he whines. you notice the far away look in his eyes, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, the way he gets when he’s too pussydrunk to think straight. you’d think you’ve been edging him for hours instead of, what, fifteen minutes?

you let his hand go, and without warning, strike his cheek with your palm. just harsh enough to catch his attention, to feel the sting in your own hand.

much like a wounded puppy, he whimpers, long trusses of hair falling in front of his face. still, he looks at you with the reverence of a religious man gazing upon a deity.

“i said, how are you gonna show me this, mmm—” you press all the way down, swiveling your hips to nestle him inside you. he really does have the perfect fucking dick. “—needy cock belongs to me, cho?”

“god, you’re so hot,” he rushes out like he just has to get it off his chest, blinking his composure back. “i’m—i’m gonna fill m-mommy’s pussy. can i? i want to give you everything, all of me, please. it’s yours—”

“mhm, good idea, baby.” you moan out, placing his large hands at your hips. softly, he squeezes the pudge there, always so gentle with you, despite how rough you fuck him. “gonna fuck me now? does my puppy wanna hump his cum into me?”

“oh fuuuck—yes, ma’am. please.”

you hold onto his shoulders in a faux act of surrender, and choso wastes no time. pile-drives into you from below, filling the room with an obnoxious, filthy plap plap plap. it’s pathetic, no rhyme or rhythm to the wild bucking of his hips, eyes rolling back and steadily leaking tears as he fucks himself stupid inside you.

so many sweet declarations fall from his lips, his usual deep timbre reduced into a series of choppy, high pitched whines: “mmnnh, i love you. feels so good. i’m close, so close.”

“yeah?” you taunt, trying not to lose yourself to the dizzying feeling of him digging in you so deep as you sit your ass up and down to match his manic thrusts. “gonna let me have it, cho?”

“take it. please, take it. there’s so much for you.” he’s all but sobbing now, strong arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing. “i’m gonna cum—hng—!”

it’s with that final promise that you manage to lift up, just enough for his messy cock to slip from the tight confines of your slippery pussy, removing all stimuli at once. it’s a second too soon, you know him well enough to know when his orgasm’s really coming. it’s timed perfectly.

he reacts like he’s been stabbed, an almost inhumane noise being punched from his throat, half-gasp, half-groan, all pain. he holds you close with both arms, your tits pressing to his broad chest, like you’re anchoring him to the earth, as he fucks up into nothing. his cock is so red and hard that it looks like it hurts when it finally spasms and spurts out creamy globs of his release, a lot less than you know he has stored in those full, heavy balls. from the way choso whines and whimpers, you can tell he feels anything but relief.

choso’s head hangs, dark hair falling like a curtain over his face. a mixture of guilt and satisfaction churns in your gut, spreads throughout your body—it’s intoxicating. you lift his head with gentle hands, noting how he’s still shaking, and exhale when you see just how sad, how ruined he looks.

“why?” he hiccups. sounding so, so broken.

“because i felt like it,” your voice drips with faux sympathy, the way that you know always makes his dick perk up no matter how many times you milk it. “you said it belongs to me, right, baby?”

you feel his weight shudder underneath you, goosebumps spreading across his skin. “so mean…” he whispers, hands soothing up your skin reverently. it sounds more like a compliment than anything.

knowing him, it most likely is.

“don’t be like that, cho. don’t i always take care of you?”

you smooth his hair out of his face to get a better look at your handiwork; the imprint of your palm, the tears you inflicted, the lips you bit and sucked swollen. he nods dejectedly, weakly, sniffling.

smiling meanly, you lean in to give him a sweet, loving kiss, reaching behind you to touch his spent cock when your tongues slot together. he flinches like your touch is a hot stove.

“hurts.”

he’s seen you like this more times than you can count, but it always seems to shake the earth around him. it’s not so much the act of submission, kento doesn’t care for that all that much—it’s the trust, the vulnerability. the honor in knowing you’ve chosen him to devote yourself to in all possible ways. that he gets to see you when you’ve just woken up, all tousled from sleep, or when you’re frustrated or too stressed to care about your appearance or sparing anyone’s feelings. every emotion you try to hide from the world, he gets to see.

or when you’re like this. on your knees, the fat of your thighs spilling around your hips in the teasing way that drives him crazy, makes him salivate like a trained dog, fluttering your lashes at his compliment that you’ve heard a thousand times—that you’ll hear a million more, if he has any say in the matter.

kento takes a deep breath to stabilize himself as you smile, part bashful, part devilish. always his mischievous girl, too many thoughts in your head. he wants to hear all of them, so he quirks a brow, encouraging.

