At first, working with me was convenient: my office was next door to yours. But you soon found me dependable, imaginative, and mysteriously intriguing, and worked with me because you liked me as much as you liked the projects we collaborated on. As our ambition for the latest project grew, so did the time we spent together. Accepting my invitation to continue work into the night at my house felt instinctive.
What also felt instinctive was the way I forced you onto your knees, pushed you under my table, and pulled your mouth into my lap a few minutes after you arrived. "I'll write the precis," I say, "and you'll keep me warm." I slide my erect cock between your lips, twitch, and moan while I begin to type. When you try to budge--let alone articulate words with my thick member down your throat--my legs tighten around you.
Do you pinch, punch, and wriggle your way out from beneath my table? Or do you settle in for the night, using your tongue to tease my taut shaft to break my focus? Or do you tap out, only to offer your wet pussy as a cockwarmer deeper than your mouth? Be careful if you do--I don't do condoms, and if you move too much in my lap I'll flood your cervix with my hot seed.
You're 18 or older, but there's no such thing as too old. You're open to discussing this scenario, sexting through it, and maybe something more if we click. You'll include your age and the title of the last foreign film you saw. I look forward to playing with you.
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- 2 years ago
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