Yes Mr Shaver part 2
- 4 years ago
- 38
- 0
Shouldn't Have Peeked free porn video
It’s a busy weekday morning in the office, but nothing I can’t handle. Lists dwindle as the 'things to do' get dispatched. A nice, uneventful day so far.
While I’m figuring out which item gets next priority, my tummy does a crazy flip. It’s done that intermittently for the past three days so I know damn well it’s not the mango I had with breakfast.
I motor through another item on the agenda. Done.
For some reason, a racing pulse has decided to keep the tummy flip company. I know only too well what it means.
Another item. Done.
Well, since things are going so smoothly, I’ll just take a peek.
No. Don’t do it. Go to the next item.
Another. Done.
My hand starts to shake. I stabilize it over the mouse. On autopilot, it opens another browser and removes the adult content filter. The racing pulse is getting worse. Hello, my name is Jai and I’m a Lush addict. I swear my ears are ringing.
Nope, not signing in. Just seeing if a certain hotly anticipated story made it to the home page. Not mine, but someone else’s. He was cool enough to send a teaser during the weekend. Probably still in mods, with the busy queue of late, but it’s been three days now not that I’m counting or anything silly like that.
Don’t even know the title. None was given but, duh, we know who submitted and how it begins.
Oh, what a beginning it was too. What a brusque, punchy narrative. It made my heart thump, and regions south twitch, at first sight. I couldn’t wait to follow over whatever twisted trail it was leading, and find out how quickly it would get my panties off.
The phone rings and I jump three feet. Thank goodness, saved by the bell. It’s just a routine question, asked and answered. Done.
It’s a sign. Keep your mind where it belongs. Another on the list. Done. Keep it up, you’re doing fine.
But you have to know. Take a peek. One little look?
I click back into the forbidden browser. It’s not the first story, nor the second. Scrolling down a bit...Whoa...There! It’s there!
Okay, now you know it’s up and you’ll have something to read after work.
Oh, who are you kidding! You know you have to read it now!
I steal a nervous glance at the closed door. Sure it locks, but I can’t risk it.
So I’m reading, eyes tracking sentences like lighthouse beacons, heart banging like a loose shutter in hurricane season, and already the locks on the Panama Canal are failing.
All the familiar tingles and throbs are at high frequency and multiplied exponentially by the forceful, dare I say, borderline aggressive, vibe radiating from the narrator.
Who is this man? Where did his stream of consciousness come from and how did it darken and lengthen so alluringly until its tendrils insinuated every orifice? Really, I want to ask, where did Sir One Liner go and what have you done with him?
Who is he taunting and then pleasuring at such a perfect tempo? Definitely not me, but why am I wishing it is?
Wow, I silently mouth as the story concludes. Bravissimo. I log in to leave an approving comment. Awesome read, great job, all that stuff. Want to write proud of you but, nahh. Want to write how it’s going to make me do some very naughty things after work but, nahh.
Fine. It’s done. Scored and reviewed. Logged off. Curiosity satisfied.
Your curiosity might be satisfied, but that surging fullness in your loins is begging to differ. No, begging isn’t the right word. Demanding, yes.
Suddenly the story page is up on my screen again and I’m totally mainlining on his words. Just tie me off and give me the needle already. I’m trembling all over with pure pharmaceutical quality arousal.
Stop it! Wait until after you get home. A token protest at best.
It’s purely medicinal therapy. Get it over with. You’ll be an unfocused, flaming train wreck if you don’t.
I turn down the net audio to zero. I need to be able to hear every sound on the other side of that closed but not locked door. Everything sounds as it should in the neighboring room.
You are seriously not going to do this, are you?
But the injection has begun to take effect, and I unbutton the corduroys and muffle the sound of the drawn down zipper with a strategically placed thumb.
Dammit, why didn’t I wear a skirt today? It’s too freaking cold, that’s why, but the one saving factor is the loose sweater which might just be long enough to cover in case of interruption.
But how to explain scrolling left-handed? Never mind, hopefully you come before you get to that bridge.
I start again at the beginning. My eyes devour the text as my fingers slide into the place it made so very ready. Ohh, how did the slickness travel so far up my slit on its own? Forget about friction then. It’s going to be a quick, juicy, highly focused swirl just off the turgid tip of my violently awakened clit.
What filthy names he’s calling her! No one would get away with calling me that!
Chill. It’s not you, and you can let it slide, this once.
Select phrases tease and pummel my imagination as my finger mimics that duel over my clit. The operative finger’s neighbors spread the portals to heighten sensation, as if any more were needed with this amazing mind fuck launching such a savage assault on my self-control.
Please, oh please, don't let anyone walk in and find me sprawled out in my chair like this, legs so wide only one can remain under my desk, back arched and trying desperately to compensate for the splayed legs, backside miraculously hanging onto the seat edge in spite of it all.
How I wish I could strip off until I was as naked as she, with nothing restricting the application of all which induces that ultimate natural high. I wish I could see what she sees, feel what she feels, cry out for all the things she begs for, and yes, yes, yes says my racing heart and accelerated breathing and tense thighs and clenching belly and spun out of control raging thundering screaming crashing desire needing to be fed, slaked, utterly ravished.
I’m suspended by a thread... so tenuous it is, beginning on the tiny jut of my clit, yet it ties every nerve of my body into one singing surge...
And it snaps, whipsaws my involuntary musculature into intense contractions, forces a groan I stifle with all my might, and washes me over with waves of star points that take their time ebbing as I come down from this oh, so incredible rush.
