"Max, I'm so itchy down there. Could you use your stick to scratch it for me?"

Beneath the desk, my boss's daughter was perched on my lap, her round little bottom in the air.

I was in the middle of a project meeting with my team, a whole group of them standing in front of my desk.

She was driving me crazy. My hardness was itching and swelling by the second. I was about to lose it.

My name is Max Niemann. Today, our company landed a major project. To make sure everything went smoothly, I called my team into my office for a meeting.

Just as we reached a critical point, I felt something strange down below.

I looked down—and there Jean Garwell, my boss's daughter.

I had no idea when she'd crawled under my desk. She'd already unzipped my pants and slipped her hand inside.

So that's where she'd disappeared to.

Earlier today, my boss had to go on a business trip for the project and entrusted her daughter to my care.

Jean had been in my office just a moment ago. Then I stepped out to call everyone in for the meeting, and when I came back, she was gone. Turns out she'd hidden herself under my desk.

If my boss ever found out, I could kiss this job goodbye.

Jean was fresh and delicate, barely eighteen, with a figure that had developed to absolute perfection. She wore a white tube top that left half of each full breast exposed, and every step she took set them swaying like ripples on water.

It stirred me up just looking at her, but out of respect for her father, I'd kept my distance—look, but don't touch.

Now she was crouched between my legs, and with me looking down from above, I had a perfect view of those two round, plump globes.

They were so impossibly young and supple. I'd never seen such luscious, ripe curves. They were practically bursting from the pressure of my thighs.

When she saw me staring down at her, she made a goofy face. Two little canines flashed in a silly, sweet grin—adorable as hell.

I narrowed my eyes at her and whispered, "What are you doing in there? Get out!"

But instead of listening, she only pushed further. Her soft little hand slipped inside.

A wave of unbearable tingling shot through me. I curled my toes hard into the floor, every muscle tensed against the deep, bone-tickling itch. I fought to keep my body from giving anything away—there were too many people watching.

"Max, what's with this lump here? Let me rub it for you," she said, her face the picture of innocence.

Her expression was both alluring and pure, and I wanted nothing more than to throw her onto the desk right then and there.

But with the whole team waiting for me to lead the meeting, I forced the urge down. "Stop it. Get out."

The moment I said that, my employees just stared at me, confused.

"Mr. Niemann, aren't we having a meeting? Why are you telling us to get out?"

They'd misunderstood me, but there was no way to explain.

I cleared my throat. "Ahem. That's not what I meant. Let's continue."

But Jean thought I was talking to her.

"You want me to continue, Max? My rubbing feels good, doesn't it? I do this to myself all the time. Every time, it makes me feel all tingly down there."

She spread her palm and gripped my shaft. Instantly, the heat inside me surged.

"Oh? Why is there a stick here? This is so much fun."

Her hand was so soft, so tender. It felt like electricity racing through me. My body trembled, beyond my control.

My employees noticed something off and asked with concern, "Mr. Niemann, are you alright? Not feeling well?"

I was flushed red from what Jean was doing, my blood boiling. But I couldn't let them catch on. So I said to my team, "I'm fine, actually. Feeling pretty good."

And once again, Jean misunderstood. Her grip grew tighter, even through my underwear, clutching me firmly.

"This feels good, doesn't it?" she giggled, wrapping both hands around and gently twisting.

The sensation of being handled and stroked by her nearly made me cry out. I strained every muscle to stay still, forcing myself to carry on with the meeting as if nothing were wrong.

"This project is critical to the company, and our team can't afford to let this opportunity slip. From now on, every single one of us must give it our all." I forced down the hunger burning inside me as I gave instructions to my staff.

Little did they know—right under my desk, the boss's daughter was busy with me.

And there they were, pens poised over their notepads, jotting down my every word with absolute seriousness.

Just as I was about to move on to the specific action items, Jean suddenly grabbed my pants and yanked them down.

"I want to see what Max's rod looks like. How come it's so hard and so hot?"

With all these people standing right in front of me! I jolted with fear.

I reached down quickly to stop her. "You can't take my pants off!"

My staff looked up, confused.

"Mr. Niemann, should we write that down too?"

I forced an awkward smile. "No need for that one. Just stick to the important points."

All the while, my hands were under the desk, wrestling Jean for my pants.

She pulled with all her might—two soft, full mounds pressing against me as she tugged.

Her skin was so tender, so bouncy, it sent a jolt of heat straight through me, making my blood roar.

The craving in my gut flared higher.

Just then, one of my staff handed me a report to review.

I reached out automatically to take it.

The moment I let go, Jean shoved my suit pants wide open.

