The Devil Wears Black

Isiah finally cracks. His boss has been riding him for weeks, barking orders and getting in his face every chance she gets. He slams his resignation down and tells her he's done. Her eyes light up like she's been waiting for this exact moment. She walks around the desk, and before he can grab his shit and leave she reaches straight for his belt. Her hands are greedy, sliding the zipper down, and his cock springs out heavy, dark, already half-hard from the adrenaline dump. She drops to her knees, tongue out, and starts slobbering all over it, moaning loud enough the whole floor can hear. "Fuck yes," she growls, spitting on the head and jerking him fast, "this is what I wanted." She pulls him down on the office carpet, hikes her skirt up, and climbs on. She’s soaked, slick running down her thighs, and she doesn’t ease into it—she drops her weight and impales herself balls-deep on that thick black shaft in one messy thrust. Isiah grunts, hands gripping her ass, and she just starts riding like it’s a porn set—bouncing hard, ass slapping his thighs, tits swinging in his face while she cusses and talks dirty the whole time. "Give it to me, baby. Fill this pussy up," she pants, nails raking down his chest. She switches angles, grinding her clit against him, then flips to reverse cowgirl, knees spread wide so he can watch her stretched around him, cream coating every inch every time she slams down. Every slap of skin echoes off the walls and she keeps yelling—moaning, cursing, begging for more—like she’s trying to fuck the memory of every shitty day she put him through right out of his system. She doesn’t stop until she squirts all over his lap, trembling and gasping, and only then does she slow down, collapsing forward so he can pound up into her from below until he shoots deep, flooding her, cum dripping out around his shaft as she shudders and laughs, still twitching on his cock like she just won a prize.