“you know what they say, mr. nanami…” you trail off, suddenly grasping his bulge to emphasize the nickname. you make it both degrading and praising at once, a combination that sends chills down his spine. he’d been called it most of his adult life, but it holds more weight now that you share the title.

he swallows thickly. “what do they say, sweetheart? enlighten me?”

your responding giggle flushes him red. your fingers idly tracing along the outline of him, feeling him grow under your delicate touch. he wants so badly for you to pull down his pants and let him feel the softness of your skin against his—but he has a place in this that he’s all too aware of. if you suddenly halted all touch and put your clothes back on, he wouldn’t question it. taking has never been his thing—begging, maybe (for you), but he wants only what you’re eager to give him.

“pictures last longer,” it’s near a whisper, though you’re not in the least bit shamed of what you’re proposing. “or… videos. videos are even better.”

kento’s eyes widen comically; your cheeks hurt from smiling. “misses nanami…”

an actual laugh pushes past your lips at his semi-faux scandalization. this is one of the more tame things you’ve brought to his desk.

“the moments not gonna last forever, ken,” you warn, ducking your head to rub your cheek along the tent in his slacks. he inhales sharply, followed by a groan, large hand reaching out to cup the other side of your face, moving the hair from your delicate cheek. “don’t you want something to remember me by on your work trip?”

that damned work trip. he nearly forgot about it, forgets most pesky obligations when he’s so wrapped up in you. he offered for you to join him, but the last few times you’ve scheduled days off work to accompany him, you spent most of the time alone in the hotel while he attended meeting after meeting, networking event after stupid event. you decided the next trip you two go on would be a proper vacation, and he had the flights booked the next day.

“something to stroke your cock to when you’re all pent up in your office?” you continue, vulgar as ever underneath a sugary sweet tone. your husband isn’t surprised by it anymore, more so fascinated by how such a pretty mouth can produce such dirty things. he loves it.

it’s ridiculous how enticing you are, kento believes it should be a crime. even more so when as he scrambles to find his phone—thrown offhandedly to the side as soon as you sat him down—and he feels your tongue lick a long stripe down his bulge. wet and hot through his pants like a brand. his hips jump on their own accord.

“baby, give ken a second.”

it’s more plea than demand, but it falls on deaf ears. you continue pressing kisses to his bulge, and fuck, he’s leaking already. just as he angles the camera and presses record, you suckle on the wet spot forming, no doubt where his sticky tip is trapped and aching.

he groans, watching you through the phone as you moan at the taste of him. “that’s so good, sweetie. can i see your pretty eyes?”

you preen, but instead of looking at him, you train your eyes directly on the camera. (“there’s my gorgeous wife— oh…”) you maintain eye contact as you lick a long, slow stripe from his bulge to his lower stomach.

a giggle escapes your mouth when his dick flexes, jumps, seemingly chasing your wet tongue. “someone’s eager. think he wants out of these tight, mean pants,” to emphasize your point, you palm the thick outline of him, watching as kento’s exposed v-line contracts.

it’s bad porno-level dirty talk, but something about having a camera pointed at you just makes you want to perform. hm, that’s interesting. perhaps a real sex tape is something you two should consider next.

when you realize he hasn’t responded, too caught up in the image you make, you meet his eyes instead. “what do you think, ken?”

“you know i’m always ready for you, sweetheart. why must you tease your husband like this, hm?” his voice is low, hoarse around the edges with constrained lust. nanami reaches out to rub his warm hand down the chilly skin of your shoulder, his thumb—just barely—brushing against your exposed, puffy nipple, as if to remind you that he can tease too. “did i do something to be denied that perfect mouth?”

your back arches on instinct, leaning in, silently begging for more. but kento—cruelly, intently—changes the path of his touch, cupping your jaw and thumbing at your bottom lip instead. you hide your frustration behind a frenzied smile, then press a kiss to the pad of his finger.

