I drop my pencil with which I write graphic summaries about social consumers when my boss lady shuts the door behind herself to my assigned, social, welfare office within offices under florescent lights.
She straddles me in an instant, unexpectedly.
The boss lady sits on my lap while I am seated in an office chair with wheels at a monitor and latches the door as she arches back to lock the knob at my protest of her protruding nipples from her blouse buttons.
Then, she twitches melon-green panties under her black, taught, business skirt to one side with her labia while guiding my erect penis through its zipper into pink slime amidst labia and melon green panties.
She is a robot, I think.
"So? Am I fired?"
"No. It's all right."
"I didn't mean to cum so soon ..."
"Don't worry about it!" the supervisor with melon green panties says emphatically pulling her panties into place in spite of the semen I leave in her pussy.
Without another word, the buxom-melon-green-panty-wearing-supervisor woman leaves the room closing my assigned, social, welfare office door behind her as she walks out adjusted.
I know that she will want more, but I don't know where to turn. Shall I "sell out" my penis to melon green panties or else labia, or, both!?
I know. I will ask her to marry me! She cannot deny me. How will she find it in her heart to fire me if I have sex towards the goal of marriage!?
"Latisha? You been trippin'?"
"Yes mum."
"I want you so bad to be good ... you know that?"
"Yes mum."
Meanwhile:
The supervisor lady with the melon green thong underwear fucks all the twenty something employees at the social welfare office and loves it so much that she is nominated for an award between the women workers on how many newbies she's fucked at the office under florescent lights.
Seriously, as fat as her thighs were that day and every day that I see her across from the social welfare office where I saw her return after the restaurant patio eating calamari for lunch:
her melon green, thong panties, as viewed from a strategic angle under a nearby table by myself, are ingrained in my memory forever as what social welfare women workers wear to work and I just fucked a hooker's pussy thinking of melon green panties on a restaurant patio seated nearby with a view to a boner, blue balls and eventual ejaculation ...
She straddles me in an instant, unexpectedly.
The boss lady sits on my lap while I am seated in an office chair with wheels at a monitor and latches the door as she arches back to lock the knob at my protest of her protruding nipples from her blouse buttons.
Then, she twitches melon-green panties under her black, taught, business skirt to one side with her labia while guiding my erect penis through its zipper into pink slime amidst labia and melon green panties.
She is a robot, I think.
"So? Am I fired?"
"No. It's all right."
"I didn't mean to cum so soon ..."
"Don't worry about it!" the supervisor with melon green panties says emphatically pulling her panties into place in spite of the semen I leave in her pussy.
Without another word, the buxom-melon-green-panty-wearing-supervisor woman leaves the room closing my assigned, social, welfare office door behind her as she walks out adjusted.
I know that she will want more, but I don't know where to turn. Shall I "sell out" my penis to melon green panties or else labia, or, both!?
I know. I will ask her to marry me! She cannot deny me. How will she find it in her heart to fire me if I have sex towards the goal of marriage!?
"Latisha? You been trippin'?"
"Yes mum."
"I want you so bad to be good ... you know that?"
"Yes mum."
Meanwhile:
The supervisor lady with the melon green thong underwear fucks all the twenty something employees at the social welfare office and loves it so much that she is nominated for an award between the women workers on how many newbies she's fucked at the office under florescent lights.
Seriously, as fat as her thighs were that day and every day that I see her across from the social welfare office where I saw her return after the restaurant patio eating calamari for lunch:
her melon green, thong panties, as viewed from a strategic angle under a nearby table by myself, are ingrained in my memory forever as what social welfare women workers wear to work and I just fucked a hooker's pussy thinking of melon green panties on a restaurant patio seated nearby with a view to a boner, blue balls and eventual ejaculation ...
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