If anyone had told me a few hours ago that I'd be leading a colleague by the hand into a photo studio set up as an “office” with the express purpose of fucking him, I'd have laughed. Called them delusional. Claimed I'm not that kind of girl.

And yet, here we are. And clearly I am that type of girl.

In stark contrast to Isaac, I'm naked, curves still radiating heat from the incredible orgasm he fingered me to, while his cock was jammed down my throat. And, in fact, I'm aglow from the countless earlier orgasms he's torn from me, each somehow more intense, wetter, eye-opening and pulse-thundering than the last.

One thing is clear: beneath his unassuming jeans and T-shirt lies a patient, calm, delightfully unpredictable and somehow dangerous man. I've already been on the receiving end of his spanks and belt, and my entire being is more alive for it.

But.

How do I reconcile this next chapter? I have a loving husband in Thomas and I, in turn, love him deeply. My actions today have nothing whatsoever to do with dissatisfaction. It's all been about discovery. Empowerment, after what feels like a lifetime of being plagued with self-doubt and embarrassment about my body shape.

Day to day, I prefer baggy clothes: joggers, oversized T-shirts, and hoodies, that kind of thing. Even at work, I choose shapeless blouses and flowing skirts to disguise the mess beneath. After Isaac wore down my resolve, I never expected to be able to admit I had allure, let alone cast aside the strength of my work persona and submit to him.

But between him and Jessica, his photographer friend and owner of the studio in which we've explored my limits, my depraved descent from nervy nakedness to suburban slut has been captured digitally. Jess is currently sifting the shots and preparing them into a package I can take home and keep hidden—very hidden—from Thomas.

The office setup is tastefully done. A central conference table. Desks and chairs around the space, dotted near the partitions that delineate the area. Even a little cubby hole that acts as a printer/photocopier area.

We breeze in, and I whirl him into my arms. Our faces end up inches apart, chests beating in a syncopated rhythm against one another. From the drunken kiss we shared at the office New Year party to this moment a handful of months later, it's been a gradual pull. Orbiting one another from a distance, gravity drawing us closer but morality keeping us apart. This culmination when everything spilled probably caught both of us by surprise.

Giving up the fierce bravado I present in the endless meetings and boardroom discussions, and surrendering to this virtual stranger, took a level of courage I didn't realise was in me. But the act of doing so unlocked something I never expected: freedom.

He brushes a lock of deep brown hair from the side of my head and cradles my cheek. Tilts my face up a degree or so and our lips connect. 

Heat races through me from the contact. Whether it's the illicit nature of kissing another man so tenderly and with such intent, or the natural flush of intimacy, my eyes drift shut and I relax, letting our mouths lead the charge. It's not long before our tongues begin to explore, gently duelling and slipping alongside each other.

His body shifts against mine and I slide my hands up his back to hold his head, the unfamiliar sensation of his almost bald scalp adding to the inappropriate thrill. After all the acts we've done today—fingering, spanking, belting, being restrained, and deepthroated—the simple act of sharing such a kiss feels the most treacherous. I shudder at its intensity.

As we kiss and touch, we end up almost slow dancing until I'm perched back against the conference table. The contact of the desk with my bottom reminds me I'm still wearing the jewelled buttplug from our earlier play. It presses and wiggles as his hands slither down my sides. I fight the reflex to bat him away. Despite all the progress we've made today, body image insecurity is still programmed into muscle memory.

When his palms rest on my hips, we grind together a little. His leg slips between my naked thighs, leaving wet splodges on the denim. Any other day I'd have been mortified, but today it's a triumph to celebrate what he's done for me.

He pushes my torso away from the kiss and skims caresses over my jaw, down to the flushed décolletage and upper surface of a breast. My hair dusts the desk as I tip my head back, arch my tits towards him and he captures a nipple between his lips.

Suckling the teat sends pinpricks of arousal scattering through me. My gasp is involuntary, and my breathing sharpens when he introduces his teeth to clamp me. He pulls away, leaving my nipple stinging a little and eliciting a groan.

He allows that one to recover and walks his stubble across the valley to lap, suck and bite its companion. It throbs in the most delicious manner, heat bubbling inward and spreading. I clutch his head and hold him against my chest, the message clear: more. He obliges.

Swapping periodically from cap to cap, he thoroughly wets and bites my nipples. I swear they are seemingly connected directly to my pussy, which continues to leak against his thigh.

