I never saw it coming. She was just my boss, petite, polished, the kind of hot you notice but don’t dwell on. Twenty years older, married, like me. Professional, poised, perfect. Or so I thought. Then one day, her smile lingered too long, her touch grazed my hand, and I tasted her for the first time. Every fold, every curve, perfect. It was electric, wrong, and unstoppable.

She’s insatiable, a fire I didn’t expect. This isn’t just an affair; it’s a fever. She’s h**** all the time, and work is her playground. Some days, she slips me the remote to a toy she’s wearing under her long, s*** skirt, smirking as I tease her through meetings. Other times, she hands me her damp p******, leaving her bare beneath that skirt, knowing it drives me wild. We’ve fumbled under tables, stolen moments in the office, her eyes daring me to push further.

After a long weekend or vacation, she’s ravenous. First day back? A marathon. Desks, locked doors, breathless urgency. On her birthday, she was late to family movie night, staying behind in the office to get her fill. Later, she texted me from the theater, saying she could still feel me dripping inside her. It’s reckless, dangerous, and I’m hooked. She’s not just my boss, she’s my obsession.