Group sex with the boss

I'm twenty-nine. I work for a large logistics company. In the sales department. Our team is small and close-knit. Dimon, Seryoga, and I are the trio that manages half the workload. And above us is Tatyana Leonidovna. She's the executive director. She's forty-three years old. She's a striking woman. Tall, stately, with the posture of a former basketball player. Broad shoulders, long, strong legs. Her C-cup breasts are always encased in formal blouses. Her butt is round and curved, tightly clasped by a skirt below the knees. She wears heels and clacks down the hallway so loudly that heads turn. Her hair is light brown, cut in a bob. Her face is well-bred, with fine features, and her gaze is sharp and commanding. She's been divorced twice. No children. She lives for her work. She had a rock-solid character. Her voice was well-trained and commanding. At the slightest provocation, she'd call you to the carpet and scold you so hard the walls would shake. But she was fair. We respected her. And, let's face it, we wanted to. Everyone secretly imagined this icy bitch losing control. An opportunity presented itself in December. The company closed a large annual contract. Tatyana Leonidovna personally called key employees: — Boys, Prague Restaurant, Saturday, seven o'clock. Attendance is mandatory. Saturday. Restaurant. A private room with leather sofas and a set table. Three of us came: me, Dimon, and Seryoga. Some of the others were sick, some couldn't make it. Tatyana Leonidovna came alone. She looked stunning: a black, form-fitting, knee-length dress, stiletto heels, a strand of pearls around her neck. Her hair was styled in a wave. Her lips were painted dark red. She smelled of expensive perfume. "Well, boys," she raised her glass, looking around at us. "Thank you for the year. You're the best." We drank. More. More. Tatyana Leonidovna drank cognac alongside us. Her cheeks turned pink. She laughed at our jokes, something she never allowed in the office. She loosened her tie. She kicked off her shoes under the table. She sat with one leg tucked under her. "It's kind of boring," she said suddenly after her third glass. "Four adults. No creativity." "What kind of creative work do you want?" Dimon leaned forward. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “You’re men. Figure it out.” We exchanged glances. Seryoga grinned and poured her some more. "Tatyana Leonidovna, when was the last time you rested? Not mentally, so to speak, but physically." She looked at him for a long moment. — About two years ago. And even then... unsuccessfully. — Do you want success? A pause. She glanced at the three of us, appraisingly, soberly, in a commanding manner. — Three of us, or what? "What?" I shrugged. "We're proven people. We know how to keep trade secrets." She smiled. She twirled the glass in her fingers. Then she slowly stood up. She walked around the office. She stopped at the door and turned the key in the lock. — Okay. Just no unnecessary words. And not to anyone in the office. “Of course,” we answered in chorus. Dimon stood up first. He walked up to her, stood behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She tensed, then exhaled and leaned her head back onto his chest. I watched as his fingers traced her neck, down to the zipper at her back. One movement—and her dress slid down, revealing a black lace bra. "Beautiful lingerie," Seryoga assessed. "Were you expecting someone?" “I always wait,” she answered hoarsely. “Idiot.” Dimon unhooked her bra. Her breasts—firm, with pale pink nipples—poked out. He covered them with his palms and squeezed. Tatyana Leonidovna moaned through her teeth. I knelt down in front of her. I lifted the hem of her dress to her waist. Underneath were black silicone stockings and a lace thong. I pulled the thong down. She stepped over them, leaving herself in stockings and shoes. “I haven’t shaved in a long time,” I noted, running my fingers through the short growth on my lower belly. “I wasn’t expecting the inspectors,” she snapped, but her voice broke—Dima was twisting her nipples at that moment. I spread her legs. There was a lot of moisture—it was flowing even before we touched. Apparently, she really had been without a man for two years. I ran my tongue along the inside of her thigh, where the stocking ended. She shuddered. Then I pressed my mouth to her crotch. She grabbed Dimon by the shoulders and moaned softly. Seryoga came up from the front, pantsless. His erect penis pressed against her cheek. Tatyana Leonidovna turned her head and took him into her mouth—and did