My Wife Fantasizes About Eating Her Boss's Pussy

Greta was twenty-eight, a married office administrator, and she had stopped pretending the thoughts were idle. Every night she came through the door of the apartment she shared with Wesley still carrying the faint trace of printer toner and Vivian’s perfume, and she told him, out loud, exactly what she could not stop wanting.

“I spent the whole budget meeting staring at her mouth,” she said, blouse half unbuttoned, heels kicked off by the couch. “She’s forty-two. She crosses her legs like she knows what it does to the room. I want to eat her pussy until she can’t keep that voice steady.”

Wesley sat on the edge of the bed, already hard in his pants. He never shushed her. The ritual had become the thing that got both of them off: Greta’s vivid, explicit descriptions, night after night, until the air in the bedroom felt thick with a woman who had no idea she was being undressed in someone else’s marriage.

Greta climbed into his lap and kept going. “Today she leaned over my desk to initial the revision. Lace under the blouse. I imagined shoving that pencil skirt up and putting my tongue on her clit. I want her wet on my chin. I want to hold her hips and lick her open until she comes in my mouth and says my name like she can’t help it.”

He groaned and pulled her panties aside. Two fingers slid into her and found her soaked from her own story. She rocked on his hand, voice rough, painting the picture in filthy strokes: Vivian’s thighs spread in the executive chair, the imagined taste, the way Greta would kneel under the desk and not come up for air until her boss was shaking. They fucked to the sound of it, Wesley driving up into her while she whispered how she would suck that cunt, how she would swallow everything Vivian gave her. They came hard, her cunt clenching, his grip bruising her hips, Vivian’s name caught somewhere in the noise.

Afterward they lay tangled and still buzzing. The ceiling fan ticked. The knowledge sat between them heavy and bright. Vivian signed Greta’s timesheets and thought of her as competent and quiet. She had no idea her administrator went home and described, in wet detail, how badly she needed to eat her boss’s pussy. Greta kissed Wesley’s jaw, still throbbing. “I don’t know how long I can keep it only in words.”

The deadline landed on a Thursday and emptied the building around them. Spreadsheets sent, conference-room lights dimmed, the last of the night crew gone. Vivian capped her pen, rolled her shoulders, and looked across the glass table with something warmer than professional relief. She was forty-two, silver just starting at her temples, mouth painted a deep wine color that had not smudged through the long hours.

“You carried this,” she said. “Come have a drink at my place. Ten minutes from here. Celebrate like adults instead of staring at another screen.”

Greta’s pulse jumped hard enough to hurt. She texted Wesley one line: Going to Vivian’s for a drink after the deadline. He answered with four words: Tell me everything after. She locked the phone and followed her boss to the elevator, the want she had been narrating for weeks suddenly close enough to taste in the closed air between them.

Vivian’s apartment was upscale and quiet, high ceilings, city glass, a bottle of amber already waiting on the stone counter. She poured two short glasses. Greta took one sip, felt the warmth, and set hers down. She was not going to blur this. Her hands were steady. Her decision, when it came, was going to be sharp.

They stood by the window. Talk of the client slid into something looser, Vivian’s low laugh catching on a joke about the notes, and Greta heard herself say it before she could sand it into something safer.

“I’ve been fantasizing about you.”

Vivian went still. The glass stayed in her hand. She did not look away.

“About eating your pussy,” Greta said, clear and shaking and sure. “For weeks. Every night I go home to my husband and tell him. I describe your mouth, your legs, how I want to kneel and lick you until you come on my tongue. I didn’t plan to say it here. But I am saying it. I want it. I have wanted it since I was old enough to know what I was looking at in those meetings, and I am twenty-eight and married and done pretending it is only a story I tell him.”

The silence held one beat. Vivian’s eyes darkened. She set her own glass down, barely touched, the polite first taste already forgotten.

“I have thought about the same thing,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her chest rose under the silk blouse. “Watching you bite your lip when you think no one sees. Wondering what that mouth would do if I spread my legs and let you have me. I told myself it was inappropriate to want my administrator’s tongue on my cunt. I was wrong to wait. I want it. I want you to eat me. Both of us, right now, no hesitation. I am asking, and I am saying yes to what you just asked me.”

