Conference Booty Call

Dean rolls up expecting hands on his back, nobody at the door, and suddenly Brandi Love struts in wearing nothing but those sheer lace panties. She’s supposed to be on a big call, so she offers him an hour later, but Dean’s already burned the drive and booked two weeks out—she can’t bounce him. After a quick smirk, she grabs a headset, tells him to get wet, and leads him straight to the tub. Dean’s thinking shower, he gets a full soak instead. Brandi’s voice stays business-smooth while those conference numbers are tossed around; she’s running soapy palms over his shoulders, down his chest, catching his junk the second it stirs. His cock’s standing up in the water and she keeps the call on mute just long enough to give the head one teasing stroke. Out of the bath they hit the air mattress, her skin already glistening. She drizzles oil and climbs on top—tits sliding across his belly, ass straddling his thighs, every move a slow grind that doesn’t exactly scream “professional.” Between slick rubs her filthy mouth drops remarks about those “big” numbers, eyes glued to the hard-on pointing right at her face. When she slicks her own body and slides the full length of herself over him, conference call stutters. Wet slaps echo through the headset, and Brandi pops off him just long enough to toss in a cock-sucking line about refreshing at the water cooler. The guys on the other end are raising eyebrows while Brandi’s head bobs, gagging and spitting, before she yanks the headset off entirely. Fifteen-minute break ordered. She drops onto Dean’s cock with a sharp gasp, rides him hard, and slaps out better quarterly numbers between moans—mostly showing exactly how much growth the rest of the board can expect if they learn to get nasty and take what they want.