advertising firm is well-regarded and so they get to hire the top graduates from all the top schools. For the creative departments this works out great, because you get a lot of smart, earnest young people. But for the “harder” departments like accounting and legal, you basically get . . .
“. . . a bunch of assholes,” Cynthia had told me after her first week confined to that conference room with them. “All four of them.”
This was a couple of months ago, and I remember it well because we fucked hard that evening before dinner, with Cynthia asking me to pull her hair while sliding two fingers into her asshole as I took her from behind. It was a pretty wild session, I remember, with Cynthia bucking and grunting as I pulled her pony-tail. At one moment she was snorting so loudly I thought I was riding a horse—a mare in full heat, of course. Holy shit I came HARD that day!
Now I am getting hard just thinking about it, which is too bad because I am at work. I could go jerk off in the bathroom, which I do sometimes. But lately I’ve been holding it in for when I get home, because Cynthia’s been insatiable these days again . . . yes, these days as that restlessness is creeping back into us . . . that yearning for another session . . . new men, new cocks, new situations.
Which takes me back to that day Cynthia complained about those lawyers:
“Assholes,” she said again after both of us came and were lying on the couch together, sweaty and wet, the smell of semen and cunt heavy in the air. “Every one of them. Just because they all went to law school at fancy universities and are getting paid well into six-figures, it doesn’t mean they can treat everyone like shit.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I remember saying to Cynthia as I glanced at her exposed nipples, then reached over and casually plucked at the dark red tips, stroking them until they got rigid and pointy again.
She barely noticed, her face pointing straight ahead as she talked. “Fucking Jack, with his pinstriped suit and striped shirt. Who wears a striped shirt with a striped suit!”
“Ridiculous,” I mumbled as I leaned forward to suck on my wife’s other nipple. I was nowhere near getting hard again, but over the past year Cynthia and I have become so familiar with one another’s bodies and sexuality that it’s almost second-nature for me to pull on her tits, squeeze her ass, finger her asshole even if we’re not about to have sex or anything.
“And that guy Marcos,” she went on as I caressed the smooth white skin on her wide hips. “Fine, I get that he’s from Spain. But I really think he puts on a much heavier accent than he needs to. He’s always drawing out his sentences, putting emphases on strange words. It’s almost an Italian accent that he puts on, like maybe he thinks white American women are going to swoon over him.”
“Do they?” I whispered as I licked her cleavage.
“Do they what?” Cynthia said, looking down at me. “Are you even listening to me?”
I chuckled as I looked up at her smiling face. “Of course I’m listening. You said this Spanish guy was faking an Italian accent to get American women to swoon over him. So do they swoon over him or what?”
Cynthia shrugged. “Probably. I can see him convincing a few women to suck his cock.”
I laughed even as I felt my soft cock stir at the thought of my wife being convinced to suck this lawyer’s Spanish cock. “What about the other two lawyers?” I asked her quickly.
“Well, there’s Anders, who’s half-Swiss, half-German or something. Tall and blonde. Kind of soft-spoken, but when he does talk, he proves himself to be a world champion asshole like the rest of them.”
I laughed again as the picture in my mind expanded to three men with my Cynthia now: Jack in his striped shirt and striped suit, cock sticking out of his pants. Marcos smiling and nodding as he explains to my wife how wonderful it would be to suck his Spanish-Italian dick. And
“. . . a bunch of assholes,” Cynthia had told me after her first week confined to that conference room with them. “All four of them.”
This was a couple of months ago, and I remember it well because we fucked hard that evening before dinner, with Cynthia asking me to pull her hair while sliding two fingers into her asshole as I took her from behind. It was a pretty wild session, I remember, with Cynthia bucking and grunting as I pulled her pony-tail. At one moment she was snorting so loudly I thought I was riding a horse—a mare in full heat, of course. Holy shit I came HARD that day!
Now I am getting hard just thinking about it, which is too bad because I am at work. I could go jerk off in the bathroom, which I do sometimes. But lately I’ve been holding it in for when I get home, because Cynthia’s been insatiable these days again . . . yes, these days as that restlessness is creeping back into us . . . that yearning for another session . . . new men, new cocks, new situations.
Which takes me back to that day Cynthia complained about those lawyers:
“Assholes,” she said again after both of us came and were lying on the couch together, sweaty and wet, the smell of semen and cunt heavy in the air. “Every one of them. Just because they all went to law school at fancy universities and are getting paid well into six-figures, it doesn’t mean they can treat everyone like shit.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I remember saying to Cynthia as I glanced at her exposed nipples, then reached over and casually plucked at the dark red tips, stroking them until they got rigid and pointy again.
She barely noticed, her face pointing straight ahead as she talked. “Fucking Jack, with his pinstriped suit and striped shirt. Who wears a striped shirt with a striped suit!”
“Ridiculous,” I mumbled as I leaned forward to suck on my wife’s other nipple. I was nowhere near getting hard again, but over the past year Cynthia and I have become so familiar with one another’s bodies and sexuality that it’s almost second-nature for me to pull on her tits, squeeze her ass, finger her asshole even if we’re not about to have sex or anything.
“And that guy Marcos,” she went on as I caressed the smooth white skin on her wide hips. “Fine, I get that he’s from Spain. But I really think he puts on a much heavier accent than he needs to. He’s always drawing out his sentences, putting emphases on strange words. It’s almost an Italian accent that he puts on, like maybe he thinks white American women are going to swoon over him.”
“Do they?” I whispered as I licked her cleavage.
“Do they what?” Cynthia said, looking down at me. “Are you even listening to me?”
I chuckled as I looked up at her smiling face. “Of course I’m listening. You said this Spanish guy was faking an Italian accent to get American women to swoon over him. So do they swoon over him or what?”
Cynthia shrugged. “Probably. I can see him convincing a few women to suck his cock.”
I laughed even as I felt my soft cock stir at the thought of my wife being convinced to suck this lawyer’s Spanish cock. “What about the other two lawyers?” I asked her quickly.
“Well, there’s Anders, who’s half-Swiss, half-German or something. Tall and blonde. Kind of soft-spoken, but when he does talk, he proves himself to be a world champion asshole like the rest of them.”
I laughed again as the picture in my mind expanded to three men with my Cynthia now: Jack in his striped shirt and striped suit, cock sticking out of his pants. Marcos smiling and nodding as he explains to my wife how wonderful it would be to suck his Spanish-Italian dick. And
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