| Author: | Sapphire Rush | ISBN: | 9781497732476 |
| Publisher: | Sapphire Rush | Publication: | January 18, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Sapphire Rush |
| ISBN: | 9781497732476 |
| Publisher: | Sapphire Rush |
| Publication: | January 18, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Paula has a good, respectable job on the front desk of a hotel. Her horny boyfriend has a proposition for her; he wants to lie under her desk and watch her as she works. Of course, he doesn't stop there, and soon Paula's being licked in the lobby. Will she be forced to cum in front of the customers?
Warning: This story is 3,400 words of pure red-hot filth, containing public sex, footplay, cunnilingus, forced orgasms and long-distance telephony.
Excerpt:
My idiot, wonderful boyfriend wants to come into work and sit under my desk while I work my shift. And okay, it’s true that nobody can see what’s going on down there unless you’re virtually on top of me. Sure, honey, the desk was practically designed for what you want to do. I’m still not doing it. What the hell am I supposed to do in this economy if I get fired? He won’t fire you, he said. Even if he does, you’ll find another job, he said. But I was firm. I put my foot down. I said no.
I reckoned without his sweet, sweet tongue. That boy knows exactly what he’s doing in an oral capacity; whether he’s reading me the most ridiculous love poetry, kissing me tenderly, or working my clit to a screaming high, he’s got it. He could talk the President of Uganda into a night of hot gay passion with him (and he’d be prepared to follow through, as well; he’s so flexible when he thinks it’ll make me happy!) So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he eventually got me to negotiate some terms. He was just going to lie there, watch, and listen.
Yes, dear, you can masturbate, as long as you don’t get the floor dirty. Yes, dear, I’ll go commando under my short business skirt. Yes, dear, I will trample your balls into a fine paste if you so much as consider the possibility of touching me until we’re back home and free.
And so here I am, ready to work the Wednesday to Thursday night shift. I’m wearing just enough lipstick to look professional, without giving anyone the wrong idea. My hair is perfectly fixed. My formal jacket is completely spotless; my top gives just the tiniest teasing hint of cleavage.
And down below the desk, I am going commando under my short black business skirt, and I’ve kicked off my heels, because nobody finishes this shift in the shoes that they started it in.
Paula has a good, respectable job on the front desk of a hotel. Her horny boyfriend has a proposition for her; he wants to lie under her desk and watch her as she works. Of course, he doesn't stop there, and soon Paula's being licked in the lobby. Will she be forced to cum in front of the customers?
Warning: This story is 3,400 words of pure red-hot filth, containing public sex, footplay, cunnilingus, forced orgasms and long-distance telephony.
Excerpt:
My idiot, wonderful boyfriend wants to come into work and sit under my desk while I work my shift. And okay, it’s true that nobody can see what’s going on down there unless you’re virtually on top of me. Sure, honey, the desk was practically designed for what you want to do. I’m still not doing it. What the hell am I supposed to do in this economy if I get fired? He won’t fire you, he said. Even if he does, you’ll find another job, he said. But I was firm. I put my foot down. I said no.
I reckoned without his sweet, sweet tongue. That boy knows exactly what he’s doing in an oral capacity; whether he’s reading me the most ridiculous love poetry, kissing me tenderly, or working my clit to a screaming high, he’s got it. He could talk the President of Uganda into a night of hot gay passion with him (and he’d be prepared to follow through, as well; he’s so flexible when he thinks it’ll make me happy!) So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he eventually got me to negotiate some terms. He was just going to lie there, watch, and listen.
Yes, dear, you can masturbate, as long as you don’t get the floor dirty. Yes, dear, I’ll go commando under my short business skirt. Yes, dear, I will trample your balls into a fine paste if you so much as consider the possibility of touching me until we’re back home and free.
And so here I am, ready to work the Wednesday to Thursday night shift. I’m wearing just enough lipstick to look professional, without giving anyone the wrong idea. My hair is perfectly fixed. My formal jacket is completely spotless; my top gives just the tiniest teasing hint of cleavage.
And down below the desk, I am going commando under my short black business skirt, and I’ve kicked off my heels, because nobody finishes this shift in the shoes that they started it in.
