1. Dirty Throb


    Date: 1/15/2016, Categories: Flash Erotica, Author: Possibly, Rating: 38, Source: LushStories

    and hands squeeze your shoulders. Slow. I’m determined to relieve every hiccup and kink. Let me straddle you, caress the back of your head, and press your face gently into my laced-clad bosom. Black lace thong with pearls (leading to my pearl), sheer black hose, and fuck-me pumps – that’s what you like, right? I press my pussy into you while I lick my name on your neck. It’s a slow grind. Stroke and graze, baby. Exhale. Breathe out the lunacy - the emails, the crazy boss, the lazy employees, the indecisive customers, the neurotic clients, and the meetings. Exhale that staff meeting (imprisonment) you had this morning with what’s-her-name. Let’s call her Ambrosia; the epitome of professionalism: hair slicked in a tight bun, black rimmed glasses, tiny waist, phat ass – a Coke bottle with nipples forever pointing to the heavens. Yea, Ambrosia: the one who sashays into a room like flashing neon lights and causes everybody to experience an erection - cock or no cock. Ambrosia: the one you cannot, (correction) the one you will never have...maybe. Still stroking? Inhaling, I feel your dirty throb. My honey drips just thinking about the trouser adjustments you must’ve made this morning whilst your mind surveyed and noted the steepness of Ambrosia’s profile. Her hills and mountains were such a sweet ...
    distraction from that mundane financial presentation, that you can still taste them right now, can’t you? Mmm. Tell the truth. Not sure if your rising pulsations are coming from the thought of Ambrosia’s protruding nips, or if they’re coming from the feel of my juicy behind doing the dirty wind all over your cock. Exhale and tell me. Which one is making your pole jump? I thought so. Trace the length – up and down, and then stroke. Inhale. Do you know that I am your respite, your recess, your time out, and your fuck doll? I am your naughty-ass Ambrosia... the maybe. Borrow me. Bend me over the conference table. Lean into me. Slide the lace and pearls to the side, and guide your hardness into my topside: the northern passage. Thrust . Make this drag of a staff meeting worth your time. Mind fuck harder. Push me down onto the table, and press past my resistance. Drill me. Pull. Free that knot of hair, twist it around your hand, and give it a firm pull. Pull him just a little faster now. Homebound, put your foot on the pedal. Work your rhythm with an unyielding intensity. Drive in; pull out. Do that... repeatedly. Tell me, where do you plan on blowing your jism? I thought so. Exhale and feel free to scream multiple combinations of expletives as you spray your liberation all over Ambrosia’s face. Tissue?
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