I stare up at the exposed ductwork, panting as he toys with my sensitive peaks. He lets go with a wet smack and starts to kiss downward, easing me back onto the table. The wood is cool on my shoulders and I shiver as he scutters caresses to my squishy bit. I flush and I'm unsure if it's the wonderful sensation of having him kissing his way down my body, or from embarrassment. Either way, I hold my breath as his lips venture south, wander the landscape around my belly button, and clear the lower edge of my tummy.

He nuzzles my matted pubes. All I can see over the belly hump are his eyes and forehead as he peppers my pussy with kisses. Our gazes lock and the intensity strengthens as he watches the effect each lap and stroke has on me. The instant feedback loop allows him to tailor each flutter of his tongue or press of his lips and know the precise pressure that makes me groan and drip.

He pauses. Hovers, breath tickling. “You're going to cum for me. Over me. You're not going to hold back and if I get drenched, all the better. I'll drink every drop.”

“Oh God,” I moan as his words filter in, pussy engorging at the talented tongue that swabs from buttplug to clit. He swoops down for another pass and I rock my head against the table surface when his tongue connects and drags its way through the slick heat.

My legs dangle off the table edge and he brushes them as he stands, leans up over me and skims my lips with his. My scent drifts when his juice-laden tongue takes the lead, and I lose myself in the tangy taste of arousal, responding and moaning into the dirty kiss.

All too soon, he nuzzles his way down again, showering my curves with caresses on his way to kiss my drooling slit. I sweep my arms outward to clutch at the desk edges, arch up against his mouth and sigh. “Yess. Fuck, that's good.”

He probes. Moans into my snatch, the vibrations giving rise to a wave of goosebumps that ripple across my skin.

“Oh God yes, keep that up.”

I doubt I need to even ask or beg. True to his word, Isaac has no intention of stopping, and I grip and groan and hump into his face like I'm possessed.

In some regards, having this space to ourselves—comparatively speaking, as I'm sure Jessica can hear my escalating need—makes me less self-conscious about how I'll look on camera. But without her presence, the safety net is gone. No training wheels. Isaac has been pushing boundaries all afternoon and I know that whatever I allow him to do, he will. And probably more. That's a terrifying prospect, because I want everything, even stuff I know I shouldn't.

That thought process alone makes me drip further. He dutifully slurps my nectar and feasts, my groans rising. I want him to take me over. Own me. Pound me. Ruin me. But what will it cost? What will it mean for my marriage?

At the back of my mind are Isaac’s motives. We're just colleagues, yet he's paid for hiring Jess. For the photoshoot. Claims he sees some repressed animal inside me and wants to celebrate my appearance; to unlock my inner vixen. And he has, in spectacular fashion. I will never be the same person again.

But no act is selfless.

So is he actually being altruistic or does he want something in return? Perhaps something more permanent? Something I can't give. Maybe he wanted to show me a darker, more alluring side to our professional relationship that makes me question my choices? One that jeopardises my home life. Makes me want him more than my husband.

I shiver, but can't dwell on it. With a flourish, his hands slither up my thighs, he licks a pair of digits, peels apart my labia and snakes them into my sopping pussy.

When I've adjusted to the intrusion and, yes, gasped his name, he rotates his palm upward, hooks his fingers and rapidly jerks his hand up against my insides. I cry out, knuckles whitening at the unexpected leap in pleasure. His mouth descends, lips wrapping my clit and, stroke by stroke, suck by suck, the filthiest squelches surface as my world gradually caves in.

I'm not aware of anything except wetness. Lots of wetness. And then clenching. I freeze, arched off the conference table like a dirty rainbow, and twist, gasping as bursts of liquid fire from my cunt around his buried fingers. His chin and lips catch my spray and he gurgles and drinks everything he can, the rest splashing off the edge of the table to splatter the floor.

The rush floods my senses. Euphoria and uncontrollable giggles follow in its wake and I somehow keep squirting every time his fingers press upward. He seemingly cannot get enough, humming against my drenched folds, his nose and lips alternating to roll and wrap my engorged nub.

Sensitivity peaks and my hips splat to the soaked desk. I grab his head to haul him away. “Too much.” And then burst into giggles again. They're rampant and I keep pausing to try and regain composure, which sets me off once more.

It takes a while, but when the high fades enough to form coherent speech, I wipe my forehead. “Wow. Sorry to go all Angel Falls on you there.”

“Are you kidding? It was epic. And beautiful.” He licks his lips to hammer the point home. “I'd look forward to that every day if you were mi…” He trails off and looks away, and my heart twangs. “Sorry, I didn't… you know what I mean.”

