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I’m the boss’s trusted secretary, managing a team of thirty eager interns, and I love the way the young ones, male and female, stare as I stride confidently through the office. The knowing glances from the men make me smile. The shy, lingering looks from the pretty girls make me wet.

Sex is my fuel. I can’t go more than two days without it. When the urge hits, I simply pick up my phone and summoned whomever I’m craving that night, an eager young male intern, a curvaceous female colleague, or one of my favourite black lovers who’s thick, dark cocks I can’t get enough of.

This night the ache between my thighs had grown too strong to ignore.

The day had dragged. I’d spent most of it giving orders, correcting reports, and watching the tall, dark-skinned intern, (Marcus’s nephew actually, though no one in the office knew it), bend over the photocopier. Every time he did, the fabric of his trousers pulled tight across that firm arse of his. I’d imagined him bending me over my desk, yanking my panties down, and taking me from behind while the rest of the team worked on the other side of the glass. Instead I’d stayed professional, thighs pressed together under my pinstripe skirt, the lace of my panties already damp by mid-morning.

Resisting Sophie, the pretty twenty four year old blonde intern, had been more difficult. She’d brought me coffee three times, each time lingering a little longer, eyes flicking to my cleavage, then lower. Once she’d “accidentally” brushed her thigh against my hip while handing over a file. I’d caught the faint scent of her perfume and a warmer, sweeter essence underneath, (her pussy). My cunt had clenched hard enough that I’d had to excuse myself to the ladies’ and finger myself quickly in a locked stall, biting my lip so no one would hear.

By five o’clock I was soaked. I drove home with the windows cracked, the still warm evening air of late summer cool against my flushed skin, every change of gear sending a little jolt through the wet lace between my legs. The moment the door of my quiet, stylish, little flat clicked shut behind me I kicked off my heels. They clattered across the polished floor. I peeled the jacket off, then the blouse, buttons popping open one by one. The pencil skirt followed, sliding down off my hips and pooling at my feet. Underneath, the expensive black lingerie did exactly what it was meant to do: sheer lace panties that barely covered my smooth pussy, a matching bra that lifted and presented my full breasts, and the sheer black lace-topped hold-up stockings that still whispered when I walked.

My nipples were already hard, pushing against the thin cups. I poured a glass of wine, took a long swallow, and scrolled through my phone. Two names sat near the top of my recent list.

Marcus. Muscular, dark-skinned, cock so thick I could still feel the stretch of my cunt the next day.

Sophie. Pretty, eager, still learning how filthy she could be.

Tonight I wanted both.

I typed the first message to Marcus:

My place. One hour. Bring that big black cock ready to use. I’m already wet.

Then to Sophie:

Come to my flat. Now. Wear something easy to take off. I’ve been thinking about your pussy all day.

Both replied within minutes. Marcus with a simple On my way and a photo of the heavy bulge in his jeans. Sophie with a string of nervous emojis and OMG yes, I’ll be there as fast as I can.

I finished the wine, refilled the glass, and waited. The ache between my legs was a constant throb. I slipped two fingers inside my panties just to feel how slick I was, then closed my eyes and licked them clean.

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