The Walk of Shame

His hands flew over his pumped cock, the head shiny and taut.

I leaned back and he placed a hand on my shoulder. His other hand wanked heavy ropes of thick healthy spunk to my forehead and nose, across my cheeks and finally into my hungry open mouth.

'And that young lady... is how you need to... present to the clients!' gazing down at his face painting.

I looked up at him, my face a picture of violated depravity. He wandered back to his desk, his penis dribbling the last strands of his seed and picked up his phone. I hadn't realised he hadn't replaced it on the receiver.

What he said into it was novel and exciting. My life here was heading beyond my wildest dreams. Was it Mr Phelps?

'Did you enjoy listening to that Tania dear?... You're frustrated?... oh dear! Then I suggest you bring your tongue up to my office this instant. As you know, there's a disgusting fuck toy here with a face full of my spunk. It needs cleaning up.'