I’m not sure I could speak even if I wanted to. So I remain silent as he gently withdraws from my body, steadying me when I wobble. I stay quiet as he fixes his clothing, pulling up his zipper and clasping his belt. He squats down to retrieve my panties, and I use his shoulders for balance as he pulls them up my legs. He stands, slides them up my hips and into place, and rearranges my skirt, smoothing the wrinkles.
Then he grasps my chin and looks into my eyes.
“Don’t clean up.”
I moisten my lips and shake my head, not understanding his meaning.
“Don’t wipe my c*m out. I want you to sit at your desk all day, wet and sticky, thinking about me. Tell me you will.”
What is it about his voice that makes me want to roll over and do tricks for him like some obedient little puppy?
“Yes. I wi
