The Under-Desk Affair

"This project is critical to the company, and our team can't afford to let this opportunity slip. From now on, every single one of us must give it our all." I forced down the hunger burning inside me as I gave instructions to my staff.

Little did they know—right under my desk, the boss's daughter was busy with me.

And there they were, pens poised over their notepads, jotting down my every word with absolute seriousness.

Just as I was about to move on to the specific action items, Jean suddenly grabbed my pants and yanked them down.

"I want to see what Max's rod looks like. How come it's so hard and so hot?"

With all these people standing right in front of me! I jolted with fear.

I reached down quickly to stop her. "You can't take my pants off!"

My staff looked up, confused.

"Mr. Niemann, should we write that down too?"

I forced an awkward smile. "No need for that one. Just stick to the important points."

All the while, my hands were under the desk, wrestling Jean for my pants.

She pulled with all her might—two soft, full mounds pressing against me as she tugged.

Her skin was so tender, so bouncy, it sent a jolt of heat straight through me, making my blood roar.

The craving in my gut flared higher.

Just then, one of my staff handed me a report to review.

I reached out automatically to take it.

The moment I let go, Jean shoved my suit pants wide open.

My heart slammed into my throat. This was the boss's daughter—an eighteen-year-old virgin. Thank God the desk was big enough to block the view from the front.

I tried to pull my pants back up, but couldn't get them to stay.

Jean stared wide-eyed. "Max, how did you hide something so long in here? That's amazing."

The sharp thrill of skin against skin made the fire in my gut blaze even hotter.

My body was spiraling out of control.

Jean marveled, "Max, is this your magic staff? It's getting bigger! It feels so good to touch. Why is my whole body getting so hot? This is unbearable."

Her face drifted closer, warm breath spilling over me.

Every pore on my body opened wide. The desire inside me was nearly at its peak. My hands clenched into fists, every muscle locked tight, fighting the craving that bored into my bones.

"Mr. Niemann? Mr. Niemann?" A staff member, noticing my silence, cleared his throat. "Is there something wrong with the report?"

The voice snapped me back to reality, wrenching me from the pleasure.

That was close. Too close.

I glanced over the document—seemed fine—and said, "This report is good. No issues. Go ahead and get back to work."

The staff member walked off, and I finally exhaled.

The meeting wasn't over. I had to keep going.

But Jean kept playing, and I had to endure the torment.

It left me stammering, my breath hitching now and then.

Doing something like this right in front of my staff—it was unbearably thrilling.

I fought to suppress the storm inside me, to steady my voice.

But the more I held back, the more intense it became—as if I were being melted from the inside out.

I dropped my gaze to the papers on the desk, trying to focus on work, but my eyes kept drifting.

Jean was no longer satisfied with just her hands. Curious, she said, "Max's rod feels so nice to touch. I wonder what it tastes like."