100 Days

“You think your cock can handle it?” she asks me. “You ever seen my videos? I leave guys broken…”

I laugh. She’s never met me then.

And if you’re wondering, which I know you are because your mind's just as filthy as mine—yes, I’ve watched all her videos. The moment she gave me the lap dance I had Cheryl pull everything Brittney has ever worked on.

All the stepmom shit. The neighbor next door scenes. The getting picked up by two guys in a van scene that went viral on the Internet back in the day. I watched it all.

But I didn’t jerk off to it.

Because why waste all that cum?

No, I saved it. To spray it onto her face just now.

“Babe,” I tell her and bend over to pick her up, and bring her to her feet. “I’m just going to fucking defile you like you’ve never

been before. I’m going to do ungodly fucking things to your body and you’re going to cry out for more.”

I think this gets her attention, and I run my hands over her body as I continue. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky if you remember your name,” I tell her, looking her directly in the eyes. “But I guarantee you, you’ll be screaming mine.”

She’s excited.

I can tell. I see the spark in her eyes. It’s a mixture of fear, excitement, apprehension, and lust. Lots and lots of fucking lust.

I bare my teeth and reach over, cupping her ass cheek and bringing her closer.

She comes willingly.

And that’s when the fucking intercom goes off.

“Ethan, are you there?” the speakerphone blares. It’s Cheryl.

God fucking dammit.

Not now.

Not now, of all times.

“Ethan, we need you in the product launch timeline signoff. We’ve been planning this meeting for months and the bankers are here,” Cheryl says, a touch of urgency in her voice.

Cheryl is never fucking urgent. She’s always got everything so fucking organized and so on point that if I hear urgency in Cheryl’s voice—and I think I’ve only heard it five times—I know it’s fucking important.

But even then, Brittney is right fucking here. Her fucking luscious ass. Those big, giant titties. That beautiful face. Those fucking eyes.

“Ethan? Ethan are you there?” Cheryl asks again.

She must know I’m in here. She must know what I’m doing. That’s why she hasn’t gotten off the phone.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

“It’s okay,” Brittney says, looking into my eyes and placing a hand on my chest. “We can do this later, maybe?” she asks smiling at me. Not just with wanton lust anymore.

But with warmth.

Fuck, and with compassion?

“Go, do your job, Ethan,” she tells me. “I’m just going to freshen up and tidy up a bit in here before I head out.”