Red Confession: Fever in the Agency Toilets

I arrive early at the agency. Pierre-Yves is out on assignment. Perfect. Upstairs, journalists chatter under bright lights. Christelle spots me. Winks. ‘All set, Candy.’

Toilets. Door clicks shut. Bag on sink. Blush blooms on cheeks. Lips scream red. Hair pinned high. Green pouch trembles in hand. The twins—pink geisha balls, nacre gleam.

Igniting the Flame

Skirt hikes. Panties slide down. Heat floods low. Clit pulses. Pussy slicks hot. Balls slip in easy. Sucked deep. Contract. They roll, crash cervix. Glide back on waves of juice. Contract again. Bump. Slide. Fire.

Cheeks blaze. Guts molten. Heart hammers chest.

‘Candy? Christelle says you’re sick. Worried, love.’ His voice. Planned.

‘Here, darling.’ Door swings. Press to him. Lips brush ear. ‘I’ll be better… soon.’

He pulls back. Cups face. ‘Flushed. Eyes wild. Fever?’

Fever. Yes. Burns inside. Skin scorches. Devours.

‘Kiss me.’ Tender first. Then hungry. Tongues tangle. Hands roam.

‘Wait. Surprise.’ Step away. Bolt locks. Trapped here. Colleagues feet away. Risk thrills.

‘No, Candy… not here… someone might—’

‘Too much thinking.’ Shove him to tile wall. Grab hand. Under skirt. Bare, shaved, dripping slit. String sways.

Surrender and Ashes

‘Eyes bulge. ‘You’re insane! Fuck, I love it.’

Heat peaks. Skin fever-hot. Heart thuds. Urgency claws.

On sink edge. Skirt up. Thighs part wide. Porcelain bites ass cheeks. Gooseflesh races. Pussy exposed. String dangles like bait.

He kneels. Tugs string slow. Tongue circles clit. Swirls. Sucks pearl between lips. Dives in, laps greedy. Mouth claims string. Teeth pull gentle. Balls emerge slick. One. Two. I grind clit furious. Fingers fly. Muscles seize. Orgasm rips. Muffled cry echoes off tiles.

Up. Yank belt. Zipper rasps. Cock springs hard. Thick. Veins throb. Kiss shaft. Lick. Swirl glans. Suck deep. Fills mouth total. Jaw stretches. Bob slow. Squeeze lips. Cup balls. He fists hair. Smiles down.

Off. Back on sink. Legs wrap. Cock nudges. Slides in. Steady pump. Hands claw ass. Finger traces crack. Circles hole. Probes. He groans. Rams harder.

‘Deeper! Fuck me raw!’ Angle perfect. Hits deep. Guts churn. Breath gasps. Skin slicks sweat.

He pulls out. Glans swells purple. Swallow whole. Pump fast. Lips vise. Tongue flicks tip. He tenses. Eyes shut. Hips buck. Growl rips. Cum floods. Thick ropes. Salty sweet. Gulp slow. Coat throat. Lick clean. No drop wasted.

Embrace. Bodies quake. Mirror shows us: hair wild, cheeks crimson, eyes spark joy. Water splashes faces. Cool. Clothes straight. Combs through tangles.

Out. Light steps. Smiles locked. Christelle winks. Pierre-Yves ducks gaze, cheeks red. Back to desk.

‘Catch you at 6, love.’ Door swings. Skin still hums. Heart echoes bliss. Unique fire. Ashes glow warm.