Working late nights has its perks, especially when your boss has a penchant for oral fixation. I wasn’t the type to complain about my boss’s unusual requests—as long as his wallet was fat, I kept my lips sealed.
There I was, bored out of my mind, when he dropped the “blowjob” bomb. I knew the drill. Under the desk I went, mouth wide open, ready to swallow his every pump.
He never missed a beat, pounds of pleasure pulsating in and out of my throat. I’d mastered the art of deep-throating him, earning me boasting rights among my friends.
As he thrust, I imagined myself as the office whore, a mere cum dumpster for my superior’s delight. The thought sent shivers down my spine, making me even wetter.
His cock felt like a piston, going in and out with force. I gripped the desk for dear life, taking each thrust like a champ. The way he rough-handled my mouth made me feel like the dirtiest girl alive.
When he finally released, it was like winning the sexual lottery. His warm, thick load flooded my mouth. I savored the moment, his praise ringing in my ears.
“That’s what a real woman’s made for,” he’d say, smacking my ass.
I smiled to myself, thinking about the tonight’s payday and how I’d spend his hard-earned dough. Such a lucky girl, eh?
It was a mutually beneficial relationship. He got his rocks off, and I got my fix of kinky office sex.
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