Neglected Wife's Office Satisfaction

Sabine shut the bathroom door and gripped the sink, thirty-two and shaking with a frustration she could no longer pretend was just a bad week. Down the hall Tobias was already asleep, the sheets barely disturbed. He had climbed on her, pushed his small penis in for a few hurried strokes, and finished with a thin spurt before she had even stopped bracing for something that never came. Four minutes, maybe less. He had kissed her shoulder like that counted as effort, rolled away, and started snoring while her body stayed clenched around nothing. She pressed her thighs together and felt the ache pulse, wet and useless. This was what her marriage gave her. A short cock that couldn't fill her and a husband who treated her cunt like a task he could abandon the second his own pleasure was done.

She didn't touch herself. If she started she would not stop, and she had a client review at nine. She washed her face, changed into a sleep shirt, and lay stiff beside him until the alarm. By the time she reached the office the neglect had settled under her skin like heat she couldn't sweat out.

Rafael was already at the shared workstation, thirty-five, shoulders broad under a rolled-sleeve shirt, coffee in one hand and a stack of marked-up pages in the other. He looked up when she walked in and his eyes stayed. Not polite. Assessing. She felt the look slide over the blouse she had chosen without thinking, over the line of her hips in the pencil skirt, and land low enough to make her breath catch. He had been noticing her for weeks. Today he stopped hiding it.

"You look wrecked," he said, quiet enough that the open floor couldn't catch it. He slid a second coffee toward her. Their fingers brushed and the contact jumped straight between her legs.

"I slept," she said. "I just didn't get anything out of it."

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. A decision. She watched it settle in his face, the moment he decided her dissatisfaction was his to answer. All morning they worked the same account, knees nearly touching under the desk, and every time she reached for a file his forearm was there, warm and solid. The air between them crackled. Sabine lost her place in the numbers twice because she could feel him watching the way she shifted, the way her thighs pressed together when Tobias's name lit her phone and she silenced it without reading the text. Rafael wanted to be the man who stopped her aching. She could see it in the set of his jaw, and the wanting made the whole office feel too small.

The tension didn't break. It thickened. Over the next weeks Rafael stopped pretending their closeness was accidental. He held her gaze across conference calls until her cheeks heated. He found reasons to stand behind her chair, close enough that she smelled his soap and felt the heat of his chest at her back while he pointed at a line on her screen. His compliments stopped being professional. He told her the skirt made her ass look like something a man should get on his knees for. He told her, low and plain, that she walked like a woman who hadn't been fucked right in years. Sabine should have shut it down. Instead she started wearing the skirts he noticed, started leaving her blouse unbuttoned one notch lower, started answering his looks with looks of her own.

Their private conversations grew filthier by degrees. In the copy room he asked if Tobias ever made her come, and when she went quiet he nodded like he had already known. "A real man would take his time with you," he said, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where no one could see. "He'd get you dripping before he even put it in. He'd stay hard long enough to ruin you." She walked back to her desk wet, pulse hammering, and spent the afternoon crossing and uncrossing her legs while Rafael watched from three desks away with open hunger.

Late one Thursday the floor emptied and the overheads dimmed to the night setting. Sabine stayed to finish a deck. Rafael stayed too. The building hummed. Somewhere a printer finished and went silent. He rolled his chair until their knees touched under the shared desk and didn't move them.

"You're wound so tight I can hear it," he said. "Talk to me."

The words came out before she could dress them up. "I need to be fucked properly. Tobias can't. His cock is small and he comes in about a minute and then he's done, and I lie there aching like an idiot. I haven't come with him inside me in longer than I can stand to count. I'm losing my mind."

Rafael didn't laugh. He didn't look away. He set his hand on her knee, warm and sure, and slid it an inch higher. "Then let me. I want to be the one who gives you what he won't. Thick cock, all night if you need it, until you can't remember his name. Say yes and I'll take care of you right here."

Heat flooded her. She covered his hand with hers and pressed it higher, against the damp heat of her panties, so he could feel how badly she meant it. "Yes. I want it. I want you to fuck me until I stop hurting. Do it."

"Good girl," he said, and the praise went through her like a hand. They both leaned in at once. The kiss was hungry, open-mouthed, her fingers in his hair, his palm cupping her through the thin cotton until she moaned into his mouth. No hesitation. No second thoughts. They chose it together, eager and clear, and the empty office became the only room that mattered.

Sabine slid out of her chair and dropped to her knees between his spread thighs before either of them could cool off. She worked his belt open with shaking hands, dragged his zipper down, and freed him. He was already hard, thick and heavy, the head flushed dark, veins standing along a shaft that made her mouth water and her cunt clench in the same breath. Tobias had never looked like this. Tobias had never filled her fist. She wrapped her fingers around Rafael and still had inches left, and the comparison hit her so hard she whimpered.

"Fuck," she breathed, and took him in.

She sucked him with hungry, messy enthusiasm, lips stretched, tongue working the underside while she bobbed and drooled and took him deeper on every stroke. The taste of him, salt and skin and clean heat, made her moan around the thickness. She hollowed her cheeks and looked up, eyes wet, and watched his jaw go tight. He gathered her hair in one fist, not forcing, just holding, and let her set a greedy pace. She licked the head, sucked it like she was starving, then sank down until he nudged the back of her throat and her eyes watered. Spit slicked her chin. She stroked what she couldn't swallow and worshipped the rest, humming when he swore and throbbed against her tongue.

"That's it," he said, voice rough. "Look at you. On your knees for a cock that can actually fill that pretty mouth. You've been needing this."