“never. always so good t’me, kennie.”

and it’s true. devoted, hardworking, intelligent, thoughtful—you couldn’t ask for a better life partner. that’s why when he presses farther into your warm mouth, adoringly, you open up for him, flicking your tongue around the digit, a taste of what’s to come. a rumbling hum sounds from within his throat. even after years, you’re both so sensitive and hyperaware of each other’s touch. every little micro movement is enough to have your skin prickling with warmth, your pussy pulsing between your thighs.

“‘m gonna give you your reward now.”

kento smiles as he watches you remove his belt, lifting his hips obediently. you pull his slacks down enough to free his cock and it springs up against his stomach, pretty and pink and stiff—your mouth waters at the sight. in a miraculous display of self control, you choose to start slow, pressing soft kisses to his leaky mushroom tip, coating your lips with his precum. he groans at the sight, positioning the camera closer to your face to get a better look, make sure it shows up well.

he has no shortage of praise for you; “look at you, baby. my talented girl. can you give me that wonderful tongue, please?”

you grant him every wish because he deserves it. locking eyes with the camera, you swirl your tongue around expertly. flicking against his seeensitive tip, rolllling around the underside, running up his big, bulging veins. all while your hand strokes the length you haven’t taken yet. he rewards you by letting his noises flow freely, every whimper and moan that spills out of him makes you leak and throb, until you have no choice but to sit your slippery bare pussy on the back of your heel to create some friction.

“c’mon, honey. show me what i’ll be missing next week…”

you hum, stroking him in short, quick bursts that have him struggling for words. then, without warning, you withdraw your touch and take him all the way in your mouth. well, as far as you can go, at least. the drawn out noise he makes is borderline inhumane, and fuck—it’s a surreal experience, the feeling of him stretching out your lips with his thick girth, the warmth and weight of him on your tongue, his salty tip hitting the back of your throat.

hot tears burn the corners of your eyes almost instantly, and you hum around him, relaxing your throat and getting used to the intrusion. almost subconsciously, you start rocking back and forth on your heel, the wet glide of your sopping cunt only adding to the brain-melting pleasure.

“ah, there you go, baby—mmf.”

you flick your tongue and suckle around him on your way back up—nanami calls it trying to suck the soul out of him, you call it savoring your treat—and let the accumulation of saliva drip from your mouth and onto his hard, meaty dick. his hips jump to chase you, and you giggle, smiling up at him tauntingly.

“feel good, ken?” you ask as you stroke him again, using your saliva and his precum as lube and being mesmerized by the way his cock glistens in the light streaming from your windows.

he nods instantly, jerkily, looking at you through his phone. “the best, sweetie. i love your mouth.”

“you sure you want to go on that trip? leave this behind for a whole week?” you pout, knowing full well he doesn’t really have a say in the matter. you just hope when he watches this back, all alone in his too-big hotel room, his stomach twists with jealousy for his past self.

giving him no time to respond, you sink back down, engulfing his pulsing length, feeling it throb in your throat. usually such a eloquent man, it instantly renders him speechless, the only noise a throaty, drawn out groan. you make a show of it, bobbing your head and humming around him like you’re just using his cock to fuck your own mouth, like this isn’t about him at all.

“fuck, just like that. you know just what i need, don’t you?” he struggles to hold the camera still, his free hand coming to tangle into your hair while you gag on his dick. “look so perfect like this—ah—i wish you could see yourself.”

his words go straight to your throbbing core, and you drag your hips down onto your heel with more force now. you moan around him when you bump your clit just right, a pressure that sends white heat thrumming throughout your body.

nothing gets passed kento. “so cute—is my pretty girl getting off on this too?” he sounds more proud than anything, chest heaving with his labored breaths. his thick, strong thighs flex in attempt not to buck into your throat. “taking care of your husband makes you so wet, hm? mmf—don’t you worry, you’ll get yours soon. just—ahh—just make kento cum, okay?”

tired of waiting, you sink down and let your body go lax, looking up at him expectantly. kento takes the hint, his grip tightening in your hair as he fucks up into your throat, dragging you down to meet his thrusts. he’s not wild with it—every movement precise, deep, thorough, driven by the overwhelming need to make himself finish what you started.

his jaw falls open, guttural noises being pulled from within as he uses your mouth like he’s imagining it’s your tight pussy. the same one that you’re rubbing against yourself, leaking your slick all over. the smell of sex permeates the air, followed by the obscene gluck gluck of your hot, sore throat that convulses so snugly and deliciously around him, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. his videography skills could use some work, especially so deep in the throws of pleasure, you just hope the camera picks all of it up.

