” he grunts, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Such a good, nasty fucking cocksucker.”
He pulls me off him by my hair, forcing me to look up. His eyes are dark pools of hunger, even now. “Stand up. Get your ass off the floor.”
I rise on unsteady legs, my body feeling used and magnificent. Before I can fully find my balance, his hands are on my waist, spinning me around. He sits back heavily in my office chair, the leather groaning under his weight, and pulls me down onto his lap. I’m straddling him, my back to his chest, my bare ass pressing against the rough fabric of his suit pants. I can feel the damp spot on my thigh smearing against his leg.
His arms wrap around me, one across my chest, holding me tight against him, the other hand sliding down my stomach. His chin rests on my shoulder, his stubble scratching my skin.
“You feel that?” he whispers, his voice husky right in my ear. His fingers trace through the mess on my thigh, gathering the cooling slickness. “That’s my fucking seed, Rohan. It’s already starting to leak out of you. My claim on you is already fading.”
He brings his wet fingers to my lips. “Taste it again. Remember what’s inside you.”
I open my mouth and suck his fingers clean, my eyes closing at the potent, intimate flavor. It’s a direct connection to the deepest part of me he just owned.
“Turn your head,” he commands, his voice softening into something that makes my heart clench.
I turn, and his mouth finds mine.
This kiss is different. It’s not the aggressive, claiming assault from before. It starts tenderly, a slow, exploring press of his lips against mine. It’s so soft. I can taste myself on his lips, a faint, salty reminder of my submission, but the kiss itself is almost… reverent. His tongue slides into my mouth, not to dominate, but to mingle, to share the same air, the same taste.
I melt into him, my body going pliant against his. My hands come up to cradle his jaw, my fingers tracing the line of his stubble. The kiss deepens, the tenderness slowly burning into something more urgent. Our tongues dance together, a slow, sensual rhythm that speaks of a connection far deeper than the raw fucking that came before. I am losing myself in this. The sterile office air, the hum of the server, it all fades away until there is only the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his jaw, the solid, safe weight of his body under mine.
He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine.
“You took my cock so well,” he murmurs, his voice a raw whisper. “You fucking begged for my load. You wanted me to breed that tight ass, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, the word a prayer. “I wanted it. I still want it.”
His hand slides from my stomach down between my legs, his fingers finding my sore, stretched hole. I gasp as he traces the puffy, sensitive rim. I can feel his cum, warm and wet, just inside. His fingertip presses gently, and a fresh, thick trickle oozes out onto his hand.
“It’s so deep in you,” he whispers, his voice full of awe and lust. “My fucking kids are swimming in your guts right now, Rohan. You feel that? You feel how full you are?”
A shiver wracks my entire body. The vulgarity, the sheer biological reality of his words, sends a new wave of heat through me. Breeding. It’s not just a dirty word; it’s a primal, life-altering act. And I begged for it.
“I feel it,” I moan, pushing back against his finger, wanting him to feel it too, to feel the mess he made. “It’s so hot. It’s… it’s yours.”
“It’s mine,” he affirms, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. He brings his slick fingers to my lips again, and I suck them clean without being asked, my eyes locked with his. “You’re my fucking mess. My well-bred little office slut.”
He kisses me again, this time with that same tender urgency, but his hard cock is pressing against my lower back, still slick and beginning to swell again. His hand moves from my mouth down to my own cock, which is rock hard and trapped between our bodies. He fists me, his grip firm, his strokes slow and deliberate, smearing precum over my sensitive head.
“You’re gonna make me hard again, you filthy fucking temptation,” he groans into my mouth. “You’re sitting here in my lap, leaking my cum, and you want more, don’t you?”
“I always want more,” I gasp, my hips bucking into his tight fist. “I always want your fucking cock, Ansh. I need it.”
“Then get up,” he says, his voice thick with renewed desire. “Bend over the desk. I’m not done with this ass yet. I’m going to push every last drop of my cum in you.