She pulled off with a wet sound, strings of spit connecting her lips to the swollen head, and nodded, breathless. "I have. God, Rafael, you're so much bigger. I want you in me. Please."

He stood, hauled her up, and turned her toward her own desk. Papers skittered. He bent her over the edge, chest to the cool surface, and yanked her skirt up over her hips in one rough motion. Her panties were soaked through. He hooked them aside, dragged two fingers through her slit, and groaned at how ready she was.

"Dripping," he said. "All this for me."

"Yes. Put it in. Fuck me."

He lined himself up and pushed. The stretch stole her breath. Thick, hot, relentless, he sank into her inch by inch until her walls fluttered and gripped and she had to bite her own wrist to keep from crying out loud enough to carry down the hall. He bottomed out and held there, buried to the root, and the fullness was so complete she saw white behind her eyes. Tobias had never reached this deep. Tobias had never made her feel split open and grateful at the same time.

Rafael drew back and slammed in. The desk jolted. He set a hard rhythm, deep powerful strokes that slapped his hips against her ass and drove the air out of her in broken sounds. Each thrust shoved her forward and dragged her back onto him. Her pussy sucked at him, obscene and wet, the sound of it filling the dim office along with the creak of the desk and her rising moans. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and pounded her like he meant to fuck the neglect out of her body.

"Listen to that," he growled. "Soaked little cunt taking every inch. You hear how loud you are for me?"

"Harder," she gasped. "Don't stop. Oh fuck, you're so deep, you're hitting everything, I can't—"

He reached under her and rubbed her clit in tight circles while he drove in, and the first orgasm tore through her without warning. She came clenching around his cock, thighs shaking, a raw cry muffled against her forearm, her pussy pulsing so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from finishing with her. He didn't slow. He fucked her through it, strokes staying deep and sure, until the aftershocks turned into a second climb and she was pushing back to meet him, greedy, ruined, begging.

"More. Please, more, I need it, I need you to keep fucking me."

He pulled out, spun her, and walked her backward to the conference table at the end of the row. She hopped up, skirt bunched at her waist, blouse half open, and he shoved the rest of the buttons apart so her tits spilled into his hands. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, bit just enough to make her arch, then pushed her flat on her back across the polished wood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him in. He sank into her again in one long stroke and they both groaned.

Face to face it was worse and better. She could see the strain in him, the focus, the way he watched her mouth fall open every time he bottomed out. He fucked her in deep rolling thrusts that made her tits bounce and the table creak under them. Their bodies slapped together, skin to skin, his balls hitting her ass, her heels digging into him to drag him deeper. She clawed at his shoulders and moaned without shame.

"You're so much bigger than my husband," she panted, the words spilling out filthy and true. "Tobias never fills me. He comes in a minute and leaves me empty. You feel so much better, Rafael, your cock is so thick, I can feel every inch, fuck, don't you dare pull out until I come again."

"Say it louder."

"You're better than him. You're fucking me better than he ever has. I needed a real cock and you're giving it to me, oh God, right there, right there—"

He angled his hips and ground against her clit on every stroke, and she shattered. The second orgasm rolled longer than the first, a full-body convulsion that made her cunt grip him in rhythmic pulses while she sobbed his name and dug her nails into his back. He kept moving, slower for a few breaths, then harder again, chasing the third. She was oversensitive and still desperate, legs locked around him, taking every thrust like she had been built for it. Sweat slicked her stomach. The conference table was a mess of her hair and his hands braced beside her head. He kissed her once, filthy and open, then fucked her mouth with his tongue in the same rhythm as his cock.

"One more," he said against her lips. "Give me one more. I want to feel this needy pussy come all over me before I paint those tits."

"Yes. Yes. Use me. I'm yours tonight, fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming—"

She climaxed hard around him a final time, vision spotting, walls milking his shaft in tight desperate flutters while she wailed into the empty office. The pleasure wiped her clean. For a long shaking minute there was nothing in the world but his cock stretching her and the slap of their bodies and the relief of finally, finally being filled the way she had been aching to be filled.

Rafael held on through it, jaw clenched, then pulled out at the last second with a rough groan. He stroked himself over her chest in fast tight pulls, and thick ropes of cum striped her tits, hot and heavy, splashing across her nipples and the upper swell of her breasts while she gasped and arched to take it. Another pulse landed in the hollow of her throat. She looked down at the mess, chest heaving, and a broken laugh of pure satisfaction left her.

"God. Look at that. You covered me."

"Stay still." He squeezed out the last of it onto her skin, then grabbed a handful of tissues from the sideboard and cleaned her with careful, unhurried swipes, wiping her tits, her stomach, the slick between her thighs. She fixed her panties, tugged her skirt down, and buttoned her blouse with fingers that still trembled. He tucked himself away, buckled his belt, and they stood close in the dim light, breathing hard, the office smelling like sex and coffee.

He kissed her, slow and lingering, one hand at the back of her neck. She kissed him back, tasting herself on his mouth, already wanting him again.

"This isn't a one-time thing," he said. "Whenever you need it, you tell me. I'll see to you. Properly. As often as that pretty cunt asks."

"Then expect me to ask a lot," she said, and her smile was wicked. "Starting tomorrow. I want that thick cock in me until I can't walk straight to my desk."

He thumbed a last streak of cum from the edge of her collarbone and sucked it off his thumb while she watched. "Good. Next time I'm not pulling out. I'm going to pump that neglected pussy full and send you home dripping my load down your thighs so your useless little husband can smell who actually fucked his wife."