Aphrodisiac

Kira sprints through the door clutching her briefcase. She is ten minutes late, and every woman at the conference table watches her slide into the empty chair. The smell hits the air first—an odd metallic sweetness that none of them name. A thin, green vapor leaks from the cracked bottle inside her case and drifts across the room. Nobody notices until the first sharp breath catches in Kira’s chest. Heat spreads under her blouse. Her nipples stiffen against thin fabric. Across from her, the silver-haired director licks her lower lip and tugs at her blouse collar. Paper rustles. Chairs creak. Fingers slip beneath hems. Kira’s thighs press together; the pressure only makes the pulse between them stronger. Soon the room fills with the sound of zippers, soft gasps, skin meeting skin. Breasts spill free—full, heavy ones swaying above the table, smaller ones rising tight with gooseflesh. The older woman leans in, her generous curves pressing to Kira’s mouth. Kira answers with tongue and teeth. Another pair of hands slides up her ribs, cupping what they can. Bodies fold and twist until mouths find wet centers. Kira’s tongue works between parted thighs while a smaller breast brushes her cheek and someone’s lips close around her own nipple. The air turns thick with breath and the low, wet sounds of pleasure. Every woman moves with single purpose, chasing release in the strange, sudden fever that has overtaken the room.