“You’re back on in twelve minutes,” said the alarmed-looking Stage Manager, as she strode past him.
“Switch my next bit and Karl’s piece on the processor. Play the Cameras video. That gives me…”
“That gives you eighteen minutes.”
Eighteen minutes would be enough for her at this rate, and she needed it; he had already walked away, off the stage, and she followed him at a determined but not rushing pace; she felt the heat between her thighs and the trickle down her legs, and all the while the little silicone device inside her vibrated and pulsed, edging her onwards. She could feel every volume trade at the stock market against her excited clit and the walls of her pussy; she hoped against hope that she would soon feel him inside her instead. As she exited the stage into the loading and service area, she walked to the green room and asked everyone inside to leave.
The room now emptied, she picked up her dressing bag and extracted a long dark silk scarf, doubled it over and tied it around her head to blindfold herself; she sat on a leather armchair and waited. She knew she needed to be a good girl.
The door opened. The door closed. The lock turned.
She heard the leather soles of his immaculately polished shoes purposefully pad towards her. Her cunt seemed to beg for him as he approached; she could smell his aftershave; she soon felt him raise the skirt of her dress, exposing her legs to the coolly air conditioned air; she felt his warm, slightly rough hands on her skin and then, suddenly, cupping her crotch.
“You’re wet,” he said.
“I’m fucking drenched.” She was surprised to hear her own voice so suddenly timid and faltering.
He laughed. “I can feel the stock market is still interested.”
“It’s lulling now, thank God,” she said.
Roughly, instantly, he pulled down the cotton panties and took them completely off her, pushing her back onto the chair and quickly slipping the wet material over her shoes. in a trice, she felt his hot urgent breath on her drenched skin, and soon felt him kneading her ass with his warm hands as his tongue described long firm traces around her vulva; he was cleaning her. She melted into the sensation and felt the vibrator, still inside her, give a shudder and increase its intensity.
“No time for lulls,” he said, and he rose to his feet.
“Use your hand,” he commanded, and she did as she was told, treating him to the sight of her perfectly manicured fingertips bunching and rubbing at her engorged, exposed clit.
“Nice,” he said, as she heard the zip of his suit trousers being lowered. She knew what would happen next and she relished the idea of it; she parted her lips and prepared for him to take her head in his two large hands and slide his cock inside her mouth. She wanted it intensely, as the vibrator hummed inside her and she rubbed the whole of her exposed cunt.
She slid down the seat. She had about six minutes. She wouldn’t need even those. He wasn’t brutal, exactly, but he was unyielding, and he didn’t need any further invitation to use her mouth. He cradled her head, careful not to undo her hair, and swiftly, keenly, began to fuck her warm compliant mouth. He watched his head and shaft plunge between the red band of her impeccably applied lipstick, and plainly, with maximum effort, concentrated on the sensation of her tongue lapping, licking and caressing the tip of his cock.
They had minutes. He held her head still and groaned with the effort of fucking the beautiful CEO’s needy mouth.