Some women own you; body, heart and soul.
Yes, they flutter their lashes and you melt, they take off their clothes and you die. They don’t need to speak or make a fuss, they got you whipped.
I have known a few in my times and I am dealing with one now.
It was lunch time, a little past 1pm. I was hungry but needed to finish up a proposal. So, I asked the reception to make sure I was not disturbed.
There I was in my office, mulling over and tinkering with the last three slides when my door opened.
“I asked not to be…” I began when I saw who had come in, the receptionist looking sheepishly on.
“It’s okay,” I said and rose to greet Cynthia.
We kissed and lingered for a while before we both came up for air.
“You came …” I began but Cynthia had placed a finger on my lips and as I watched she went over to the door, turned the lock and then led me to my seat.
She pushed me into it, pushed my laptop aside then sat on my desk and as I opened my mouth to ask what the game was she placed both feet on my hand rests and opened her legs wide.
I died and went to heaven.
Her kintus was bare as in clean shaven as in the Movado desert
“Eat, bad boy,” she said and pushed my head down between her legs. I ate.
Then when she was sufficiently lubricated, Cynthia got off the table, pulled her gown down and picked up her purse.
“If you want more, come over to the house,”
The bitch was back and she had my number.
I am whipped.
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