My heart slammed into my throat. This was the boss's daughter—an eighteen-year-old virgin. Thank God the desk was big enough to block the view from the front.

I tried to pull my pants back up, but couldn't get them to stay.

Jean stared wide-eyed. "Max, how did you hide something so long in here? That's amazing."

The sharp thrill of skin against skin made the fire in my gut blaze even hotter.

My body was spiraling out of control.

Jean marveled, "Max, is this your magic staff? It's getting bigger! It feels so good to touch. Why is my whole body getting so hot? This is unbearable."

Her face drifted closer, warm breath spilling over me.

Every pore on my body opened wide. The desire inside me was nearly at its peak. My hands clenched into fists, every muscle locked tight, fighting the craving that bored into my bones.

"Mr. Niemann? Mr. Niemann?" A staff member, noticing my silence, cleared his throat. "Is there something wrong with the report?"

The voice snapped me back to reality, wrenching me from the pleasure.

That was close. Too close.

I glanced over the document—seemed fine—and said, "This report is good. No issues. Go ahead and get back to work."

The staff member walked off, and I finally exhaled.

The meeting wasn't over. I had to keep going.

But Jean kept playing, and I had to endure the torment.

It left me stammering, my breath hitching now and then.

Doing something like this right in front of my staff—it was unbearably thrilling.

I fought to suppress the storm inside me, to steady my voice.

But the more I held back, the more intense it became—as if I were being melted from the inside out.

I dropped my gaze to the papers on the desk, trying to focus on work, but my eyes kept drifting.

Jean was no longer satisfied with just her hands. Curious, she said, "Max's rod feels so nice to touch. I wonder what it tastes like."

The moment the words left Jean's mouth, she parted her cherry-red lips and took me in.

A shattering wave of pleasure detonated in my brain—wrapped in warm, silky softness.

My legs turned to jelly. I was floating, drifting out of my body.

God, Jean knew exactly what she was doing.

She teased, she twirled, she stroked, she probed—her clever tongue swirling nonstop, sending electric jolts through every nerve until my whole body went numb.

I wasn't going to last much longer.

Jean lifted her head and gazed up at me, eyes full of tender warmth.

"Max… you taste so good."

Then she ducked her head again, hungry and eager.

Every cell in my body seemed to explode. I had to lock every muscle tight just to keep from trembling where anyone could see.

My colleagues noticed the strange look on my face. They assumed it was work stress. No one dared move.

Then, out of nowhere, the boss came back.

She burst into my office, practically glowing. "Great news! The project just hit another milestone."

My heart nearly stopped. My boss was standing right in front of me. And her daughter was kneeling between my legs…

I hadn't planned this. But if she found out, I'd be dead.

I reached down, trying to push Jean away. But she was too lost in what she was doing. She didn't budge.

I'd never seen her this ravenous. And of all times, she had to pick now.

Panic blazed through me—even as the pleasure kept rolling in waves beneath it.

The boss noticed something off in my expression. "Max, are you okay? You don't look well."

She started walking toward me. This was it. She was going to see.

Right at that critical moment, my brain scrambled for a lifeline.

"I'm fine," I said. "You should go check on Jean. I don't know where she ran off to."

That caught her attention. She smacked her forehead. "Oh, right—I almost forgot. I told you to keep an eye on her before I left. Where has she gone?"

I couldn't exactly tell her her daughter was hiding under my desk. I gave a strained smile.

"I was busy with the meeting and lost track for a second. She probably went outside to play. Why don't you go look for her?"

The boss finally turned and walked out.

I was shaking. Thank God she hadn't seen.

I couldn't let Jean stay down there another second. I had to get rid of her.

I waved at my staff. "Alright, nothing else that's urgent for now. You can all head back."

They filed out of my office one by one.

Finally. I let out a breath and shoved Jean away.

She licked her lips and grinned up at me. "Max, you were hiding something this good and wouldn't share. You're so bad."

I patted her head gently. "Be good now. Go outside first. I'll give you more after work, okay?"

But Jean's face flushed with need. "Max… down there… it feels so itchy. Can you scratch it for me?"

She slipped off her little floral skirt and revealed a secret grove—sparse and soft and impossibly beautiful.

I didn't have time to admire it. I grabbed her skirt and told her to get dressed and leave my office.

Right then, the boss walked back in.

I shoved Jean under my desk faster than lightning.

The boss pushed the door open. "Max, I looked everywhere. I can't find Jean. Where did she go?"

I fought to keep my voice steady. "I don't know. Maybe she went downstairs."

Then, between my legs, came an impossibly tight squeeze. It was a thousand times tighter than her mouth.

I looked down.

Two smooth, round cheeks were seated deep on me.