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(Confronted, continued...)

If you can’t cum inside Sarah, you’ve got a pretty good Plan B. You help her off the table, then sit on a chair with your legs apart, your rigid cock pointing up at the ceiling. Sarah knows exactly what you’re thinking. She kneels between your thighs and takes your shaft into her luscious cleavage.

Sarah squeezes her tits together with her hands and slides them up and down your cock. All the time she maintains eye contact with you, licking her lips and making various sexy expressions from her repertoire. You feel her hard nipples rubbing against your lower stomach and you reach down to pinch them.

“Oh Sarah, I fucking love your tits!” you exclaim as your balls start to boil. You start thrusting your hips and she squeezes your cock harder.

“Cum for me Leo! Cum on my tits!” she pants.

Your ejaculation is volcanic. It seems that everything is happening in slow motion as ropes of cum erupt from your knob, decorating her chin and throat, gooey white drops raining down upon her heaving bosom. She keeps rubbing her breasts up and down, milking out every last drop. The final dribbles trickle down your shaft and run directly into her soft, sweaty cleavage.

Sarah finally releases your cock and traces a finger through the gooey white runs of semen that cover her naked sweater puppies. Then she starts rubbing your load all over her breasts with her palms, making them all wet and shiny.

Suddenly you hear a noise. “Quick, someone’s coming!” gasps Sarah in alarm. She looks around frantically for something to clean herself up with but can only find her discarded panties. She wipes herself down quickly then grabs her blouse and starts buttoning. There’s no time for her to put her bra back on. She stuffs it into her handbag along with her ruined knickers.

You struggle into your pants, then assist Sarah by tugging her skirt down from where it is bunched around her waist. She tucks herself in and makes an attempt to adjust her hair.

“How do I look?” she asks anxiously.

You look her up and down. Her skirt is creased and rumpled. She’s missed a button on her blouse and the gap clearly reveals she’s not wearing a bra (if the protrusion of her bullet-hard nipples has left any doubt.) There’s a damp patch on her blouse, something wet and shiny on her throat and her hairstyle could be found in the book under “just been fucked.” She also smells a little musky.

“You look fine to me,” you reply.

The End


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