“I swore I wouldn’t touch him… instead I begged my husband’s assistant to fuck me in his chair while my husband was in the next room [F38/M25] [Taboo] [Risky]”

I could hear my husband’s voice through the wall.
Steady, clipped, the way he always sounded during a meeting. He’d dragged me along tonight, saying it wouldn’t take long. I’d smiled, nodded, and pretended not to feel invisible.

So when I stepped out into the hall and saw his assistant still at his desk, tie loose, sleeves rolled, I didn’t think — I decided.

“You’re still here?” I asked softly.

He looked up, startled, those boyish brown eyes locking on me. “Yes, ma’am. Your husband needed the quarterly numbers.”

“Claire,” I corrected him. “Don’t call me ma’am.”

His throat worked. “Claire.”

The sound of my own name, whispered in that careful voice, made my pulse quicken. My husband was in the conference room ten feet away. And here I was, leaning closer, smiling at the one man I shouldn’t.

“You work too hard,” I murmured. “Do you ever stop?”

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your husband keeps me busy.”

I tilted my head, letting my blouse gape just slightly. “Maybe I can help you… unwind.”

I shouldn’t have kissed him. Not with my husband’s voice carrying through the wall. Not with the risk of footsteps in the hall. But the way he stiffened when my hand brushed his — the way his breath caught — it set me on fire.

His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, desperate. I pulled him into the office, slamming the door quietly behind us, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would give me away.

“Are you insane?” he whispered. “He’s right there.”

“I know,” I breathed, pressing my body against his. “That’s what makes it so good.”

I pushed him back into the chair — my husband’s chair — and unbuckled his belt with shaking hands. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and I actually moaned just looking at it.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “You’re so hard for me.”

“Claire…” he groaned, eyes wild. “We can’t—”

“Yes, we can,” I cut him off, sinking to my knees. “And you’re going to let me.”

I took him into my mouth, slow at first, then deeper, my throat tightening around him. His hand clutched the armrest, knuckles white, his other tangled in my hair as I gagged myself on him.

Through the wall, my husband’s voice droned on about numbers. And here I was, spit dripping down my chin, sucking his assistant’s cock like I’d die without it.

“Stop,” he gasped, tugging at my hair. “If he catches us—”

I pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him fast, glaring up at him. “Don’t you dare stop me. Please. I need this. I need you.”

His eyes burned with lust and panic. “You’re begging me.”

“Yes,” I panted, grinding against his leg. “I’m begging. Please fuck me. Right here, in his chair, while he’s in the next room.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“Not if you keep your mouth shut,” I smirked. “Now shut up and put your cock inside me.”

I straddled him, yanking my panties aside, and sank down onto him in one desperate thrust. The moan ripped out of me before I could stop it.

“Claire—fuck—” he groaned, gripping my hips as I rode him.

Through the wall, my husband’s voice rose in emphasis on some figure. I bit my lip hard, muffling my cries, bouncing harder in the chair that creaked beneath us.

“Oh God,” I gasped into his ear. “Do you know how wrong this is? Do you know where we are? I’m fucking you in his chair—while he’s ten feet away—”

“Fuck,” he hissed, thrusting up into me. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

“Don’t you dare cum yet,” I whispered fiercely. “Not until I tell you. Not until I’m shaking all over your cock.”

I kissed him messily, riding him harder, every thrust sending waves of heat through me. My nails dug into his shoulders, my breasts pressed against his chest.

“Please,” I begged, shameless, breathless. “Fuck me harder. Make me cum. I don’t care if he hears. Please, I need it—”

He groaned, slamming into me, his face buried against my neck to muffle his sounds. The chair rocked, the desk rattled, and I broke — my orgasm ripping through me, violent, desperate, leaving me gasping into his mouth.

“Now,” I panted. “Cum inside me. Do it.”

He groaned loud enough that I clapped my hand over his mouth, feeling him pulse deep inside me as he spilled, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

We collapsed together, trembling, sweaty, the air thick with sex. My husband’s voice still carried faintly from the conference room, oblivious.

I pressed my forehead to the assistant’s, both of us panting. “You’re going to finish these numbers,” I whispered, “and then you’re going to fuck me again.”

His eyes widened. “Here?”

I smiled wickedly, shifting on his still-hard cock. “Where better?”