
I take care to dress in a respectable, professional way. My thoughts, however, are anything but. When I take down notes in a meeting, you might see me smile, nod, sip a cup of coffee. However, only I will ever know what’s running through my head. It wouldn’t be polite to share the fact I might be thinking about whether you would make eye contact, while I licked and sucked the length of your cock, or whether you like the control of your hand on the back of my head, while you close your eyes.
I might watch you to decipher your preference; fucking me on the desk, skirt hitched up, spread wide, or you bending me over it, to enjoy just how wet and tight I can be.
***
Paris calls, often. Our biggest clients are based there, and I travel at least once a month. London to New York to Paris the same week is gruelling, but not unheard of. By now, the doorman to the corporate apartment greets me by first name.
I’ve learned to spot an insecure man a mile off. They struggle with my schedule and the fact that I manage the trading floor. In fact, it’s best not to get attached at all. It makes things less complicated.
The city is full of personality and reveals its secrets to you slowly if you take the time to get to know it. Hidden plazas and terraces, where you can openly people watch, savouring a coffee so deep in flavour you forget what day it is. I’ve come to realise that Parisien women prioritise two things: impeccable dress sense and never compromising on pleasure.

Write a comment ...