Mr. Vance didn’t give Sara time to catch her breath.
He pulled his thick, c*m-smeared c**k out of her dripping p***y with a wet pop, leaving her hole gaping and leaking. A thick string of her juices connected them for a moment before breaking.
“On your knees, s**t,” he ordered, voice rough with l**t. “Under the desk. Now.”
Sara’s legs were shaking so badly she nearly collapsed as she obeyed. She crawled under the massive mahogany desk, her tight skirt still bunched around her waist, blouse half-open, breasts spilling out. Her p***y throbbed, already missing the brutal stretch of his c**k.
Mr. Vance sat back down in his leather chair, spreading his legs wide. His heavy c**k stood straight up, glistening with her cream, veins pulsing.
“Suck it clean, you filthy interview w***e,” he grow
