The Client

I imagined trudging into his office and slamming the door shut. Before he could ask me what I was doing, I’d take of my shirt. Then I’d walk over and sit on him, and kiss him. Let him remove my bra. He’d have a hand on my back and the other on the back of my head. That way I couldn’t back out. I’d pull off his shirt and work with his belt. Once the fly was down he’d carry me onto his desk, and we’d work together to push off all the papers. Then he’d pull out his cock, and quickly pull down my underwear.

He’d be so horny that my panties would only be at my knees and he’d penetrate. Then he’d pump as hard as he could and I’d moan as loud as I wanted to. Who cares who hears? I’d squeeze the cum out of him. It would be something that seemed perpetual. And, no, there’s no part where I imagine us putting our clothes back on. We wouldn’t. Instead, we’d try some more; on the floor, me sitting on him, me against the wall. We’d fuck our brains out.

These scenes repeated and altered themselve