His hands are on my hips, holding me firmly bent over the cold laminate of my own desk. My cheek is pressed against a stack of quarterly reports, my ass high in the air, completely exposed and still throbbing from his last claiming. I can feel his cum, warm and wet, starting to trickle out of my used hole.
“Look at this mess,” Ansh murmurs, his voice a low, possessive rumble that vibrates through my bones. His thumb swipes through the slickness on my inner thigh, gathering the evidence of his possession. He brings his wet fingers to my lips. “Open. Clean my fingers, Rohan. Show me how much you love the taste of your own fucked-out ass.”
I open my mouth without hesitation, my tongue darting out to lick his fingers clean. The taste is musky, salty, uniquely us—a potent cocktail of his release and my own submission. I suck his digits deep, moaning around them, lost in the degrading, intimate act.
“Good boy,” he praises, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. He pulls his fingers from my mouth with a soft pop. “But my cock is still dirty. It’s covered in you. Finish the job.”
He steps closer, and I feel the damp, heavy weight of his semi-hard cock brush against my lips. I lean forward, my tongue lapping at the base of his shaft, cleaning the lingering wetness from his skin. I work my way up, my tongue swirling around his balls, tasting the salt of his sweat and the faint, musky reminder of my own throat. I worship his dick with my mouth, lapping and sucking until he’s glistening and clean, every inch tasted and claimed by my tongue.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his hips giving a slight thrust into my face. “You were made for this. Made to be on your knees, cleaning my fucking dick.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving me panting, my lips swollen and wet. I watch him over my shoulder as he drops to his knees behind me. The sight steals my breath. Ansh, on his knees for me. His powerful frame is folded behind my spread legs, his intense gaze fixed solely on my exposed ass.
“Now,” he says, his voice a husky command. “Stay still. I’m going to taste what’s mine.”
His hands grip my ass cheeks, spreading me wider for him. I gasp as I feel the first hot, wet swipe of his tongue right over my sensitive, stretched hole. Oh, god. It’s an electric shock of pure sensation. His tongue is flat and firm, licking a broad stripe through the mess he left, cleaning his own cum from my puffy rim.
“You taste fucking incredible,” he growls, his voice muffled against my skin. “You taste like my slut.”
He doesn’t just lick; he feasts. His tongue becomes a relentless, wet instrument, probing and fucking into my asshole with slow, deliberate thrusts. He tongues my entrance open, lapping at the tender, well-used flesh, pushing inside to gather more of our mixed taste. The sensation is overwhelming—shameful, degrading, and so intensely pleasurable I see stars behind my eyelids. My cock, which had begun to soften, is now rock hard again, dripping onto the carpet below.
“Your fucking hole is begging for my tongue, Rohan,” he mutters, his breath hot against my skin. “It’s sucking me in. You love this, don’t you? You love having your ass eaten like a greedy little pig.”
“Yes! Fuck, Ansh, yes!” I cry out, my hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth desk. I’m pushing back against his face, desperate for more of the wet, filthy friction. He’s right. My body is betraying me, my ass clenching around nothing, wanting to be filled again.
He adds a finger, his tongue still working my rim as he slowly pushes one thick digit into my slick, loosened channel. The stretch is minimal, a delicious fullness that complements the wet assault of his mouth. He crooks his finger, rubbing against that incredible spot inside me, and my entire body convulses.
“There! Right there, please!” I beg, reduced to a babbling mess.
He adds a second finger, scissoring me open, stretching me for what’s to come. His tongue never stops, flicking and probing around his invading fingers. The dual sensation is maddening. I’m being fucked and eaten out at the same time, my nerves alight with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
“You’re so open for me,” he says, his voice thick with lust. “So ready. But I think you need something else in that pretty mouth.”