“oh, fuck—here it comes, baby.”

you wait till his hips stutter tellingly to pull off, replacing your mouth with your soft hand and evoking a sharp hiss from between your husband’s teeth. your other hand reaches up to gently fondle his balls as if you’re trying to milk his hot seed straight from the source, and that’s all it takes for him to find his release, bucking into your touch. you angle his tip so the thick, pearlescent fluid spurts all over your lips and your tits. your final gift to future, lonely nanami.

he’s slow coming down from the high, still attempting to catch his breath when you take the camera from him, making a show of spreading his cum all around your chest, sucking it into your mouth, and he groans.

choso flat out sobs at the denial, salty globs of tears dripping from his flushed cheeks while his long, messy hair tickles your face. a large hand slides down your body, stopping to cup the swell of your ass, and you gasp and clench around him when he drags you down in time to meet his brutal thrusts. the sound of your hips meeting, his taut balls slapping against you fills the room, making a symphony out of your breathy moans. you can feel every vein on his dick, all that throbbing length and thick girth stuffing and stretching you as he pounds you like it’s his last time.

“deeper, deeper, deeper, please,” he’s chanting desperately, panting like a puppy. each cant of his hips jostles you farther up the bed, and all you can do is lay there and take it, your hands weakly gripping his bulky biceps, small noises being punched out of your throat. “i wanna cum again. gonna shoot it so deep—fill your stomach with it. please, can i? can i?”

way passed the point of trying to speak, all you manage is a weak little nod. choso’s pleading breaks off into a series of thank you’s, and he drops his head into your neck, kissing and sucking gently, trying to make up for the erratic, brutal way he’s drilling into you.

you wrap your legs and arms around him in attempt to tether yourself to the earth again, forcing him deeper, somehow, someway, and he lets out a drawn out moan that sounds a lot like relief. “yes, yes, there we go. oh—i’m all the way inside you now, baby. can—can you feel me?”

as if to emphasize his statement, he presses in as far as he can go and stops thrusting, hips rolling in a deep grind instead. you swear you feel his spongy tip piercing your stomach, breaching an uncharted depth of you, and it makes your skin burn—all it takes to force your third orgasm of the night out of you. either choso doesn’t notice you spasming uncontrollably around him, or he feels too good to care, but he doesn’t give either of you time to catch your breath, pulling out just a little before shoving back in. his hips stutter as he pumps his fat dick into you with short, deep thrusts, babbling incoherently, crying prettily. completely and utterly pussydrunk.

“—mmm—y’r milking me—so good, s-so tight and warm inside. gonna cum for you again—”

and he does. you feel it, the hot release spurting inside of you. he fucks you through it, using your pussy as a cocksleeve to milk every last drop of it. pumps it in so deep, and there’s so much you feel it leaking out from the sides where his girth has you all plugged up. you feel something wet drip onto your breasts, and you realize choso’s fucked himself so stupid he’s drooling, arms shaking from exertion.

you run your fingers through his hair, a halfhearted attempt at consoling him—really, it should be the the other way around—and he moans, small and pained, when you involuntarily clench around him.

“baby…” you lift his head up to look at him. “are you still hard?”

the low rumble of his voice, filled with concern over your little weed-induced bad habit, does something to you. if you weren’t wet before, you’re soaking now. you nod wordlessly, clenching your thighs together in an attempt to quell the heavy heartbeat that’s made a home in your damp pussy.

he smiles at you, that charming, sweet smile that never fails to make you swoon, and pats your thigh comfortingly. all it does is make it worse; you seem to feel his gentle touch in every nerve in your body. you shiver and sigh, watching as he goes back to focusing on poker.

you’re not going to hump his thigh in the middle of his game, in front of a room of unfamiliar men. you’d never do that. that’d be insane, indecent, and embarrassing. as good as it would feel, you will not—

the universe must be playing some kind of trick on you, because then, hakari starts bouncing his knee. a nervous or excited tick he took up once you pestered him to quit biting his nails, coming back to bite you because life is cruel like that.

the effortless movement of his leg is as if you weren’t on top of him, your weight not enough to obstruct the force of it. it jostles you around, the sensation pressing right against your painfully empty, aching entrance through your clothes. almost like a taunt. a peak into what you know you can’t have.

