From Knife Sales to Phone Sex Stella Cox knows how to please customers

Stella Cox closes the biggest accounts at the telecom knife sales company. Francesca Le watches from two desks away, clocking every smirk and every moan Stella slips into her headset. She moves closer, listens in. Stella is telling some stranger she keeps candy in her ass, that she’ll push a lollipop past her rim, suck it clean, and hand it over like a prize. The words land hard. Francesca’s jaw locks. She crosses the room, shoves Stella face-down across the glass desk, yanks the headset cord out. Hair in one fist, Francesca’s palm cracks down on bare skin—fast, mean, again and again until the flesh jumps and reddens. Stella’s breath fogs the desktop. Francesca doesn’t stop there. She reaches for the chrome plug on the shelf, works it past the tight ring with short, twisting thrusts until the widest part pops in and Stella’s hole clutches around the stem. When the plug comes out the gape stays open, pink and pulsing. Francesca watches the hole breathe, then lines four fingers, tucks the thumb, and drives her whole fist straight through the slack ring. Knuckles disappear. Stella’s thighs shake. Francesca twists once, twice, and pulls out shiny to the wrist. The speculum follows—cold steel blades ratcheting wider until Stella’s inside shows, candy-pink and shiny with lube. Francesca studies the color, the twitch, the way the walls flutter. She doesn’t leave it at looking. She strips off her slacks, fastens the thick strap-on harness, and sinks the silicone cock straight into the open ring. Each thrust slams the desk forward. Stella grips the edge, voice breaking. When Francesca finally yanks the harness free, she fills a clear bag, works the nozzle in, and lets the warm rush flood Stella’s gut until her belly swells and cramps. Only then does she step back, leave Stella empty, stretched, dripping, and gasping against cold glass.