Erotica for Women: The Forbidden Office Affair

There’s something deliciously dangerous about being in charge—and she knows it. This is erotica for women who crave stories where the woman holds the power, the tension simmers beneath every command, and the heat builds behind closed office doors. He’s young, eager, and entirely off-limits… but she’s the boss, and she’s about to break every rule on the books to get what she wants.

The office was a crypt at 9 PM, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the glass walls and the relentless clack of Alex’s keyboard. He sat at the conference table in Jessica’s corner suite, hunched over a laptop, eyes bleary from staring at spreadsheets. The pitch was due tomorrow—a make-or-break deal—and the numbers were a fucking disaster. His button-up sleeves were rolled to his elbows, slacks creased from hours of sitting, dark hair a sweaty mess. At 28, Alex was clawing his way up, desperate to prove himself, but tonight, he was drowning in data and pissed off. Jessica’s shadow loomed over him, and he could feel her eyes boring into his back.

Jessica paced the room, her full figure cutting a commanding arc against the skyline. At 42, she was the senior VP—curves stuffed into a tailored blazer and skirt, auburn hair usually up in a tight bun, tie hanging loose like a noose she’d half-escaped. Not tonight though. Stress had led her to release it in all its fullness and glory. Her heels clicked with every step, a rhythm that grated on Alex’s nerves. “That projection’s still wrong, Alex,” she snapped, voice sharp as a blade. “Fix it.”

He glared at the screen, fingers hovering, jaw tight. “I’m trying. You hovering isn’t helping.”

She stopped mid-stride and took a seat. Her arms crossing under her chest, her blouse pulling taut over her generous tits. “It’s my ass on the line too. Get it done.” Her tone was ice, but inside, she was simmering. Another late night, another fight with her husband on the horizon—he’d be sulking at home, probably already half-drunk, waiting for an apology she wouldn’t give. Their bed had been cold for months, a battlefield of rote, joyless fucks that left her staring at the ceiling, unsatisfied, itching for something raw. She glanced at Alex—young, lean, those rolled-up sleeves showing forearms she shouldn’t notice. He was hot, she admitted to herself, a flicker of heat pooling low. She imagined him shoving her against that desk, ripping her skirt up, fucking her senseless right here—glass walls be damned. The thought made her thighs clench, a secret she’d never voice.

Alex caught the edge of her stare, misreading it as judgment. He shifted, trying to focus, but his eyes snagged on her—side boob pressing against her blouse, the curve of her hip as she turned. Fuck, she was stacked—full tits, thick thighs, a body that screamed power and begged to be taken. He’d caught glimpses all night—her blazer gaping when she bent over files, that skirt hugging her ass. His cock twitched in his slacks, a 9-inch beast stirring, thick and heavy. She was his boss, sure, but he’d imagined fucking her hard—pounding her until she couldn’t bark orders, until she respected him, not just as some grunt but as a man who could wreck her. The fantasy fueled him, a dark thread under his frustration.

She leaned over his shoulder then, pointing at a cell on the screen. “There—that’s off.” Her breast brushed his back—soft, warm through the fabric—and her perfume hit him, musky and rich, like sex bottled. His cock jumped, straining now, and he froze. Her hand grazed his on the table, a split-second touch that jolted them both. She yanked back fast, cheeks pinking, voice tighter. “Fix that column.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, pretending he hadn’t felt her tits or the heat radiating off her. “Got it,” he muttered, typing blindly. His mind was elsewhere—her bent over this table, skirt up, him slamming into her, that side boob bouncing free. He shifted in his seat, his bulge obscene if she’d look down. She didn’t.

Jessica stepped back, adjusting her blazer, fingers trembling slightly. She shouldn’t be thinking this—Alex, half her age, her employee, for fuck’s sake. But her husband’s limp-dick efforts flashed in her mind, and here was Alex—sharp jaw, broad shoulders, a cocky edge she wanted to break. She pictured him pinning her to the couch, hands rough, giving her what she craved—something hard, something real. Her pussy ached at the thought, a pulse she fought to ignore as she resumed pacing, heels clicking louder now.

They slogged on, tension coiling. He caught her undoing a button, her blouse parting—cleavage spilling out, lush and framed by lace, a tease of side boob that made his mouth dry. She caught his stare, smirked faintly, said nothing, but her pulse raced. She knew he was looking—knew he wanted her—and fuck if that didn’t stoke her fire. Alex stretched then, slacks pulling tight, his thick bulge outlined clear as day. Jessica’s eyes flicked down, lingered—Jesus, he was packing—then darted away, guilt warring with a thrill she couldn’t shake.

By 10 PM, the numbers still sucked. “Fix it, Alex, or we’re fucked,” she snapped, voice cracking from strain.

“Back off, and maybe I will,” he fired back, eyes flashing.

Silence stretched, taut as a wire, then she laughed—low, husky, unexpected. “Fair enough.” She pulled a bottle of bourbon from her desk drawer, poured two glasses with shaky hands. “Truce?” Her fingers brushed his as he took the drink, a spark igniting up his arm, his cock hardening fully now—9 inches, thick as hell, begging to be free.

The Desk: First Fall

The bourbon burned going down, loosening their edges. They sank onto the couch, thighs brushing, papers a distant memory. “You’re not the hardass everyone thinks,” Alex said, grinning, the liquor boldening him, his bulge pressing against his slacks.

