I’ve worked with my colleague for over five years, and from the start, there’s always been this subtle tension between us. He’s attractive, confident, and we’ve always had this playful, flirtatious dynamic. Over time, our conversations started leaning more and more toward sex. It wasn’t forced, it just felt natural. At first, it was just jokes or sharing stories, but as we got more comfortable, I started teasing him with the wildest parts of my sex life, especially what I did with my boyfriend, just to see his reaction.

I could tell he was intrigued. He’d laugh or raise an eyebrow, but there was always a spark in his eyes, like he wanted to hear more. And I didn’t hold back. I told him how much I loved giving myself over completely, how swallowing wasn’t just something I enjoyed but something I took pride in, how it’s what made men addicted to me. I even teased him with the idea that my boyfriend sometimes dominated me, leaving me completely vulnerable. I hinted, almost without thinking, that maybe he could take that role too. It was all a game to me, a way to tempt him, to play with the tension between us.

That day after work, when I suggested grabbing a drink at his place instead of going to the bar, it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’d been testing the waters all day, and by the time we left, the tension between us was thick. He agreed without hesitation, and we made our way to his apartment.

When we got to his place, all the teasing, all the hints and fantasies I’d planted in his mind, came rushing back. I realized I wasn’t just playing with him, I’d been playing with myself too. The game had gotten out of hand, and I was caught in my own trap.

When he pulled me toward him and started undressing, I didn’t resist. But when he pulled his pants down, I froze for a moment. His cock was massive, bigger than I’d imagined, bigger than anything I’d experienced before. My teasing had planted the seed, but now he was going to make sure I followed through, and he wasn’t going to go easy on me.

He pushed me onto the couch, no hesitation, and took me like I’d been asking for it all along. He didn’t just fuck me, he destroyed me. Every thrust filled me completely, stretching me, hitting deeper than I thought possible. He treated me like the slut he’d decided I was, like someone who existed purely to satisfy his desires. And the truth is, I gave in completely. I loved every second of it. The way he dominated me, the way he used his size to overwhelm me, it was raw, intense, and utterly consuming.

At some point, I couldn’t hold back anymore. His pace, his intensity, it pushed me over the edge, and I came hard. My whole body trembled as I felt wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. But he didn’t stop. Once he felt me go limp and shaking beneath him, he grabbed me, pulling me off the couch and throwing me to my knees without a word.

“Open wide,” he demanded, and before I could even think, my mouth was open, just as he’d ordered. There was no hesitation, no asking for permission, he was fully in control.

As I knelt there, waiting for him to finish, my phone buzzed on the floor beside me. I glanced over and saw my boyfriend’s name flashing on the screen. Missed calls, followed by a stream of messages. My colleague noticed and smirked, grabbing my phone and holding it up.

“Read them,” he commanded, stroking himself as he watched me. Trembling, I opened the messages.

"What time are you coming home, my love?" "Are you having a drink with your colleagues?" "I love you so much ❤️"

Each sweet message made my stomach tighten, a mix of guilt and arousal overwhelming me. I thought of my boyfriend, of his kindness, and at that moment, I felt like the most guilty woman in the world. Yet here I was, on my knees, waiting for another man to finish in my mouth. My colleague noticed the conflict on my face and, with a wicked grin, said, “Don’t just swallow it. Keep it in your mouth and play with it. Let me see how good you are.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to stop. But completely caught in the moment, I obeyed. When he exploded into my mouth, it felt like liters, filling me to the brim. My cheeks swelled, my tongue was coated, and I did exactly as he ordered. I rolled it around, showing him how I swirled it on my tongue, how much I could hold. My guilt surged as I thought of my boyfriend’s sweet texts, but I couldn’t stop. I showed him everything, like a good girl, while the taste overwhelmed me. Once I swallowed it all, I even stuck my tongue out, as if to prove how obedient I’d been. He smirked, clearly satisfied, and called me a “good little slut.”

When he was done, he stood back, zipping up his pants with a satisfied smirk. “You should go now,” he said coldly, not even offering me a chance to clean up what he had cum on my face. My legs felt like jelly as I stood, barely able to walk, but he didn’t care. He opened the door and gestured for me to leave. In my rush to leave, I didn’t even realize I’d forgotten my thong on his couch until I was halfway home.

The walk home was agonizing. My body ached, my legs wobbled, and my mind was spinning. When I got home, my boyfriend was waiting, his face full of love and warmth. He had even cooked dinner for me, the table set with care. As I walked through the door, he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me deeply, full on the mouth. My heart raced, I could still feel the lingering taste of my colleague in the back of my throat. For a moment, I panicked, terrified he’d notice something was off. But he didn’t. He just smiled at me, his eyes full of love and trust, completely unaware of what I’d done.

“So, did you enjoy your drink with your colleagues?” he asked. I forced a smile, pretending everything was normal. “Oh, it was nice,” I said casually, hiding the fact that I could barely stand after what had just happened. I told him nothing, not a single detail, while the taste of my colleague lingered in my mouth and the ache between my legs reminded me of how completely I’d been used.

Since that night, things at work haven’t been the same. Every glance, every word exchanged between my colleague and me carries the weight of what happened. There’s a tension now, one I can’t escape. He knows what he did to me, and I know I let it happen. And every time I see him, he discreetly whispers, “My little slut,” as if to remind me of what I’ve become...