“kinnie…” you mewl into his neck, just as the room breaks out into a series of groans, a reaction to whatever play was made.

hakari doesn’t acknowledge you, smugly trash-talking his opponents as he pulls some chips toward him. looks like you’re all alone with this one. sucking your bottom lip between your teeth to block any noise that might try to escape, you rub your bouncing thighs together, trying to get some stimulation to your swollen, neglected clit.

you stop clenching your jaw as soon as you realize it, busying your mouth with chaste, messy kisses to your distracted boyfriends throat instead. the hot friction on your cunt is so good, but you know it could feel even better.

maybe if you just made yourself cum, you’d be less distracted, is your moral reasoning. yeah, you don’t want to bother hakari, make him stop his game because his sensitive girl got herself worked up just from sitting on his lap.

determined now, you maneuver in what you imagine is one swift movement, spreading your thighs until they’re on either side of hakari’s leg—and his movement comes to an abrupt halt, nearly ripping a disappointed whine from your throat. you can feel his stare on you like a caress, and you shyly look up to meet his low, red eyes.

“all good, honey?”

“mhm,” you insist, leaning up and attempting to distract him with your mouth on his. he kisses back easily, the hot glide of his lips languid and heady, and your breath hitches when his hand comes to smooth down your back, resting on your ass over your shorts.

the room makes a quiet ‘oooh’ noise, and hakari’s smile drops, breaking away from the kiss with one last peck to nip the ogling in the bud. “eyes on your cards, dickheads.”

you nestle in closer to him, if possible, breathing in the musky scent of his expensive cologne, the weed, and something uniquely him. and you almost cry out in relief when his leg starts bouncing again. this time, with your legs spread, the pressure knocks right up into your little clit. you can’t help but chase the stimulation, subtly moving your hips up, down, trying to match the speed of the bouncing. a quiet moan escapes you as the white-hot pleasure builds slowly throughout your body, no doubt leaking through your shorts now.

you’re using your boyfriends thigh to get off without him knowing, and you should feel more ashamed about it, but it’s so fucking good your brain is starting to melt into mush, and your sense of embarrassment along with it. you couldn’t stop now even if you wanted to, not when you’re so close to cumming all over his big big big, warm thigh.

you gasp, eyes shooting open—when did your eyes close?—when you feel the bouncing morph into a slow upwards roll, pushing your shorts into your throbbing pussy deliciously. hakari’s not looking at you, but the way his hand grasps the meat of your ass tightly, guiding the roll of your hips himself, tells you all you need to know.

“i’m sorry, kinnie…”

“shhh. ‘s not your fault, pretty girl. this needy pussy just can’t wait, can she?” his fingers creep down, teasingly circling around your pulsing hole. his breath tickles the shell of your ear, “i can feel her leaking all over me.”

his words make you hang your head, cheeks burning, but you push back against his fingers on instinct, pressing your hips down to hump your clit against him. the shame only grows when hakari responds to something that’s said from across the table like nothing’s happening. like you’re not unraveling on top of him.

his voice snaps you back into the present. or maybe it’s his fingers, snapping in front of your face to catch your attention. “you’re makin’ it obvious when you ride on it like that. but you don’t care, do you? my sweet girl’s a performer deep down; i could sit you on my cock right now and you’d let me, ain’t that right?”

“mmmf, please—‘kari. i need it—fuck—need you.”

you’re so overwhelmed with ecstasy and embarrassment, your brain a hazy swirl of arousal, you don’t know what you’re begging for. you’re riding his thigh in earnest now, and it’s so, so perfect, the feeling of his hands on you, his attention, the first whispers of an orgasm rising steadily within you. you don’t care if his friends are watching—in fact, you almost want them to see how good hakari makes you feel without even getting you naked, how ready you are for him at any given moment. the thought is electrifying, and you grip hakari’s strong biceps like it’s your last tether to earth.