Propping myself up first on my elbows, then the rest of the way to sit in the puddle, I slither forward, squeaking off the desk, buttplug clacking against the edge. My attention lands on his chest and roves downward. His jeans bulge.

“Yeah, I totally see what you mean.”

He follows my gaze and shrugs. “What can I say? I adore waterfalls.”

I reach across the gap between us, run my hand up his side and wipe a fingertip across some beads of cum on his head. Draw shapes and hold the wet digit up between us before licking it clean. “Mmm. Riddle me this. How can I cum like that, with that much force, and still be horny?”

Isaac shrugs again. Says nothing as I trail my still wet fingertip down his body, and brush his firm outline. I meet his expression head on as I grip the zipper and tug down, sneaking inside to free his impressive erection.

Smearing pre-cum along his thick shaft, I flit my attention fifty-fifty between his eyes and crotch. “I meant what I said earlier. This is my only shot at taking everything, however wrong. Because what goes on in this studio stays here.” He nods and I wank his girth. “I’m a changed woman thanks to you. I want things I shouldn't. Things I can't share with Thom… my husband.”

He shifts weight to his other foot. Draws in air as I fondle his shaft and carry on:

“So I'm only going to ask you once.” Letting go of his staff that bobs between us, I spin and lie forward, tits spreading and slipping on my earlier geyser. I look back at him. “Fuck me, Isaac Collins. Use my body the only way you know how. Take me so fucking hard that I feel every thru—”

“Stop.”

I frown. Await an explanation as he concentrates on a distant spot on the partitions, like he's working out what to say next. “Are you sure you want this?”

I nod. “What makes you think I don't?”

“Oh I know you do now. But think about Monday. At work. Us.”

My lips curl into a smile. “I think we're way beyond pleasantries by the water cooler now, hmm?”

“True. We're way beyond anything I’d planned. I'm already,” he hunts for the right word, “smitten. And it's going to take a Herculean effort to keep my hands off you.” I'm not sure if him reaching out to rub my rump is involuntary or meant to punctuate his point. His fingertips, though, trailing inward to trace the shape of my soaked slit, are deliberate. “But if I get inside your pussy, this pussy, well.” He breathes in. “You need to know: all bets are off.”

My throat ripples as I swallow, and I eye him from over my shoulder. Sigh. “You're right. It's wrong.”

Obvious relief washes over him, to be replaced with wide-eyed surprise when I reach back, spread my arse cheeks and begin to wiggle the buttplug. It’s harder to remove than I expect and the toy catches a few times, tugged back into my depths as each gasp escapes at what I think is its widest point.

Biting my lip, I try again and gasp at the burn as it eventually slithers free, the emptiness registering as a dull need inside me.

Depositing the plug end-up alongside me on the conference table, I reach back and smear pussy juices up over my slightly gaping rear, swabbing a finger across my dark entrance. My eyes catch his when I slip a fingertip inside. “If my pussy is the sticking point, let's do something that's only ours. Something Thomas won't.”

“Chloe…”

“Shh, don't think, Isaac. Just do it. Fuck my arse.”

“But…”

“Yes, Butt!” I smirk.

“But… we don't have lube.”

Lifting a little, I reach underneath my body to paddle fingertips in my juices on the desk and swipe them over my hole, making it glisten in the studio lighting. “Sure we do.”

“My god.” He runs a hand over his baldness and exhales. “What have I created?”

Holding my meaty cheeks apart, I offer a dirty, loaded grin. “Be my first, Sir. Take my arse with that huge cock. Make me yours. Your little… not so little, horny slut. Your anal slut. Come on. Give m—”

He cuts me off by bending and running his tongue up through my drenched pussy and circling my arsehole. It tickles and I groan. “Ohhh yesss.”

Wetting his fingertips the same way I did, he rubs my star, dips one then two digits in and gently finger fucks it. “I'll ask you one last time, Chloe. Are you 100% sure you want this?”

I chew my lip, inhale, gasp when he penetrates me deeper, and nod. Pulling my cheeks apart further, his fingers nudge the inner ring of muscle, hole slowly closing when he withdraws.

He smears fresh juices up from my cunt. Stoops to lap and swirl, probing his tongue. The decadence is off the charts and I can't help but cry out as he services my tightest entrance. Swabs. Laps. Flutters. Spits. He buries his tongue and thoroughly soaks my naughtiest hole.

I'm so caught up in the sensations, the depravity and thrill of his tongue back there, that I almost miss the moment he stops, grips his weighty shaft and aligns it. But the pause registers, and I inhale to prepare.