What the heck, I'll just work through lunch.
While I’m figuring out which item gets next priority, my tummy does a crazy flip. It’s done that intermittently for the past three days so I know damn well it’s not the mango I had with breakfast.
I motor through another item on the agenda. Done.
For some reason, a racing pulse has decided to keep the tummy flip company. I know only too well what it means.
Another item. Done.
Well, since things are going so smoothly, I’ll just take a peek.
No. Don’t do it. Go to the next item.
Another. Done.
My hand starts to shake. I stabilize it over the mouse. On autopilot, it opens another browser and removes the adult content filter. The racing pulse is getting worse. Hello, my name is Jai and I’m a Lush addict. I swear my ears are ringing.
Nope, not signing in. Just seeing if a certain hotly anticipated story made it to the home page. Not mine, but someone else’s. He was cool enough to send a teaser during the weekend. Probably still in mods, with the busy queue of late, but it’s been three days now not that I’m counting or anything silly like that.
Don’t even know the title. None was given but, duh, we know who submitted and how it begins.
Oh, what a beginning it was too. What a brusque, punchy narrative. It made my heart thump, and regions south twitch, at first sight. I couldn’t wait to follow over whatever twisted trail it was leading, and find out how quickly it would get my panties off.
The phone rings and I jump three feet. Thank goodness, saved by the bell. It’s just a routine question, asked and answered. Done.
It’s a sign. Keep your mind where it belongs. Another on the list. Done. Keep it up, you’re doing fine.
But you have to know. Take a peek. One little look?
I click back into the forbidden browser. It’s not the first story, nor the second. Scrolling down a bit...Whoa...There! It’s there!
Okay, now you know it’s up and you’ll have something to read after work.
Oh, who are you kidding! You know you have to read it now!
I steal a nervous glance at the closed door. Sure it locks, but I can’t risk it.
So I’m reading, eyes tracking sentences like lighthouse beacons, heart banging like a loose shutter in hurricane season, and already the locks on the Panama Canal are failing.
All the familiar tingles and throbs are at high frequency and multiplied exponentially by the forceful, dare I say, borderline aggressive, vibe radiating from the narrator.
Who is this man? Where did his stream of consciousness come from and how did it darken and lengthen so alluringly until its tendrils insinuated every orifice? Really, I want to ask, where did Sir One Liner go and what have you done with him?
Who is he taunting and then pleasuring at such a perfect tempo? Definitely not me, but why am I wishing it is?
Wow, I silently mouth as the story concludes. Bravissimo. I log in to leave an approving comment. Awesome read, great job, all that stuff. Want to write proud of you but, nahh. Want to write how it’s going to make me do some very naughty things after work but, nahh.
Fine. It’s done. Scored and reviewed. Logged off. Curiosity satisfied.
Your curiosity might be satisfied, but that surging fullness in your loins is begging to differ. No, begging isn’t the right word. Demanding, yes.
Suddenly the story page is up on my screen again and I’m totally mainlining on his words. Just tie me off and give me the needle already. I’m trembling all over with pure pharmaceutical quality arousal.
Stop it! Wait until after you get home. A token protest at best.
It’s purely medicinal therapy. Get it over with. You’ll be an unfocused, flaming train wreck if you don’t.
I turn down the net audio to zero. I need to be able to hear every sound on the other side of that closed but not locked door. Everything sounds as it should in the neighboring room.
You are seriously not going to do this, are you?
But the injection has begun to take effect, and I unbutton the corduroys and muffle the sound of the drawn down zipper with a strategically placed thumb.
Dammit, why didn’t I wear a skirt today? It’s too freaking cold, that’s why, but the one saving factor is the loose sweater which might just be long enough to cover in case of interruption.
But how to explain scrolling left-handed? Never mind, hopefully you come before you get to that bridge.
I start again at the beginning. My eyes devour the text as my fingers slide into the place it made so very ready. Ohh, how did the slickness travel so far up my slit on its own? Forget about friction then. It’s going to be a quick, juicy, highly focused swirl just off the turgid tip of my violently awakened clit.
What filthy names he’s calling her! No one would get away with calling me that!
Chill. It’s not you, and you can let it slide, this once.
Select phrases tease and pummel my imagination as my finger mimics that duel over my clit. The operative finger’s neighbors spread the portals to heighten sensation, as if any more were needed with this amazing mind fuck launching such a savage assault on my self-control.
Please, oh please, don't let anyone walk in and find me sprawled out in my chair like this, legs so wide only one can remain under my desk, back arched and trying desperately to compensate for the splayed legs, backside miraculously hanging onto the seat edge in spite of it all.
How I wish I could strip off until I was as naked as she, with nothing restricting the application of all which induces that ultimate natural high. I wish I could see what she sees, feel what she feels, cry out for all the things she begs for, and yes, yes, yes says my racing heart and accelerated breathing and tense thighs and clenching belly and spun out of control raging thundering screaming crashing desire needing to be fed, slaked, utterly ravished.
I’m suspended by a thread... so tenuous it is, beginning on the tiny jut of my clit, yet it ties every nerve of my body into one singing surge...
And it snaps, whipsaws my involuntary musculature into intense contractions, forces a groan I stifle with all my might, and washes me over with waves of star points that take their time ebbing as I come down from this oh, so incredible rush.
What the heck, I'll just work through lunch.
Louise
- 26.12.2020
- 32
- 0
- Category:
- Masturbation