“yeah? could’ve jus’ said so. can’t let kinnie’s thigh have all the fun, right, baby?” his tone drips with faux sympathy, and your heart thrashes against your ribs when he scoots you up, makes it so your thighs are on either side of him. true to his word, he sits your pussy right on the bulge of his cock, and you swear you can feel it pulsing through the layers of clothes between you. “not when you got me so hard for you.”

you moan outright at that, the heat that radiates from the space where your cores are pressed together, and you hope the bass of the music playing is enough to muffle it. your mouth falls open as you drill your aching pussy down onto hakari’s solid cock, borderline salivating when he cants his hips up just a smidge, so mean and teasing. he’s smirking when you look back up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” his hands squeeze your hips. “go head, use me. use this fat dick to cum, honey, it’s okay…”

it’s so much better like this, half-hidden by the table while you grind your cunt up and down, back and forth along the thick outline of him, chasing the peak that builds with every thrust of your hips. hakari offers nothing but a hand on your hip, going back to the game, but you feel his dick twitch and flex every time your thighs squeeze around him, every time your clit bumps the spot where you assume the sensitive tip of his dick is.

it’s the thought of him making good on his word—pulling his pants down just enough to free his large cock, and sliding it between your shorts, right into where you’re hot and dripping for him—that sends you over the edge. your nails dig into the bulk of his arms when you cum, vision going white while your nerves burn with a pleasure so intense you think you might blackout. you don’t care to control the noise that comes out of you as you ride out the aftershocks.

you think you’re being pretty obvious, the sound of your voice, the way you’re slowly inching toward him… but when you lean in to lock the door behind him, so close that your breasts press against his chest, and he has that same clueless look in his eyes, you know no amount of hinting is going to inspire him to make the first move.

higuruma clears his throat, begins to speak again, but is instantly cut off by your lips against his. you swallow the surprised breath he hitches, lifting up on your toes for better reach as you slowly pry open his stiff mouth, sucking on his bottom lip. higuruma kisses back, but barely. he’s holding back at first, restrained by some sense of this isn’t really happening, she can’t be in her right mind, even when your hands come up to grasp his bicep, squeezing the muscles there through the layers of his suit.

and when you pull back, his eyes—more animated than you’ve ever seen them—search your face frantically. he’s already flushed, splotches of red painting his pale skin, pupils blown. “you, uh, you sure?”

and god, if that doesn’t turn you on even more. the quiver in his voice, like he’s holding back a dam from breaking using a flimsy stick. your nod is what breaks it; all it takes for him to dive back in with unrestrained force, slotting your lips together with more fervor this time. his tongue takes it’s fill of every crevice of your mouth like it’s been waiting eons to explore you. he walks you both deeper into the empty room until your back hits the curve of the round meeting table, his large hands all over you. grabbing, caressing, holding, squeezing. not rough enough to hurt, god forbid, but with just enough force to memorize all the curves of your body.

you sit halfway on the table, halfway held up by his unrelenting grip on your thigh, parting your legs so he can fill the space between them. higuruma groans outright when your clothed cores connect, already harder than he can ever remember being. he’s never been the kind of man driven by lust, even in his younger, primer years. but now, with you in his hands, so eager and willing, he finally understands the feeling, and he can’t help but think he’s been missing out.

higuruma’s swollen mouth presses into your cheeks and jaw, travels to your neck, sucking and kissing and licking every sliver of skin he can reach and unbuttoning your work blouse on his way down. when he reaches your breasts, only shielded from his prying eyes by your bra now, he swears he feels like he could faint. the look he gives you when he meets your gaze, dark eyes glazed over with desire like they’ve been caramelized, makes your pussy leak messily in your already damp panties.

“i’m sorry, i just…” higuruma starts, voice deep and rough, hanging his head to rest against your chest for a moment. as if he’s overwhelmed by everything that’s happening, drank too much of you too fast and now he’s well passed tipsy. much to your surprise, he exhales and drops to his knees at once. “i need this.”

you peer down at him, the curious hum you produce quickly morphs into a yelp when he yanks your hips into him, propping one of your thighs over his broad shoulder and holding open the other. so forcefully exposing you to him it’s almost dehumanizing. he lifts your pencil skirt until it’s a pool of fabric around your waist, littering a plethora of kisses to the insides of your thighs. each press of his lips to your overheated skin burns like a brand, devoted and reverent, sending white-hot need flooding behind your navel.