If I thought he was big in my throat, the dull ache as he presents his flared cock head to my virgin arse and pushes forward is petrifying. He takes a moment to spit around the join, scoops more pussy juices to coat his shaft and rocks back and forth, creeping his way into my depths as I split and stretch around him.

I don't realise I'm still holding my breath until a burst escapes as he breaches the outer ring and his ridge is captured inside me. No doubt the going would have been significantly slower had the buttplug not acclimatised me.

“Fffuuuck.”

“Are you okay? Want me to slow down? Stop?”

I swallow. “No.” Then take a few deep breaths. “It's fucking amazing.”

“Yeah?” He resumes the pressure and my groans echo as he starts to narrate. “Is this what you're gonna be thinking about when we're at work next week? Maybe staying back after hours when the cleaners have left. Me coming to your office, yanking your panties off, shoving you over the desk and,” he guides another inch in, “fucking your tight arse?”

My moans escalate, bouncing off the wooden desk surface. “Yess ffuck. Take me.”

“Oh, you like that, you filthy whore? My filthy whore?”

I whimper, fingertips whitening where I'm presenting my butt. “More.”

“More?” He shallowly jabs his hips a few times, the last thrust creeping deeper still.

“Ohhhffuckk. So full. How much more?”

Isaac spits around us again. Scoops more juices up. “Another couple.”

“Fuck.” My breathing shallows. “Okay.”

I try to relax and Isaac worms another inch in. “How about during the day? I lock your office door, twist the blind shut, march over, haul you from your seat, bend you over the desk, lift your skirt and spank you.”

“Ohh fuckyesss so naughty. Trying to be quiet.”

“Yeah. I'd stuff your panties in your mouth.” I whimper again. Isaac slides his hands up my back and grabs my mane, tugging it and leaning down to snarl in my ear, “And if that didn't work, I'd smother your mouth with my palm.”

My groans ring out and he works more of his incredible cock up my rear.

His grip on my hair tightens and he uses the leverage to finally bury the remainder. My gasp is involuntary and I let go of my cheeks to slap both hands to the table, steadying myself.

“Jesus Christ, you're big.”

His breath tickles my earlobe. “How's that, my little slut? Good?” I nod fast, even with the limited movement. “You like being my anal fucktoy?”

“Mmhmm.”

He jerks my head. “What?”

“Yes, Sir. I want you to fuck my arse. Take me. Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Grabbing my bum with both hands, he digs in. Lifts clear and waits for my behind to stop jiggling. Spanks, hard, and I cry out as he massages the heat.

With deliberate slowness, he drags his cock backwards and every inch burns until he's halfway out. He pauses. Applies forward momentum and sinks in. “Good God, your arse is perfect, Chloe.”

I lose the ability for words. Just a series of incoherent syllables tumble from my mouth as he begins a steady rhythm in my depths. Every time his pubes meet my hips, we both moan.

Soft slaps of our flesh turn more forceful and faster as we both adjust to the tightness. Soon enough, my groans reverberate unchecked, and I'm lost in the electricity of my first buttfuck. Isaac ploughs my behind, gaining confidence and power as he tests how much I can take. He hauls me upright by my hair, back bowing, and clutches my tits that wobble and bounce beneath his hands.

“Fucking take it, you beautiful slut. Take my cock, yeah.”

Our sighs synchronise. “Ohmygod… fucking love it.”

One thing's for certain. Despite how much of a terrible person it makes me, there is no way I'm only living this experience once. If Thomas won't entertain it then I'll have no choice but to scratch this filthy itch with Isaac. My conscience appears okay with this arrangement and compels me to seal the deal with an orgasm.

I fling my hand to my sodden cunt and roughly grind my pearl as he squeezes my tits and starts to pinch my nipples. “Yeah, pinch harder. Hardeffuckk. Yes gonna c… gonna cum.”

A handful of furious circles careen me over the edge and I tumble headlong into my umpteenth orgasm of the day. My pussy clenches around nothing, but my arse meets the solid resistance of Isaac's buried dick, rhythmically milking him. He bites my earlobe and hisses he's cumming too, groaning low as he shudders and fills me with pulse upon pulse of sticky cum.

Our bodies tremble together, connected, his hands massaging my boobs, my fingers slowing around my hypersensitive clit. I let go and slap my palms into the desk, using the force to rock back into his groin, head down and hair brushing the desk surface. His hands slide to my hips and hold on as the tremors abate.

