Thanks for inviting me back after that boozy company party. I'm still dizzy partly from the way you're staring at this ridiculous satin Red Riding Hood costume. The skirt's so short I can feel cool air sneaking under the hem every time I sway.

I know we're supposed to be “keeping it professional,” boss, but the door's locked, the house is quiet, and these slippery satin ribbons keep sliding off my shoulders. Every shrug lets the neckline dip lower, until my tits nearly spill free. I catch you tracing the line of red ribbon down to the swell of my waist, so I let my legs fall open just enough to flash the fact that, yep, no panties. At. All.

“Nothing wrong with that, right?” I whisper. “I mean, if we just play... not technically cheating?” My fingers trace the slick satin stretched tight across my hips, then slip under to pet the soft lips you've already spotted. I lean back on your bed—spread so wide the costume bunches at my waist, my freshly shaved p*ssy glistening, waiting.

I crook a finger. “Come closer, I won't bite.” My mouth drops open the instant your trousers slide down; your thick c*ck springs out and brushes my satin bow like it's begging for entry. I drag the tip across my clit, satin and pre-c*m mixing in wet streaks. “Taste me first,” I moan, pushing your head between my thighs. Your tongue plunges deep, flicking and swirling until I'm bucking up against your face, babbling filth about office hours and confidential meetings.

Then I flip onto all fours. The skirt flips with me, pooling at my waist. My bare *ss lifts, satin ribbons fluttering like flags surrendering. I reach back and split my cheeks, pink h*les pulsing under the low lamp light. “Pick one—p*ssy or *ss, boss. Just stuff me and make me scream.”

Your c*ck glides in, slow and deliberate, until you're buried b*lls-deep. The satin scratches your hips with each thrust; my nipples drag against the sheets. “We can't tell anyone,” I pant, riding back, meeting every slam. “Monday morning you'll act like this never happened.” My walls tighten around you, milking, begging for that hot flood.

One final stroke and you explode, flooding me so hard it leaks out around your shaft, soaking the satin bow between my legs. I clench my thighs, locking you inside, trapping every drop.

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