Greta’s breath left her in a rush. “Now?”

“Now.” Vivian held out her hand. Neither of them was drunk. The drinks sat abandoned on the counter. The choice was mutual, sober, and already burning. “Come here and put your mouth where you’ve been putting it in your head.”

Greta took the hand. Vivian drew her into the living room, city light striping the rug, and stopped in the open space between the couch and the window. She did not sit. She unbuttoned her own blouse with quick, sure fingers, shrugged it off, and reached under her skirt to drag her panties down her thighs. Black lace hit the floor. She stepped out of them, hiked the pencil skirt to her waist, and stood with her feet apart, bare from the waist down except for the heels she had not bothered to remove.

“On your knees,” Vivian said. Not a threat. An invitation she had already accepted, voice gone low and hungry. “You said you wanted to eat me. Do it.”

Greta dropped. The rug was soft under her knees. Vivian’s cunt was right there, neat dark hair trimmed close, lips already glossy, the scent of her rich and immediate. Greta leaned in and licked a long, flat stroke from the bottom of her slit to the top, and the taste hit her so hard she moaned into it. Salt and heat and the faint bite of whatever lotion Vivian wore on her thighs. She did it again, slower, parting the folds with her tongue, finding the clit and sealing her mouth over it.

“Fuck,” Vivian breathed. Her hand came down and gripped a fistful of Greta’s hair, not cruel, just owning the angle. “That’s it. Eat it. You’ve been talking about this pussy for weeks. Show me you meant it.”

Greta meant it. She sucked the swollen clit between her lips and flicked it with the tip of her tongue, then dipped lower and pushed her tongue inside, fucking Vivian with it in short, greedy thrusts. Wetness slicked her chin. She brought two fingers up and slid them into the tight, clutching heat while her mouth stayed on the clit, licking and sucking in the rhythm she had described to Wesley so many nights she could have done it in her sleep. Vivian’s thighs trembled. She rocked her hips forward, grinding her cunt against Greta’s face, heels planted, skirt bunched in her free hand so she could watch.

“Look at you,” Vivian said, voice breaking into something filthy. “Married little administrator on her knees with her boss’s pussy in her mouth. God, you’re soaked down there already, aren’t you. I can smell you. Don’t you dare stop. Lick me like you’ve been starving for it.”

Greta whimpered and obeyed. She flattened her tongue and let Vivian use her mouth, the grip in her hair steering her, the older woman’s cunt smearing gloss across her lips and nose. She curled her fingers and found the spot that made Vivian’s breath catch, and she sucked harder, messy and devoted, spit and arousal shining on her chin. Vivian’s standing orgasm hit fast and mean. Her cunt clamped around Greta’s fingers, a rush of wetness flooded Greta’s tongue, and she cried out, sharp and unpretty, hips jerking as she came standing over the woman who had confessed to wanting exactly this.

Greta did not pull away. She licked through it, swallowing, drunk on the taste she had only imagined, until Vivian’s grip loosened and she laughed once, breathless and wrecked.

“Bedroom,” Vivian said. “I’m not done with that mouth, and you’re not done eating me.”

They moved without ceremony. Vivian stripped the rest of the way on the walk down the hall, blouse and skirt and bra discarded, heels finally kicked aside. Greta followed, shedding her own clothes in a trail, blouse, skirt, panties sticky against her thighs. The bedroom was wide and dim, a low lamp, a wide bed with dark sheets. Vivian climbed on and lay back only long enough to crook a finger.

“On your back. I want your face.”

Greta stretched out. Vivian swung a leg over and settled above her, knees planted on either side of Greta’s head, cunt hovering for one cruel second before she sat. The weight and the heat dropped onto Greta’s mouth all at once. Vivian ground down hard, rolling her hips, smearing her still-sensitive, dripping pussy across Greta’s lips and nose and chin.

“Open,” she ordered, and Greta opened. Tongue out, jaw slack, she let her boss ride her face. Vivian braced a hand on the headboard and used her, grinding in tight circles, clit dragging over Greta’s tongue, then pressing down so Greta’s nose was buried in her and every breath was cunt. “Eat it. Suck me. I want to feel that hungry little mouth working while I use you.”

