Wet On A Work Call

Madison’s laptop glows against her face, fingers still flying across the keys when Nicole’s hands drop onto her shoulders. The touch melts straight through her shirt. She’s barely turned her chair before Nicole’s leaning down, breath warm on her ear. “Clock out for a second.” Madison shakes her head. “Call in twenty-five.” Nicole just slides a palm down the front of Madison’s blouse, flicking the top button loose. She’s got that slow, insistent hunger—she keeps touching until Madison’s sentences lose their edges and her legs drift apart. The laptop slides back on the desk. They crash together. No warm-up, nothing gentle. Madison ends up on the edge of the couch, skirt rucked around her hips, Nicole’s mouth already buried between her thighs. The first squirt comes quick: hot, sudden, spraying Madison’s stomach and chest, splattering the keyboard. Nicole moans, keeps going, and the second burst hits even harder—Madison’s throat goes raw from the noise she can’t hold in. Her phone chimes once. Then a second time. The call’s been moved up. Madison sits upright so fast the room spins. Cum still streaks her neck, the wet patch on her shirt shining in the laptop’s white light. She drags the screen closer, smears away a single drop sliding down her cheek, and clicks “Join.” Camera on. Four colleagues already waiting. She forces a smile. Voice raw, breathing shallow. She starts talking, words uneven. Somewhere below the frame Nicole isn’t finished; she sinks lower, drags Madison’s thighs open wider, and lets her tongue work slow, wet circles against her still-pulsing clit. Every time Madison tries to center her voice, another lazy flick sends a fresh tremor straight through her chest, but she keeps the camera angled high, swallowing every shake before it escapes her mouth.