He withdraws his fingers and his tongue, leaving me empty and aching. He stands, and I hear the wet sound of him stroking his own cock, now fully hard again. “Sit up. Turn around. I want to watch you suck my dick while I play with your fucked-out ass.”
I obey, my movements clumsy with need. I turn and sit on the edge of the desk, facing him. He steps between my spread legs, his cock jutting proudly towards my face. I don’t need a command. I lean forward and take him into my mouth, swallowing his length down my throat in one smooth motion. I’ve learned how to take him, how to relax my throat for his brutal fucking.
“That’s it,” he groans, his hands coming to rest on my head, not forcing, just guiding. “Suck my fucking cock, Rohan.”
As my head begins to bob, my lips stretched tight around his girth, his hand slides down between my legs. Two fingers push back into my ass, sliding in easily, aided by the slick mess of spit and cum. He sets a rhythm, fucking my face with his cock while his fingers plunge in and out of my ass. The synchronization is dizzying. Every time he thrusts into my throat, his fingers drive deeper into my hole. I’m being used at both ends, a complete vessel for his pleasure.
I look up at him, my eyes watering, and the possessive, hungry look on his face makes my own cock jump. He’s watching himself disappear into my mouth, watching his own fingers disappear into my ass, and he looks like a god claiming his rightful tribute.
“You’re a fucking dream,” he snarls, his hips pistoning faster. “My own personal cock sleeve. My perfect little fucktoy.”
His fingers curl inside me, rubbing my prostate with unerring accuracy. Pleasure arcs through me, white-hot and blinding. I’m moaning around his dick, the vibrations making him curse and thrust harder. I’m hurtling towards my own orgasm, completely at his mercy.
He pulls his fingers out of my ass and withdraws his cock from my mouth with a lewd, wet sound. “Not yet. I’m not done with you. Back over the desk. Now. I need to feel that ass clenching around my fucking dick.”
I practically throw myself forward, bending over the desk again, presenting my ass to him like an offering. I hear him spit into his hand, slicking his cock. The broad, familiar head presses against my entrance, and I push back, impaling myself on him, taking him in one smooth, desperate motion.
Oh, god. The feeling is indescribable. He’s so much bigger than his fingers, stretching me to my absolute limit, filling the emptiness with a burning, perfect fullness. He doesn’t give me a second to adjust. He sets a punishing pace from the first thrust, his balls slapping against my taint, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
“This is it,” he grunts, his voice strained with the effort of his thrusts. “This is what you needed, isn’t it? My bare cock fucking your well-used hole, pushing my cum even deeper inside you.”
“Yes! Fuck, yes, Ansh! Don’t stop!” I’m screaming into the desk, my fingers clawing at the laminate. Each thrust is a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure, hammering my prostate, making my own cock leak relentlessly.
“I’m gonna fill you up again,” he promises, his rhythm becoming more frantic, more possessive. “I’m gonna pump another load so deep inside you, you’ll feel it for a week. You’ll feel me dripping out of you in every fucking meeting.”
The promise, the sheer vulgar reality of it, sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes over me with the force of a tidal wave, my cock pulsing and shooting ropes of cum across the desk and onto the floor beneath me. My ass clenches around him in rhythmic spasms, milking his dick, pulling his own release from him.
With a guttural roar, he slams into me and holds, his body shuddering against mine. I feel the hot, familiar pulse of his cum flooding my insides, a second claiming, even hotter and wetter than the first. He collapses over my back, his weight a heavy, sweaty blanket, both of us panting and trembling.
He stays buried inside me for a long moment, both of us catching our breath. Then I feel him shift. He’s still hard. Still inside me.
“You feel that?” he whispers, his voice raw and wrecked. He gives a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, his cock stirring the messy pool of his cum deep inside me. The sensation is overwhelming, a slick, filthy, intimate friction on my oversensitive nerves. “I’m not pulling out. I’m gonna stay right here, buried in your ass, until I’m ready to fuck you again. You’re not going anywhere.”
