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Jesus fucking Christ!
But hell, fucking yes.
My hand slips down between my legs, working at my screaming clit, and I tip my head back, my mouth open as wide as I can get it. This is what true sluts are made of.
His dirty, swollen cock uses my dirty filled mouth, bulging out my cheeks as I smile up at him. I slurp and suck, bucking under my own finger play as he spit, spit, spits over my face. It spurs me on. I want it all.
“You’re going to get me in so much shit if anyone sees this,” he grunts, and wrenches me towards him so my head is hanging over the back of his desk. My hair swishes as he jabs his whole fucking cock in my throat, the panty gag practically suffocating me, jammed so far back.
I feel captured by it, struggling to breathe as my drool spurts free. He thrusts, out of control, and I may be struggling and squirming, but I don’t fight him. I don’t want to.
That’s when I get the strangest sensation, my fingers still working my clit.
I want his hands around my throat, squeezing tight.
I want the headiness of fighting for breath for real as I come for him.
I try to cry out, encouraging him. He slams harder, and I keep going, wanting to make a noise.
“Shut up!” he snaps.
Make me. That’s what I want to say.
And he delivers. He jabs his cock right to the back of my throat, so I’m choked up by lace and his thick fucking dick, and his hands takes my throat, squeezing just enough to reinforce his power.
Then he stays there.
Pinning me, choking me, controlling me until I begin to thrash, but even through the gag and the pressure and the wave of panic, I’m smiling.
Holy fuck, I like this.
I’m almost disappointed when he releases his hold and pulls his cock out far enough that I can take a breath, coughing around the sodden lace.
“More please, Sir,” I manage to splutter, and he gives me another round of throat slammers, but no more choking. Just him, taking his pleasure as he uses me.
When he’s on the edge of the explosion he pulls his cock free and holds it high above my face. I adore looking up at his shaft as he’s about to spurt. I spit the panties far enough out that they drape across my cheek, a sopping wreck of lace. They must be so fucking filthy.
I come in sync with him, my clit sparking and pussy pulsing as he works his dick in his hand. He sprays his load in drips at first, splatting over my cheeks as well as my open mouth. Then come the jets. Lovely long spurts that cover my face in streams.
The gag doesn’t stop me moaning as I come. I’m like a fish on a hook, still clad in my posh office outfit, with my blouse unbuttoned and my tits covered in spit. Hardly a professional businesswoman. But that only makes it more exciting.
He tugs the panties totally free as I gulp in air. I shuffle back so my head is flat against his desk again, and then, finally, grouchy Mr Gregory meets my smile with one of his own. Game done and dusted.
“I thought I was going to choke you unconscious for a minute back there.”
I laugh. “So did I.”
“Sorry about that, got a little carried away.”
“No need to be sorry, I enjoyed it.”
He laughs back. “Death by panty fucking at SQW.”
I shrug. “I’m sure there are worse ways to go.”
He helps me up, and the room swirls for a few seconds while I reorientate. I sit on the edge of his desk and button my blouse back up, my face still covered in drool and cum. He holds up my used lace panties.
“May I keep these?”
