My name is Gigi, I’m 34 years old, married to a boring guy who barely touches me anymore since our son was born five years ago. I work as a secretary in a logistics company, and my tits are my secret weapon: natural 40DD, big as melons, with dark nipples that harden at the slightest breeze and show through any blouse. I always hide them under buttoned-up shirts, but I know they could open doors if I use them right. My husband doesn’t appreciate them; he just complains that “they’re too heavy.” But I know their power.
It all started one afternoon at the café with my friend Carla. We were talking about the new boss, Ivan, a 55-year-old man, married, serious as a judge, with silver-gray hair, trimmed beard, and a body that still looks strong under expensive suits. “Did you see the old man we got as boss?” she said, laughing. I raised an eyebrow: “Old? 55 is perfect, Carla. Experience and he sure knows how to treat a woman” “You like him, don’t you?” she asked. I blushed a little but smiled: “Honestly, yes. And a good fuck wouldn’t hurt” Carla burst out laughing: “Oh Gigi, you love making your husband a cuckold” I shrugged: “You know he deserves it” She said “Still, Mr. Ivan is married and everyone says he’s very serious” I gave her a wicked look: “Ahh, but I love a challenge, don’t I?” And so, between laughs, my plan was born. I wanted a raise, but above all I wanted to feel desired again.
The next day I started. I went into his office with the weekly report, but first, in the bathroom, I unbuttoned one extra button on my white blouse. When I leaned over his desk to leave the papers, my tits spilled forward, the deep cleavage showing the edge of my black lace bra. Ivan looked up and froze for a second, his eyes locked on the valley between my melons. “Thanks, Gigi” he said in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat. I smiled innocently: “You’re welcome, boss” I left feeling a tingle between my legs.
The following days I kept going. An “accident” with coffee: I “spilled” a little on his desk, and while cleaning I bent over with my back to him, the tight pants outlining my round ass. I felt his gaze burning my back. Another day in a meeting, I crossed my legs and let the skirt ride up a bit, showing thigh. Ivan didn’t miss a beat during his presentation but I noticed his eyes drifting to my legs. The tension grew: his gaze went to my tits every time we talked, and I got wet just watching him struggle not to stare.
A week later, another “incident” I came in with a heavy box of files, “dropped” it near his desk and bent down to pick them up. The blouse opened two more buttons, my tits almost spilling out of the bra, hard nipples rubbing the fabric. Ivan stood up to “help,” but he just stood there staring. “Gigi… be careful” he said in a tense voice. I straightened slowly, “accidentally” brushing my tit against his arm. “Sorry, boss” I said sweetly, feeling my pussy throb.
The tension was electric. Every look from him made my panties soak. He was serious, but I saw it: the way he adjusted his pants when I left, how he asked for “private meetings” to “review reports” I insisted: one less button every day, an “accidental” brush in the hallway, a whisper near his ear when handing him coffee.
Until he snapped.
It was Friday afternoon, office empty. I came in with the final report, blouse almost unbuttoned to the navel, tits overflowing. I leaned over his desk, nipples almost in view. Ivan stood up suddenly, grabbed my arm and slammed me against the wall.
“You know what, you little slut… I’m tired of you parading around like a cheap whore” he growled, voice hoarse and loaded with lust. “I’m going to give you what you want and treat you like the bitch you are”
My pussy throbbed with excitement. I’d done it. But I didn’t expect what came next.
He ripped my blouse open in one yank, buttons flying. My big tits bounced free, heavy and jiggling. He grabbed them hard, pinching the nipples until it hurt so good. “Look at these tits… they look delicious”… I told him “boss they’re yours on one condition, I want a raise”, he smiled with a feline expression “I knew you were a cheap slut, but I saw your file you’re married and have a kid, yet here you are with your tits out in my face… but okay bitch, I’ll give you your raise but you have to earn it”
He yanked my skirt and panties down in one pull, spread my legs with his knee and shoved three thick fingers into my soaked pussy. He pumped hard, the wet squelching sound filling the office. I moaned uncontrollably.
“What a wet pussy… you’re such a whore Gigi. Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”
He made me cum the first time with his fingers, squirting all over his shoes. Then he put me on my knees, pulled out his thick veiny cock, purple head dripping. He shoved it down my throat, face-fucking me with fury. “Swallow, slut… this is for teasing me for weeks”
He lifted me, bent me over the desk and slammed his cock into my pussy in one brutal thrust. I screamed in pleasure. He fucked me hard, his hairy balls slapping my clit, one hand pulling my hair, the other kneading my tits like dough.
“You’re my bitch now… you’re going to come every Friday to earn your raise with this pussy”
I came two more times, squirting over the desk papers, body convulsing. He sped up, growling: “Take my load, whore.” He came inside, thick hot ropes filling me to overflowing.
He left me there, trembling, pussy full and throbbing.
The next day he sent me the raise by email. “Good job, Gigi”
Now every Friday I go to his office, get on my knees and let him use me like his whore. I cum harder than ever, squirting like a fountain.
And my husband thinks the raise was for “good performance” as a secretary
But I know the truth: I’m the boss’s little slut, and I fucking love it.
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