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My mobile buzzed on my desk, telling me a new message arrived. > Guess what I wore today? Oh shit. Another message from you. Ever since we hooked up out of nowhere after work a few weeks ago we’ve been at it nonstop as we discover how amazingly compatible we are in bed. And in the car. And in your kitchen. And in the unused office on the 3rd floor. As I contemplate my incredible good fortune, the phone buzzes again in my hand. This time it’s a picture: you’re in the ladies room near your office, and your blouse is unbuttoned, revealing the corset you’d told me about last night on the phone. Just as you said, the black lace on top barely covers your tits, and the curvy swoop inside the conservative blouse, added to the sexy smirk on your face, makes the blood rush rus escort to my cock. Your look says, I know, right? Fucking sexy. I am staring at you with my mouth agape when Jackson clears his throat; I’d been so taken aback I hadn’t even heard him enter my office. I try not to slam the mobile down too hard when he comes around the desk to see some figures he needs from the report I was working on. The phone buzzes again; I try to push the thought of what it might say out of my mind, telling the inquisitive coworker that I have to get back to work. He shrugs and leaves, and I grab up the phone. > No shirt on the drive to work > Gave a couple truckers a big thrill > SO FUCKING HORNY Goddamn. > Jackson was just in yenimahalle escort here. He so wants to fuck you > Maybe I should let him. Think he’s got a big cock? > Careful, naughty thing, Get out of line and I will spank you > You wish. TTYL, too horny, must go find Jackson Fucking hell. What an evil tease, I think. I am still trying to think up an answer when my desk phone rings and draws me back into doing work. I’m still on the phone discussing the fate of the Chicago branch when I hear something hit the floor outside my office, followed by a familiar voice exclaim in frustration. I glance away from my computer and, fucking hell, you are there, bent over at the waist, picking up some folders you “accidentally” dropped, your luscious ass framed in my doorway like some delicious candy hovering in space, the skirt not really concealing the sexy expanse of flesh and WHAM there’s my cock again. The voice on the phone is asking if I’m still there and I stammer that there’s something wrong and I need to call back. You manage to finish gathering the spilled minutia of our working days, and stand up slowly. Are you pushing your chest out a bit? I bet you are, you tease. You know exactly where my gaze is, until you turn to face me. Oh hi, you say, pretending to just realize whose office you were putting on your little show for. I was told you have the key to the supply room. Why yes I do, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask? Oh, I need a few things for people on my floor, you reply airily, as if we don’t both know exactly what you’re asking for. Could you help me get in there? I dunno, I say, I’m kinda busy. Do you need it right right now? Yeah, you reply, a slightly harder edge creeping into your voice, I need it.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32