For drinking at 10am in the office

You know the feeling. That bottle from yesterday is only three-quarters empty and it’s lying in your bag under your desk calling your name. “Do it! Live a little! Take a few swigs – it’ll brighten up your day”. That sanitizing taste of pure gin straight from the bottle to your lips. Your mouth is clean and your heart is on fire. Birds are singing outside your window. The morning is like a virgin with dew on her suntanned thighs. So healthy, so wholesome. She might be young and somewhat innocent, but you both want it. It feels right. Why limit yourself to certain hours of the day or night? Isn’t the rest of your life already enslaved by these exact time-place regimental bonds? Rebel! Rage rage against the dying of the light. The office door is closed and locked. A piece of gum lies ready should an unexpected knock interrupt our lovemaking. The day gets sweeter and sweeter. The store is just around the corner (and it sells happiness). The bar is not far from the store and it sells happiness and respectability. We all feel a bit of shame at our urge to fuck early youth. It’s the sacredness of morning and sterile hum of productivity against the rawness, the uncontrolability of the urge. Though it hurts nobody, it would offend the witness. My cock smearing across her firm thighs and ass. Dripping drops of pleasure not accessible except to the bold. You others can be her teacher or preacher or father. But I’m penetrating her sweet core. How deep can you go? Well I want to find out…


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