When the surge tails off and our heart rates begin to slow, we gradually drift apart and I flop to the desk in the puddle of juice. As he slithers free and the exit burn flares, a trickle of spunk oozes from my distended arse and crawls down my thigh. He catches it on a fingertip. Brings it to my mouth and waits for me to suck it clean, his breath hot against my ear. “God, you're so filthy, Chloe. I love it.”

“Mmm,” I swallow and smack my spunk-loaded lips. “You bring out the best in me.”

“More like the beast in you.”

I giggle and turn to face him. “That too.” Trailing my hand up his side, I step in and brush my lips to his. “Hold me.”

He does, and a sense of security overcomes me. I breathe him in, this virtual stranger with whom I've shared so many intimate moments in the past few hours. I've no idea where we go from here. My body is in turmoil, head still scrambled from the series of highs. Maybe in the morning when I'm back at home in bed with Thomas, it will become clearer and I'll be able to start processing everything.

Then again, maybe it'll be more difficult. Will it be strained having to share a bed with someone who satisfies me emotionally yet doesn't have the time, drive, power, nor danger of Isaac to take me over? Could I teach him to do it? Drop hints? Hi honey, would you tie me to the bed with these and have your way with me?

I can't imagine him taking the bait, whereas Isaac just seems to get me. Like we're two melodic lines in the same song that intertwine in harmony. But is it simply newness? The thrill of the chase? Will attraction fade with time? Is this a one-off experience?

I think I already know the answer to that: no. What Isaac has shown me, what he's unlocked, will stay with me forever, and he'll want to be part of my continued journey. Then again, I know nothing about his home life, beyond that he has a girlfriend. I’ve no idea how serious the relationship is. If he's happy. Or if he does this a lot to other women and I'm merely one of a long line of distractions. He doesn't seem the type, but I know he's had history with Jess, so who knows how far his story stretches. He certainly knows what he's doing when it comes to satisfying women, if I'm anything to go by.

Burying my face in his neck, I let the thoughts spin. Cradle him. Try to eke out the moment as long as possible, perhaps so I don't have to face what comes after.

Eventually, we separate and I whisper some form of bashful thanks that he waves away. “You're welcome.”

We eye one another. “Could you, umm… fetch my clothes please?”

“Oh yeah. Of course.”

He turns and paces through a gap in the partitions, shortly returning with my bundle. I take my time dressing in front of him sliding fresh cotton panties up my thighs and hooking the matching bra with practised ease. The flowing skirt and sandals follow, zipping up the hoodie last to leave generous cleavage still on display, but covering up the curves that no longer seem as big a curse.

One huge positive from today is that I’m on the road to recovery over my weight. I don't know how long the road is, but the fact I'm on it is a comfort.

He regards me, top to toe, and I shiver before snapping my head away.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know. As if the only thing on your mind is to tear my clothes off and devour what's underneath. You've seen everything there is to see.”

When our gazes meet, he’s smiling. “But not tasted everything there is to taste.”

“Don't. Just don't make this harder than it is, okay? Let's leave before I do something I regret.”

“You've not regretted anything so far?”

I run a hand through my hair, matted from being gripped, manhandled and dribbled with spunk and saliva. “Are you kidding? It's been incredible. But if you look at me like that again, I swear I'll run off with you.”

We stare each other down, from a few feet apart, silent until Jess pops her head around the partition. “Your download is ready.”

“Thank you.” I nod and break Isaac's gaze, bend to pick up my bag and follow her back to the entrance. Isaac joins us, heads over to the sink and washes the buttplug.

Jess grabs a memory stick and hands it over. “All the pics from today. Hi-res, no watermark. You're free to do whatever you like with them. But if you want any framing, get in touch. I know a guy. Discreet. Good rates.”

Our fingertips brush as I take the device, pocket it, and thank her. Turn and head for the exit.

At the door, I pause. “Listen, I'm famished. Want to join me? Nothing fancy, just takeout. My shout, as a way of thanking you both.”

None of us move much. Jess and Isaac eye one another. Then she grabs her keys, Isaac leaves the plug on the draining board and they follow me down the stairs to press out into the cool evening air.

Jess points left towards an adjacent industrial estate and we head towards it in a broad line. Halfway across the car park, my fingers brush Isaac’s and I capture his pinky. Share a sidelong glance.

Where we go from here is anyone's guess. But whatever the path, I'm taking it with open eyes, a divided heart, and an appreciation that sexy comes in all shapes and sizes.