Deviant Innuendos

Vonka rolls out the blueprints, letting her black hair slip over one eye as she leans across the table. She grabs a wooden spool and drags it forward like she's showing off furniture—except her grip says otherwise. Tina watches, breath catching. The spool slides between Vonka's hands and her throat dries. The way Vonka demonstrates the curve of a room, the angle of a corner—it all drips suggestion. Tina feels heat spike between her legs. She mumbles an excuse and slips away down the hall. Alone in the empty conference room, she shuts the door and lets her mind run. In the fantasy, Vonka's wrists cross behind her back, rope biting the skin. A black rubber ball gag stretches her mouth wide, saliva already gathering at the corners. Tina shoves the designer to her knees, cock pushing past her open lips, deep into her throat. She fucks the girl's face in steady, punishing strokes while the spool from earlier sits beside them, a blunt reminder of what started it. Every thrust rocks Vonka forward; every gag sounds wet and desperate. Tina's breathing hard now, hand working under her waistband. The fantasy pulses—rope marks, the gag's muffled sounds, Vonka's black hair tangled in her fist. She comes, quick and sharp, but the empty release leaves her edgy, hungry. She glances at the door. Fuck the fantasy. She grabs the coiled rope off the prop table, steps back into the main space, and locks eyes with Vonka. "Come here."