Interrogation in the Studio

She looked at me like she'd already undressed me with her eyes. Her dark eyes, my boss's eyes, slid across my face, lingered on my lips, then slowly traveled lower, to the unbuttoned top button of my shirt. The photographer's studio smelled of coffee, expensive perfume, and something electric, like the air before a thunderstorm. We were standing too close to the white cyclorama, and her fingers accidentally brushed my wrist as she adjusted the light.

"This doesn't mean anything," she said quietly, but her voice cracked, giving away her nerves. "Just... let's see how ready you are for the shoot. An interrogation, if you will."

"Ready, Anna Sergeevna," I replied, feeling the heat creep up my neck. Her name was Anna, thirty-eight, strict as a whip, and just as desirable. "Ask your questions."

She smiled with the corner of her mouth and stepped closer. Her palm landed on my chest, right over my shirt, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. Her fingers slowly undid the next button, then another. My skin burned under every touch.

"Tell me, why do you look at me like that during meetings?" she whispered, dragging her nail across my collarbone. "Only honesty. Otherwise, I'll have to... deepen the interrogation."

"Because I imagine you moaning my name," I breathed out, not breaking eye contact. "And your strict lips wrapped around my cock."

Anna laughed softly, but there was more lust than mockery in it. She pushed me back against the soft model's ottoman, and I sat down. Her pencil skirt rode up as she straddled my hips. Her slender fingers made quick work of my belt, my zipper, and then her hot palm was wrapped around my hard cock, slowly stroking up and down.

"Wow... what an eager newbie," she purred, squeezing a little harder. "Don't come too fast, I'm not done asking questions yet."

I slid my hands under her blouse, found her firm tits without a bra—her nipples were already hard little nubs. I pinched them between my fingers, rolled them. Anna arched her back, bit her lip, but didn't stop me.

"So... do you fuck your employees in the studio often?" I asked, teasing her with the same tone.

"Only the ones who look at me like they want to devour me," she replied, and leaned in, kissing me hungrily, deeply. Our tongues tangled, and she rocked her hips, grinding her wet pussy through her thin panties against my throbbing cock. The fabric was already soaked through.

I pushed her panties aside. My fingers immediately slid between her hot, smooth-shaven lips. She was incredibly wet. Anna moaned into my mouth when I pushed two fingers inside and started slowly fucking her with them, circling my thumb around her clit.

"Deeper..." she breathed out, breaking the kiss. "Yeah, just like that... keep asking, if you want."

"Will you come from my fingers, or do you need my cock?" I asked, speeding up. Her juices ran down my palm, dripping onto my pants.

Anna was trembling, her thighs clenching around my hand. She grabbed my hair and pulled me closer.

"I want your cock. Now. Put it in and fuck me until I scream."

I didn't wait. I lifted her slightly, guided the head to her entrance, and slammed in all the way to the base. She gasped, eyes wide. Tight, hot, wet. I started moving hard, deep, gripping her firm ass. Every thrust made her tits bounce, and the studio filled with wet slaps and her ragged moans.

"More... harder..." she whispered, scratching my shoulders. "You stretch me so good... don't stop..."

I flipped her onto the ottoman, put her on all fours. I entered her again, this time slowly, letting her feel every inch. My fingers found her clit and started circling fast while I pounded her from behind. Anna was screaming without shame now, her body shaking, her pussy clenching around me in rhythmic spasms.

"I'm gonna... come..." she groaned, throwing her head back. "Come inside me... please..."

I sped up, feeling the tension in my gut become unbearable. A few more powerful thrusts—and she screamed, convulsing in orgasm. Her pussy clamped down hard, milking me. I couldn't hold back and came right after, flooding her with a hot rush of cum. We froze, breathing heavily, our bodies glistening with sweat.

Then she turned, sat up, smoothed her skirt, and looked at me with a light, almost playful smile. Our mixed wetness slowly trickled down her inner thigh.

"So," she said, tracing a finger across my sweat-damp chest, "interrogation's over. You passed... with honors."

I laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her more softly this time.

"So, can we do this again at the next 'interview'?"

"Only if we agree again that it doesn't mean anything," she replied, winking, though that forbidden fire still burned in her eyes.

We both knew—it meant everything now.