The Business Analyst Part Two

Her hand is still wrapped around his cock as he tells her he is afraid of premature ejaculation. She is puzzled as his cock doesn’t even appear to be hard, it doesn’t behave like other ones have. she’s tried putting it in her mouth, after a few minutes he has pushed her away and continued to play with her. is it wrong for her to feel disappointed? is she being greedy? a sexual glutton, wanting her cake and the cream? 

whatever, he has now shifted position and is fingering her hard, his expression not suitable for this occasion. he looks like he’s trying to start a lawnmower or a bandsaw, his eyebrows are furrowed together and he is giving her real finger fuck with a face contorted with effort. 

She can never tell how many fingers. Ever. It always feels so delicious anyway it doesn’t matter. But she can tell when she has a finger up her ass – which is now. 

“You need lube” she says as she feels him spit on her asshole. He mumbles something and she doesn’t bother to get it for him, the alcohol has numbed her, and she gets used to his probing, the roughness enjoyable. She bucks and twists like a puppet, him the puppetmaster with a hand inside her. 

They have talked about pissing on each other. As soon as they got home, they both had to go – but felt it rude to start off like that. 

Now, having had a few orgasms and talked about it twice again – she is jumping into the cold empty bathtub and he is following her, like a puppy. 

She lies there, unsure what to do with herself, so she squeezes her breasts together and waits, looking up at him rubbing his dick. 

“I thought I needed to go” he says, and before the sentence is finished, a warm translucent blob of spunk hits her knee, followed by a dozen others dotted over her. 

“Oh, I thought I could pee because had an erection” he apologises. 

He is probably too tall to get in the bathtub for her to return the favour but they wash together using the shower hose. 

There is a strange intimacy there, and she gives him a towel that was hanging by the door. 


She can’t remember what happened after that – he left not long after. 

She wonders how someone cannot know their body: she, who can tell exactly when an orgasm is coming; where to touch her and how. 

But it does not matter. She doubts she will see him again.

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