Teaching her A lesson

Cayla Lyons moved through her shifts with half a mind. Her boyfriend had left her raw. Victoria Pare noticed. The boss caught her wrist one evening after close, pressed her against the hallway wall, and slid two fingers beneath Cayla’s skirt. Victoria’s tongue traced the younger woman’s clit through thin cotton, slow, then insistent. She knelt, stripped the panties away, spread Cayla open. Heat and hunger. Victoria licked every fold, sucking the swollen nub until Cayla bucked and begged. She slid two fingers inside, pumping steady, then three, twisting her wrist, curling against the front wall while her tongue stayed locked on Cayla’s clit. Cayla came hard, thighs shaking. Victoria did not let up. She rose, turned Cayla, bent her over the desk, pushed her knees apart, thrust her tongue deep, then replaced it with the thick head of a strap-on. She sank in one smooth stroke. The slow drag outward and the slam back inside forced hoarse cries from Cayla’s throat. Victoria gripped hips, set a pace that struck deep every time, angle precise, pressure perfect. Cayla’s fingers clawed at the wood. She came again, tighter, wetter. Victoria flipped her onto her back, hooked one leg over her shoulder, drove in harder. Sweat, breathing, the wet slap of skin—nothing elegant, nothing polite. Just ownership. Cayla stopped answering her boyfriend’s calls the next day.