Secretary Anna

Anna works for Slutcorp Inc., an erotic distributor. They sell sex toys, porn videos, BDSm gear. They supply brothels, erotic shops, and porn studios. All the items sold are vulgar and erotic. Those are described with vulgar language too. Anna is the secretary of the Boss. She works there for a few years now. She is sometimes used for presentations. She had sex with most men and some women in the company. Anna and her boss fuck often. She tries to keep the fact that she is a slut low profil but it is an open secret that she sleeps around.

Vanessa Caulfield, aka Vanessa Styles, steps out of the car with practiced grace, her glossy over-the-knee black vinyl boots clicking against the asphalt. The loud pop of the violet dildo releasing from her well-used pussy echoes as she straightens up, smoothing down her barely-there microskirt—more of a belt than actual fabric—that does nothing to hide her g-string beneath. Her pink halter top strains against her enormous, obviously fake breasts, her hardened nipples visible through the thin material. Platinum blonde hair cascades down her back in perfect waves, framing a face sculpted by surgery—plump lips, high cheekbones, and a small, upturned nose. Her makeup is light but flawless, accentuating her bedroom eyes and the glittering piercings on her tongue and nipples that catch the light when she moves. A tattoo on her lower back reads "Cum Dumpster" in elegant cursive.

Max, on the other hand, looks like a nervous kitten next to her mother's predator-like confidence. She wears a plain white t-shirt and simple blue jeans—no tears, no embellishments, just painfully normal. Her shoulder-length brown hair is clean but unstyled, her pale face free of makeup except for a faint smear of leftover lip gloss from the gas station blowjob. She stands at 1.6 meters, petite and unassuming, her small breasts barely making an impression under her loose shirt. The only hint of her lineage is the slight pout of her lips, a smaller, natural version of her mother's famous DSLs.

Vanessa grins, adjusting the strap of her garter belt beneath the microskirt. "Damn, that seat dildo always hits the spot~," she purrs, stretching her arms overhead with a languid sigh before turning to you, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. "And you must be Max’s guide! Lucky you~. Just don’t let her get too shy—she’s got potential, I made sure of that." She winks, nudging Max, who blushes furiously and grips her suitcase tighter.

Max mumbles, "M-Mom, please..." but there’s no real protest in it. Her jeans are snug enough to hint at the curve of her ass—small but perky—though nothing like the jiggling, augmented perfection of her mother’s rear.