it so skillfully, as if she'd been doing nothing else her whole life. Deeply, smacking her lips, caressing his balls with one hand, stroking his stomach with the other. “What a boss,” Seryoga exhaled, rolling his eyes. I continued licking her pussy and stroking my cock. Dimon kneaded her breasts and kissed her neck. The four of us moved to the wide leather sofa. Tatyana Leonidovna was laid on her back. Seryoga, wasting no time, positioned himself on top and entered her. She gasped and wrapped her legs around him. "Harder," she said in a commanding tone. "You're at work, not in the library." Seryoga complied. He thrust quickly, hard. Her heels twitched in the air. I watched Seryoga's cock enter her, and I felt my arousal surge. Meanwhile, Dimon sat at the head of the bed and inserted it into her mouth. So we took turns. Seryoga came first—quickly, unable to hold back. He pulled out of her, and I immediately took his place. It was hot and tight inside her. Despite her age, her muscles held up well—she must have been a gym rat. “Come on,” she urged me, moving her hips towards me. “What, are you not my own?” I sped up. She moaned loudly, no longer holding back. When I came, she still wasn't sated. She rolled over and got on all fours. Dimon positioned himself behind her and entered her. She rested her forehead on the sofa cushion and let out a loud, drawn-out moan. “I haven’t tried it in the ass,” I told Dimon. “Go ahead.” “A condom?” he asked. “No need,” she answered. “Just take the cream. I have it in my purse. For my hands.” Seryoga was already holding out the tube. Dimon squeezed the cream onto his fingers and bukvoeb.run began to work on her anus. Tatyana Leonidovna endured silently, only occasionally flinching. When he inserted two fingers, she hissed: - Stop cooking. Come on. Dimon positioned his head and slowly but surely entered. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Then she exhaled, relaxed, and pulled back. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, okay...” I stood in front. She took my cock in her mouth—greedily, sloppily, no longer with the same polish. The image of a business bitch remained somewhere behind the office door. Now in front of us was simply a woman being fucked long and hard. “Let’s do it at two,” suggested Seryoga. Dimon pulled out of her and lay on his back. We lifted Tatyana Leonidovna and impaled her on his cock. She moaned and began to move her hips. I positioned myself behind her and entered her already engorged ass. She froze for a second, adjusting, then began to move again. "That's it..." she breathed out. "That's it, boys..." Dimon fucked her from below. I was on top. She bounced on both cocks at once, and her face finally lost all commanding expression. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes were rolled back, mascara was smeared across her cheeks. "I'm cumming!" she suddenly screamed. "I'm cumming, fuck!" Her body began to tremble violently. She squeezed me from the inside so tightly that I immediately followed her. Dimon roared from below. Seryoga, standing nearby and jerking off to this sight, came all over her face—a thick stream of cum splashed across her cheek and into her hair. We lay there for a while. Tatyana Leonidovna was on her back, legs spread. She was leaking. Her dress was crumpled on the floor. Her pearls were askew. Semen was already drying in her hair. She sat up, adjusted her hair automatically, with a familiar gesture. She raised her glass and finished the cognac in one gulp. She lit a cigarette. "Well, boys," her voice sounded almost the same as before, only with a slight hoarseness. "You've got an increased plan for January." We laughed. She wasn't joking. She dressed slowly and carefully. She touched up her lips. She combed her hair. She looked in the mirror on her phone—and was satisfied. As if nothing had happened. “Call me a taxi,” she said, packing her bag. She paused at the door as she said goodbye. She looked at us. — Thank you. For the year. And for the evening. She walked out, her heels clicking down the hallway. I glanced out the window—she was getting into a taxi, straight, stern, unapproachable. The executive director. And ten minutes later, the three of us were finishing off the last of the cognac. “I wonder,” said Dimon, “what she’ll be like on Monday.” On Monday, she was as usual. She called me onto the carpet and scolded me for missing deadlines. And only as I was leaving the office did she glance at me for a second—and the corner of her mouth twitched faintly. Very faintly. Almost imperceptibly. But I noticed.