I live in the Century Manor highrise on Enfield Street. My name is Jeremy Wilcox. I’m 31 years old. I have an odd lifestyle–and many men would be jealous of it–but trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
I didn’t choose this, my body did. I’m just trying to get by as best I can.
When I wake up, Cherie is still in bed next to me and she’s already stirring. I roll over to spoon her, slip inside, and give her a quick morning pump. The extra attention in the morning is why she stays over after our booty calls and means that I get to start the day with a clear head.
I hear her put herself together and leave while I’m in the shower. I’ll text her when I get to work to thank her for coming by on short notice last night. She’s reliable like that. One of the many reasons I like her.
The smell of breakfast greets me as I get dressed. Gray trousers, black penny loafers, blue button-down. Nothing fancy; the bare minimum for my job as Vice President of Engineering for a mid-size industrial automation firm. It’s the family business, but I earned my spot in leadership.
Phoebe greets me with a plate when I reach the kitchen. Bacon and scrambled eggs. She’s a good cook and a great housekeeper, but more important than that is the extra care she provides. Most days, it’s a blowjob before breakfast and a quickie afterward, but thanks to Cherie, I’m starting ahead today.
She stands bent over the counter and we make small talk as I eat. As many times as I’ve seen them, touched them, and so much more, I still get distracted by her cleavage. Sometimes I think she dresses this way just so she can tease me about it.
Once my plate is empty, I come up behind her, lift her short little skirt and sink myself into her. It’s perfunctory, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it. Phoebe is as gorgeous as she is dedicated and that is really hard to find. She seems to enjoy the work too, but the sizable paycheck undoubtedly helps.
With two orgasms knocked out, I head to work. When I reach my office, my secretary Emily is waiting with a chipper smile. Bless her, she’s the closest thing to a girlfriend that I’ve had in years. An absolute rock.
She brings me a cup of coffee and asks if I want the door shut. I nod, sinking into my chair with my legs wide; she knows exactly what that means.
She sets my mug on the desk and drops to her knees. Her curly auburn hair cascades over my lap as she unzips me and takes me in her mouth. She slurps and sucks and works me with her hand. As crazy as my mornings are, this is always the best part.
I rarely last long, still catching up to a night’s worth of buildup, but she’s particularly good at making me pop quickly. With my fingers buried in her hair, I groan under my breath as my hips lift from the chair. She swallows with each robust pulse, pulling the last drops out of me with her lips.
“Thank you. I really needed that.”
Licking her sticky lips clean and swallowing, she looks up with a cocky grin, her nails dragging over my thighs. “Your other girlies slacking this morning? Leaving me to do all the hard work? Not that I mind.”
“Through no fault of their own… they’re not you,” I say with sincerity, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Wallow in despair, probably. Lucky for you, you’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck,” I say with a laugh, smiling down at the pink-tinged cheeks of her sweet face.
“All better now?”
“Much, yeah.” I take a deep breath and try to relax. “And right in time for my morning calls.”
“I could stay… I’ll be quiet…” she teases.
“Save something for later.”
“Oh, you know I’ve always got plenty waiting for you.” Standing up, she smooths her outfit on the way to the door, smiling and offering parting words through the closing door, “Just say when.”
I know this all sounds crazy. And it is.
My particular combination of Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder and hyperspermia is brutal. Between the constant, nagging erections and the discomfort of perpetually feeling backed up with semen, it’s hard to get anything done. Sure, I get laid constantly, but I have to, lest I end up doubled-over on the floor or have my cock tear through the front of my trousers like the Incredible Hulk while I’m just trying to shop for groceries.
And did I mention the third testicle? Yeah. That too. The teasing I got in the locker room was only the start of it. Oddball, they called me. The doctors told me it’s not related to my other afflictions, making it not worth removing, but it has long been an easy target for my ill will. Still, I’d take that over all the rest of it.