Greta sucked. She gripped Vivian’s thighs and pulled her closer, licking up into her, swallowing the fresh slick that kept coming. The position was filthy and perfect. She could not see anything but skin and shadow. She could only taste and hear: Vivian’s ragged breathing, the wet sounds of her own mouth, the older woman muttering about how good the married girl’s tongue was, how she was going to keep this cunt on Greta’s face until she came again. Greta’s own pussy ached, untouched and throbbing, thighs slick. She moaned into Vivian and the vibration made Vivian curse and grind harder, chasing it.

“Not yet,” Vivian gasped, pulling up just enough to deny herself the edge. She turned, clumsy with want, and swung around into a sixty-nine, settling her cunt back over Greta’s mouth while her own face dropped between Greta’s spread thighs. “You devour me. I’ll take care of this.”

The first lick on Greta’s clit made her cry out into Vivian’s pussy. Vivian was not gentle and did not need to be. She tongued Greta with focused, filthy skill, lapping the soaked slit, sucking the clit in firm pulses, two fingers sliding in and curling while her mouth stayed busy. Greta answered by sealing her lips around Vivian’s clit and sucking like she had been paid to do it, tongue flicking, nose pressed to the wet heat, hands spreading Vivian open so she could get deeper. They locked into it. Vivian’s cunt ground down. Greta’s hips bucked up into Vivian’s mouth. The room filled with the sounds of two women eating each other, wet and shameless, no one left in the building to hear and neither of them caring if there had been.

“Your cunt tastes like you’ve been wet since the elevator,” Vivian said against her, voice muffled and mean with pleasure. “I’m going to make you scream on my tongue. And you’re going to make me come on your face again while you do it. Don’t you stop licking.”

Greta did not stop. She devoured. She fucked her tongue into Vivian’s hole and then dragged it up to suck the clit, over and over, messy and desperate, chin dripping, the taste of her boss coating her mouth the way she had described to Wesley in the dark. Vivian matched her, fingers pumping, tongue ruthless on Greta’s clit, the heel of her hand grinding when her mouth slipped. The pleasure coiled vicious and bright. Greta’s thighs shook. Vivian’s rhythm broke into short, helpless grinds.

They came together and loud. Greta’s orgasm tore out of her in a scream she could not swallow, muffled against Vivian’s cunt, her whole body seizing as Vivian sucked her through it and kept sucking. Vivian followed a heartbeat later, crying out, high and broken, flooding Greta’s mouth, hips jerking, grinding hard enough to smear it everywhere while Greta licked and swallowed and shook under her. The aftershocks rolled through both of them, Vivian’s tongue still lazy on Greta’s oversensitive clit, Greta still mouthing at the twitching pussy above her until Vivian finally lifted off, gasping, thighs gleaming.

Vivian turned and hauled Greta up into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, licking the taste of her own cunt off Greta’s lips and tongue, sharing it, filthy and unhurried about the mess. “This is not a one-time mistake,” she said against Greta’s wet mouth. “After hours, when the floor is empty, you come here or you stay late in my office, and you eat my pussy until I say you’re done. Regular. You want that.”

“I want that,” Greta said, voice hoarse, chin still shining.

Vivian smiled without softness and reached between Greta’s legs, two fingers sliding through the wreck of her and holding them up, glistening. “Good. Then get dressed. Go home to your husband dripping like this and tell him every detail of how thoroughly you ate your boss’s pussy. Don’t clean your face first. Let him smell me on you.”

Greta pulled her clothes on over slick thighs and a mouth that still tasted like cunt. Vivian walked her to the door, kissed her once more, deep and dirty, and sent her out into the night flushed and leaking into her panties. In the elevator Greta texted Wesley with shaking thumbs: I’m coming home with her all over my face. I ate her until she screamed and I’m still dripping. When she stepped into their apartment he was waiting, and she didn’t even say hello before she opened her mouth and started describing, in the same filthy detail she had practiced for weeks, exactly how her boss’s pussy had tasted when she came on Greta’s tongue and how she was already aching to get back on her knees and do it again.