My Ex Bent Over in Lingerie

I couldn't believe it when I got the email from Megan. My ex, the one who'd dumped me six months ago because I "wasn't ambitious enough," now wanted to interview me for a job at her startup. Some marketing gig at this hip little tech firm she'd co-founded. The pay sounded decent, and yeah, I needed the cash. But seeing her name pop up? That stirred shit up. Megan with her sharp green eyes, that ass that could make a man forget his own name. We'd fucked like animals back then. Breakup sex had been epic, but then she ghosted. Whatever. I figured I'd play it cool, nail the interview, get the job, move on.

Dressed in my best button-down and slacks, I walked into the sleek office downtown. Glass walls, exposed brick, that startup vibe. Her assistant waved me into a corner office with a view of the city. And there she was, Megan, perched on the edge of her desk in a pencil skirt and blouse that hugged her tits just right. Her dark hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands teasing her neck. She smiled, all professional, but her eyes flicked over me like she was remembering how I'd taste.

"Jack. Good to see you." She stood, shook my hand firm. Her perfume hit me—same vanilla spice from our nights together. "Have a seat. Let's dive in."

We talked resume stuff first. My sales experience, why I wanted in on her team. She leaned forward, jotting notes, her blouse gaping just enough to show lace. Black lace. Fuck, was that on purpose? I shifted in my chair, trying to focus. But she kept glancing at my crotch, biting her lip like she used to when she was horny.

"You're looking good, Jack," she said after ten minutes, setting her pen down. "Really good. But tell me—do you miss us?"

I blinked. "We're here for a job, right?"

She laughed, low and throaty. Stood up, locked the door with a click. The blinds were already half-drawn. "Oh, it's an interview, alright. But I need to see if you still have that... drive I remember."

My dick twitched. This was dangerous. Hot as hell, but dangerous. "Megan—"

"Shh." She sauntered over, hips swaying, and perched on the arm of my chair. Her skirt rode up, showing thigh-high stockings. "I've been thinking about you. About how you used to bend me over and fuck me senseless. This job? It's yours if you remind me why I miss that cock."

I should've said no. Walked out. But her hand was on my thigh, squeezing, and those eyes—pure want. I grabbed her waist, pulled her onto my lap. She gasped, grinding down on my growing bulge. Our mouths crashed together, tongues sloppy, hungry. Tasted like coffee and her cherry gloss. Six months of pent-up shit exploded right there.

She broke the kiss, stood, and hiked her skirt up. No panties. Just black lace garters clipping to sheer stockings, framing her shaved pussy, already glistening. "Like what you see? Interview question: what would you do to this right now?"

I'd grab those hips and pound her. "Bend you over that desk," I growled, standing.

She smirked, turned, and did just that. Bent over her own desk, ass up high, cheeks spread by the position. That lingerie framed her like a goddamn present—garter straps taut against pale skin, a tiny black thong pulled aside now, exposing her wet slit and that perfect pink asshole. She wiggled, teasing. "Hire material, Jack? Or do I need to beg?"

No more talk. I yanked my belt open, shoved my slacks down. My cock sprang free, thick and veined, pre-cum already beading. She'd always loved how it stretched her. I gripped her hips, lined up, and thrust in balls-deep in one go. She cried out, loud, nails scraping the desk. So fucking tight, hot, velvet walls clenching around me like she was made for this dick.

"Fuuuck, Jack! Yes, just like that!" Her voice was breathy, demanding. I didn't hold back. Pulled out slow, almost all the way, then slammed home. Desk shook. Papers flew. Her ass jiggled with every smack of my hips against her cheeks—round, firm, that lingerie accentuating every curve.

I leaned over her, one hand in her hair, yanking her head back. "Missed this pussy, Megan? Squeezing me like a vice."

"God, yes—harder! Fuck your ex-boss like you mean it!" She pushed back, meeting my thrusts, her juices coating my shaft, dripping down her thighs. The room filled with wet slaps, her moans, my grunts. Smelled like sex—musky, sweet, her arousal thick in the air.

I straightened, grabbed her garter straps like reins, pulling her back onto me. Faster now, pounding from behind, watching my cock disappear into her greedy cunt. Her lips puffed out around me, stretched wide. She reached back, spread her cheeks wider, showing me everything. "You like this view? Bent over in lingerie for you?"

"Fucking love it." I slapped her ass—hard, leaving a red handprint on that creamy skin framed by lace. She yelped, then moaned deeper, pussy fluttering. I did it again, alternating cheeks, the sting making her buck wilder.

We were animals. Sweat slicked our skin. Her blouse was half-unbuttoned now—I'd ripped it open without thinking—tits spilling out, nipples hard peaks rubbing the desk. She was close; I felt it in the way she trembled, her walls pulsing.

"Don't stop—gonna cum!" Her voice cracked.

I reached around, found her clit—swollen, slick—and rubbed circles. Fucked her ruthless, hips snapping. She shattered, screaming my name, body convulsing, juices squirting back onto my balls. That set me off. I buried deep, groaned low, pumping rope after rope of hot cum into her spasming pussy. Filled her up, overflowing, dripping down her stockings.

We panted, slumped over the desk. I pulled out slow, watched my seed leak from her wrecked hole, staining the black lace. She straightened, turned, smirking despite the flush on her cheeks. Fixed her skirt, like nothing happened.

"Job's yours, Jack. Welcome to the team."

I zipped up, grinning. "Cool. When do I start?"

She winked, tossing me a tissue. "Monday. But hey, if the team's out sick, guess who'll be bending over again?"

Then her phone buzzed. She glanced, rolled her eyes. "Shit, forgot—I'm vegan now. That cum better not have dairy in it."