The only way to stay ahead of my condition is a lot of cumming, and lots of cum, which takes planning, effort, and vigilance. My brain is always trying to work out how long I have before I need to take care of my body. And dehydration is always lurking too. Between sweat and semen, I’m already a liter in debt today and I’m chugging water through my morning calls.
I’m not looking for sympathy. I just want you to understand the reasons for all this madness and why it’s not as fulfilling as it might sound. That said, it probably is a hell of a fun thing to read.
With breakfast sitting strong, my lunch will be a session in the office gym to work my frustrations out, then a snack on the way back to my desk.
Emily catches me outside my door as I leave. Her hand on my chest pushes me back into my office and she shuts the door behind us with a devilish grin. This is the second time in two weeks that she’s done this. Either something has changed for her or she’s working up to asking me for a raise.
When the backs of my thighs hit the desk, she takes a step back and unbuttons her blouse. White silk falls away and her cleavage, boosted and decorated with red lace, fills my view. Her black pencil skirt disappears, revealing her complementary underwear. She bites her lip and feigns innocence, standing there in her matching set and black thigh-highs, her hips wiggling with excitement.
“You’re looking particularly sexy today,” I tell her, already deciding she deserves a raise. The burst of warmth in my chest spreads quickly. She never stops proving how well she knows me and how far she’ll go to give my body what it needs. What I need, even if I don’t know it yet.
“That’s not even the best part.” She pulls the front of her panties down. “Fresh wax…”
On her worst days, she’s still a knockout. That’s already beyond what’s needed to arouse me–obviously–but I like to think this extra effort helps her feel more desirable, more desired–like a performer or maybe a partner, if I let myself consider it–rather than a secretary who fucks her boss. It’s a hard enough job on its own, but she gives me so much more.
I truly don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s become irreplaceable to me beyond the context of employment.
“I love it.”
“That’s why I did it…” she says, reaching down to pull the red lace from around her ankles and over her pumps.
“Call your shot.”
Her gaze holds mine as she unhooks her bra and tosses it onto the couch. “Press me up against the wall. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
I raise an eyebrow and she playfully rolls her eyes in response. For as many times as we’ve done it, this part never feels like we’re going through the motions. She wants it almost as badly as I need it. Sex with other partners can feel like scratching an itch, a necessary evil if a beautiful one, but that’s never the case with Emily.
She makes my desire run deep. We feel connected.
I step closer and she meets me with a long, sensual kiss. Our steps are in perfect sync as we moved toward the wall. Her fingers are already in my hair. My hands grip her thighs as she jumps. I catch her and lead her shoulders to the wall. Our kiss breaks and she bites her lip, looking like she’s lost in my eyes. If it’s a performance, it’s a damn good one.
Slowly, I let her down onto my cock. We’ve gone unprotected since I got a vasectomy and her outside sex life dried up. She swears there’s been no one else for over a year, a fact that bothers me more than it does her. But that’s her choice. It must be. Any man would be lucky to have her, and I’d be happy for her if she found one, despite it assuring that she’d soon be done with me.
Emily is in no mood for tender strokes. She wants to get fucked and I’ll be damned if I’m going to refuse her. My hips snap, jolting her in my arms. She lets out that same groan I hear whenever I first hit her depths. It’s that irresistible fullness with a tinge of pain that she has been craving.
I’m never rough with her, but she likes it to feel determined, insistent even. Sharp thrusts. Deeply. I let her weight down with my hands and use my hips to bounce her, ensuring she hits bottom hard on every stroke.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” bursts from her mouth in rhythm, her eyes staring her need into mine.
A little dirty talk goes a long way with her. With a touch of ownership, it goes even further. “You keep that pussy so good for me, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Nice and smooth. Always tight. Wet. And ready for me. What a good girl you are.”
“MMH!”
“You know you’re my favorite. And you know why.“
“Uh huh!” she whimpers as her hips start chasing my thrusts. She clenches around me, falling into a pant that sounds like frustrated sobbing, something she always does when she cums particularly hard. Her kisses are full but desperate. She sucks my lip as she falls apart.