“hiro, don’t tease.”

you need his mouth on you. you need his tongue on your pussy. you need to feel the tip of his nose bump against your clit without the veil of your silk panties in the way, just like the way you pictured when you closed your eyes at night, touching yourself and imagining it was him. you’ve needed it for so long, and you know he feels the same—an unspoken truth that courses and pulses between the two of you like a living entity, hanging heavy over every trivial interaction, bleeding into every lingering touch and shared laugh.

however, higuruma quells his needs a different way. it’s mind-melting, the way desperation lines his every movement, you’d think he’d be tearing your clothes off—but he’s so hellbent on savoring you. taking his sweet time as he zeroes in on the spot you’re aching for him, closes his eyes and inhales the mess you made of the silky gusset. the low, drawn out moan that follows goes straight to your cunt, making you buck your hips up into his face crassly. almost instinctively, your hand flies to his hair, shamelessly holding him there so he doesn’t shy away again.

it feels like relief and denial all at once when he finally presses his lips to your clothed pussy, his tongue coming out to taste you. the wet pressure of his tongue jolts every nerve inside of you alive, and a moan escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

somehow, he reacts more audibly than you, his own whimper loud enough to be heard through the thick, sterile walls, but you can’t find it in you to care at this point—not when it feels this good—and clearly, he never has. in the back of your mind, you wonder just how long ago you could’ve gotten away with this. how long has he been craving you? so much so that he’s ready to risk it all, drop to the floor and devour you without a seconds hesitation.

he licks and sucks while his hands squeeze and grope, seemingly trying to wring every last bit of your juices out like he’s malnourished and all the nutrients he needs is stored in your pussy. and yet, every roll of his tongue, every press of his lips is driven with purpose; the only reason he isn’t sloppy with it is because that’d mean letting it go to waste.

your hands grip the table so tightly it hurts, your stomach tensing under the weight of your own pleasure. you’re already so close and he hasn’t even touched you bare yet. the barrier between you two is almost unbearable.

“hiro—higuruma. take ‘em off, baby. please. it’ll taste so much better.”

his eyes flick up to you like he just remembered you were there, your wrecked voice a welcome intrusion on his one-on-one time with your cunt. he speaks sweetly, brokenly, “tastes perfect just like this, though?”

you’re starting to think your coworker derives some sort of pleasure from denying himself.

higuruma doesn’t let you complain anymore, because then the curve of his large nose is rubbing against your clit so nicely, and his tongue is all but trying to pierce through your panties to reach your quivering hole, so empty and so needy. you cry out, muffling your noises with your own hand while you grind your sopping pussy against his nose, the friction sending a million tiny sparks of fire all throughout your body, blossoming from the center and prickling your ears, shooting all the way down to your toes.

“oh, is that it? yes, fuck my face. please, sweetheart? take whatever you need; i can handle it.”

you weren’t planning on stopping, though the encouragement spurs you on, humping into him in earnest, using him like a toy for your own release.

to hear higuruma speak so vulgarly where he’s usually the poster boy of professionalism, always so careful with his words, fills you with a sense of power you didn’t realize you could feel. the swell of pride that courses through you to be the one person able to break through his stoic exterior and reduce him to a hungry, desperate and defiled man in his place of work… it’s nothing short of dizzying.

without warning, higuruma finally, finally pulls your underwear to the side, fully exposing your cunt to the heat of his breath, and shoves his face into you again. like he’s reached the end of the bowl and it’s time to lick the dish clean.

moaning, he wraps his lips around your puffy clit, and all it takes is one, two noisy sucks and your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. the fury of white spots behind your eyes when you squeeze them closed are brighter than the harsh overhead lights in the office. his ministrations never stop, not as you pull his hair, not as you convulse and clamp your thighs around his head, not even when you attempt to push him off, legs shaking and pussy sore.

“i came, hiro,” you plead, muscles too weak from the aftershocks to pry him off of you. “mmf—too much.”