Jessica’s lips twitched, her skirt riding up her thick thighs, a glimpse of flesh that made his cock throb. “Maybe I’m something else tonight.” Her hand grazed his leg—accidental, then not. It stayed, warm, a dare.

He leaned in, bourbon buzzing, and kissed her. She froze—“We can’t”—but he growled, “Fuck that,” and she caved, kissing back hard. Her full figure pressed into him, tits soft against his chest, tongue hot and desperate. She shoved him against the desk, papers crashing to the floor. “Fuck,” he grunted as she yanked his fly open, his 9-inch cock springing free—thick, veined, a monster. Her eyes widened, a gasp slipping out—“Shit, Alex”—then she gripped it, stroking rough.

He ripped her blouse open, buttons popping—her big tits spilled out, bra shoved down. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing as she moaned, loud and raw. “Alex—” she started, but he spun her, bending her over the desk.

Her skirt hiked up, panties yanked aside, and he thrust in—deep, stretching her pussy with his size. “Fuck, you’re huge,” she gasped, hands clawing the wood. He fucked her fast, relentless, the desk creaking, her moans bouncing off the glass walls. She came quick, shuddering, walls clenching around his thick cock; he groaned, spilling inside her, hot and messy.

They slumped apart, panting. Her blouse hung open, tits heaving. “My husband…” she muttered, guilt flickering in her haze.

“He’s not here,” Alex said, smirking, wiping sweat from his brow. The air still crackled, unsatisfied.

The Couch: Kink Unleashed

Midnight rolled in. They tried to work—spreadsheets, a spilled coffee Alex cursed over—but the pull was magnetic. Jessica grabbed a napkin, wiped his hand, her touch lingering, fingers trembling. Her blouse gaped, tits teasing him—side boob in full view now—his cock stirring again, thick and insistent.

She sank onto the couch, patted the spot beside her. “Break.” He sat close, thigh to thigh, her heat seeping into him. Her hand brushed his neck; he straddled her, bulge pressing against her hip. “You want this,” he said, voice rough.

She nodded, eyes dark, breath hitching. “Yeah.”

He peeled her blazer off, kissing her full tits, hands squeezing her curves—soft, yielding. She unzipped him, freeing his cock again, stroking it slow, awed at its girth. “Fuck, it’s big,” she murmured, guiding him as he slid her skirt up. He fingered her pussy—wet, ready—then thrust in, slow and deep, savoring her gasp as he filled her, stretching her wide.

She rocked against him, close, then grabbed his wrist, voice raw. “Choke me.”

He froze. “What?”

“Do it, please—fuck, I need it.” Her eyes begged, desperate, a secret spilling out.

He wrapped a hand around her throat, gentle at first, testing. “Like this?” She nodded, moaning as he squeezed tighter, thrusting harder. Her pussy clenched, her moans turned ragged—wild, broken. “Yes, fuck, yes,” she gasped, coming hard when the pressure peaked, body arching under him. He grunted, overwhelmed by her tightness, and came, his thick cock pulsing inside her, flooding her.

They sprawled on the couch, breathless. “I’ve never told him,” she said, dazed, tracing her neck where his hand had been.

Alex smirked, brushing her hair back. “My lips are sealed.” Her kink hung between them, a new edge sharpened.

The Floor: All Out

3 AM hit. The project was fucked—half-done, abandoned. Alex lay on the carpet, shirtless, cock still half-hard in his slacks. “Bet you’ve never fucked down here,” he taunted, grinning up at her.

Jessica’s laugh was dark, dangerous. “Don’t test me.” Her skirt was off, blouse a ruin—curves bare, tits swaying as she knelt over him. She jumped up and threw her leg over him, sitting with that 9-inch cock splitting her lips, slapping against his stomach, thick and ready. “Goddamn,” she muttered, sliding up his cock. She was dripping wet and slipping him inside wasn’t difficult. She slid the tip in and raised her hips to pull him up. Then with him at full mast, she began sinking down slow. “So fucking big,” she groaned, pussy stretching around him, taking every inch.

He gripped her hips, thrusting up—hard, deep. “Choke me,” she begged, riding him, voice raw. His hand found her throat, squeezing firm as he fucked her, her tits bouncing, carpet burning their knees. “Harder,” she gasped, and he tightened his grip, pounding up—raw, loud, relentless. She screamed, climaxing with the choke, her pussy milking his thick cock; he flipped her onto her back, thrust deep, and roared, coming hard, filling her again with his load.

They collapsed, dawn creeping through the glass. Her phone buzzed—her husband’s name flashing. She froze, then laughed shakily, tits still bare. “Tomorrow’s problem,” Alex said, kissing her neck, his cock softening against her thigh.

They dressed, smirking—her skirt wrinkled, his slacks stained. The night clung to them, a secret in carpet burns and bourbon breath.

Alex splashed water on his face in the bathroom, his cock finally calm but aching from the night. Jessica fixed her bun, blouse buttonless, blazer barely hiding her bra. “We’re fucked on that pitch,” she said, half-laughing.

“Worth it,” he shot back, grinning.

She met his eyes in the glass wall’s reflection—guilt, lust, a flicker of something more. “See you tomorrow,” she said, voice low.

“Only if you choke me next time,” he teased, ducking out as her laugh chased him.

The office stayed silent, their mess a testament—papers strewn, couch askew, a faint musk lingering. Tomorrow could wait.