Monday, February 20, 2012

Pictures of You (2)

Since I'm thinking about it, this is what I picture when I think of Emily and her last boss, the one she had a huge crush on, the one she would often meet in hotel rooms for "meetings."

She'd tell him she didn't know if it was a good idea, if they should be doing this, she'd tell him this as the head of his cock touched her wet lips, she'd tell him, biting her lip, torn, torn.

"Tell me to stop then," he'd respond, holding, tense, wound, an animal, ready to strike. "Because if you don't..."

There's nothing, no words are spoken, five seconds, ten, she just breathes, heavier and heavier, unable to tell him yes, unable to tell him no.

And then he uncoils and drives forward, one thrust, she's so wet, he enters her in one thrust, deeper and deeper, filling her, opening her, possessing her. He says nothing, no words, simply grunts, as he pushes in, pulls out, pushes in, pulls out, over and over and over.


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