If you saw my boss, you’d fantasise about him too. He’s like David Duchovny’s better-looking brother, and I don’t know what cologne he wears, but it makes me want to hump his leg whenever he comes within six feet of me. I’ve been his secretary for the last six months and he’s been the only man I’ve thought about when I’ve orgasmed since the day I set eyes on him. It’s just a shame he’s never the man underneath me at the time. Or on top of me. Or that one time in the changing rooms at the gym... anyway, you get the picture. Other men have been scratching my itch, but they never seem to quite hit my spot until I close my eyes and think about Anderton Spencer and come like a howling wolf. There is an important meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. He sent me a memo this afternoon to make sure I’ve got everything prepped down to the last degree, and unusually he signed off with a reminder for me to dress appropriately. I read the line through twice, unsure what to make of it.
What do You think about NSFW (Regular Sex Issue #6)?
