Tuesday dawned with Stiles feeling like she’d been run over by a truck—every muscle sore, her pussy and ass throbbing from Derek’s relentless claiming the night before. Cum had leaked out of her all morning at home, a sticky reminder as she showered and dressed. She chose her outfit carefully: a tight black blouse that strained against her massive tits, buttons barely holding, and a short pleated skirt that hugged her juicy ass, thigh-high stockings completing the slutty exec look. But inside, she was a mess—shy, embarrassed, dreading facing him.

At Stilinski Enterprises, Stiles avoided the open office like the plague, hiding in her executive suite with the door locked, pretending to bury herself in reports. Every time she heard footsteps, her heart raced, her pink fat pussy clenching involuntarily at the memory of his thick cock owning her holes. Derek, meanwhile, strutted around with a permanent smirk, catching her eye whenever she peeked out. He’d wink or lick his lips, making her flush and slam the door shut. “That bastard… acting like he didn’t fuck me senseless while I lied to my husband,” she muttered, thighs rubbing together, wetness building despite her shame.