ure they don' t fall around my
feet. I keep my eyes on the floor, my cheeks flaming with utter humiliation
as I make my way awkwardly towards my cubicle. I know that it is impossible
for everyoo miss the sight, and that at least a few sets of eyes would
even then be widening in shock at my predit. My mind rages at the
injustice of your treatment of me, but my hard cock tells me that the
wicked submissive streak in me enjoys it immensely.
"Are you okay?" a voice asks me once I am seated bay seat, my pants
zipped up and my belt buckled ba. I look up and realise Jason is about
halfway to my cubicle.
"Yes.. Yes I' m fine," I smile at him wanly, all the while terribly
scious of the wetness on the skin of my face.
"You sure?"
I only nod slightly.
"Well, okay. But you might want to tuck your shirt in more properly. The
boss doesn' t like it if we look sloppy." He smiles and moves away.
I feel around my bad realise that my shirt is half tucked-in and half
bung out of my pants. Hurriedly I shove all of it inside, hoping that
Jason didn' t think more of it than he appeared to.
As I look back up my eyes catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror I
keep on my desk at your insistence. I see the mussed up hair and
collar, the red flush of shame on my cheeks, and most of all the strips of
wetness criss- crossing my face, the gooish mixture of saliva and assjuice
that mark me as a fuckboy, a little tslut whose destiny is to be used
and molested by boy-hungry men like you through every waking moment, for
the rest of my life.
It' s fairly early in the m when something flashes at the bottom of my
puter monitor. I gla it and see your name ole. "Shit," I
thought as I suddenly remember the assig you gave me yesterday
afternoon. I had been so busy for the rest of the day that I plete