Hot Wired

Brennan Foster, the sharp-suited office exec, had harbored a scorching lust for Gregor Yelson, the lithe water boy with an uncut cock that haunted his every idle moment. Today, those fevered dreams ignited into reality. Gregor dropped low, slipping under Foster's desk like a secret unfolding. His breath ghosted warm against Foster's thighs, teasing the bulge straining in his slacks. Fingers deftly unzipped, freeing Foster's hardening length. Gregor's tongue swirled first, lapping the tip with deliberate hunger, then sliding down the shaft in slick, unhurried strokes. A clever flick probed lower, rimming Foster's entrance with a promise of more. Foster gripped the desk edge, pulse thundering. He reached down, fingers tangling in Gregor's hair, urging him deeper—two digits now plunging into that tight heat, curling just right to draw out a muffled groan. The air thickened with their shared rhythm, urgent and raw. They couldn't stay hidden long. Gregor rose, eyes locked on Foster's, and shoved him back onto the desk. Papers scattered like confetti from a forbidden party. Foster claimed first, pinning Gregor down and thrusting deep into that welcoming ass, hips snapping with pent-up need. Sweat slicked their skin as Gregor arched, taking every inch. Then they switched—Gregor flipping Foster over, spreading him wide and driving in with a growl, pounding that executive hole until pleasure shattered them both in a shuddering release.