And, as always, it sets me off too. I groan against her lips, feeling myself pulsing inside her, my cum already pouring back out due to the tightness of her confines. I keep going as best I can, losing focus but gaining clarity as my own orgasm starts to taper.
My hands find the wall for support. Her legs are hooked over my arms, flexing to pull every last dribble, every last stroke from me before I go soft.
When I catch my breath, I check in with her. “Bear with me. Two more rounds.”
“Ughhhhhhhhh!” she groans. “Please!”
As I let her down to the floor, I notice her eyes are particularly glassy. Her expression especially eager. Her body relaxed. But ready.
“Desk?” I ask.
Nodding, she struts over and places her palms face down on the desk, arching her back until her ass is in the air and I can see every bit of our mess clinging to her puffy pink lips and rolling lewdly down her thighs.
Her outstretched tongue begs for a taste. A reward for a job well–if only a partially–done. My finger swipes a healthy portion for her mouth to envelope and suck clean with a satisfied moan.
That’s all it takes for my cock to swell with fresh demands.
I enter her from behind, pushing out yet-more of my previous load as I match the pace we’d just finished with. My hand adds a pink hue to her ass, each smack eliciting excited gasps between deep thrusts. It doesn’t take long for her knees to buckle, her face lying sideways on the desk, mouth wide and eyes rolled back in pleasure. She’s quietly lost in it now.
My hands hold her up by her hips. I pull her to me, driving myself harder into her with loud, sticky claps. Sweat pours off me. Muscle strain. Veins pop down the length of my arms. It’s a good thing I’m close but we’ll both need a break before our next round.
Pressure swells inside me, bursting into her. Rope after rope fills her until she’s overflowing and I hear the heavy, wet plops hitting the vinyl floor between our feet.
She has a gratified hum about her when she turns around. My arms wrap her waist, lifting her ass onto my desk while I kiss her. Her legs curl around mine. Her fingers bury themselves in my hair. Our kisses are as heated as ever, spared from our exhaustion. Part of me wants to lean her back and fuck her atop my desk, but I can’t muster the strength.
Breaking our kiss, I tell her, “I need to sit down.”
“I think you earned it,” she says back with stars in her eyes. Her body pivots to follow me around my desk and her feet land in my lap.
“Snack?” I ask, reaching into my desk.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
When I look up, her knees are wide and her hand is sitting over the mess I made. I think she’s trying to corral it or clean it up, but her fingers move in slow circles. I raise a questioning eyebrow. She looks away and shrugs.
Wet, sticky noises build. Her breathing does too. With heavy lids, she looks into my eyes and smiles.
“This might be one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.”
“Good.”
Her thighs shake. Her breaths come in sharp punches and her eyes squeeze shut. Fingers moving faster, a jolt hits her.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers before her head snaps forward.
Her fingers blur. Her expression strains. Her whole body looks tense and rigid. And then breaks apart with a moan. A heavy exhale. Her eyes lose themselves in mine for what seems like minutes.
“Sorry. Got a lil greedy. Normally I save that for when I get home, but–” She swallows hard and shyly chirps, “I thought you might enjoy a peek of that.”
“No, that was…” I take a beat to collect myself. “That was incredible. I loved it. Thank you.”
A big smile breaks across her face, glowing at me.
I could tell that words were flirting with the vulnerability she always had between rounds, that she had something to say but wouldn’t. It felt particularly heavy today; it wasn’t something simple like asking for a raise. I wanted to know what they were, though I probably didn’t want to hear them anymore than she wanted to say them.
In the clarity of my afterglow, I have the same problem. Words find me and I swallow them before they can upset the delicate balance that keeps me going. I offer a way out instead. “I guess that’s three rounds. You’re off the hook.”
“Oh no. Three with you is what you promised, lover.” Her eyes made a point of looking at my lap, then her head tipped toward the other side of the office. “You’re going to lie back on that couch so I can take what you still owe me.”
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