Page 25 of Sexting My Ex's Dad
“And I will,” I growl.
I run a hand through my salt-and-pepper hair, fighting the urge to slam my fist down on the desk in frustration. This isn’t like me; I’m always in control, always composed. But when it comes to Stella —
I can’t pinpoint why I want her so bad…maybe it’s because I’m not supposed to have her. She can’t belong to me.
And I’ve always wanted what I can’t have.
“Well, I should be getting back to my own work then,” Massimo comments, still looking at me…trying to figure me out. I hate when he does that.
Finally, he walks out of the office.
I’m so hard now that it hurts.
My hand reaches for my belt, unbuckling it quickly, only relieved once they’re pooling at my ankles.
My hand slides beneath the waistband of my boxers, the warmth of my skin contrasting with the cool fabric that encases me. The tension in my muscles tightens as I grip my erection in the palm of my hand.
I hate Stella for making me do this like some kind of teenager. I can’t remember the last time I’d given myself a handjob – I’ve always had women around to do it for me. Even now I could probably call in my secretary…what’s her name? Dottie. She’s constantly making eyes at me.
But no woman is going to do it for me right now…not unless her name is Stella.
I jerk harder, the heat and hardness beneath my fingers both intoxicating and overwhelming. At this moment, all I can think about is her—how her delicate hands would feel on me, how she’d looked up at me with those big innocent eyes while I told her everything I liked.And how she’d tried to keep up, as she did just that.
My movements become more deliberate, guided by the burning need that courses through my veins. Every stroke sends another wave of pleasure rippling through me.
The images of her in my mind grow more vivid, the intensity of my desire reaching its peak.
I imagine her hand exploring the contours of my body—tracing the tense lines of muscle and the warmth of my skin.
My movements become more urgent, driven by the insatiable need to be closer to her, to feel her touch on my skin. The office around me fades away, replaced by the intoxicating fantasy of Stella’s presence.
She’d had such a little fire that day in my office…a fire that continued when she’d unexpectedly sent me that picture while I was working.
I’d had to hide my phone from my brother.
The rhythm of my strokes quickens, harder and harder.
Tension coils within me, a tightly wound spring threatening to snap at any moment. My hand moves with growing urgency. Stella’s presence, her imagined touch, and her searing gaze burn brighter in my mind, consuming every other thought.
Heat surges through my veins, demanding release. Desperation laces my breaths, ragged and shallow, as I teeter on the edge.
With a final, shuddering groan, I surrender to the tide of ecstasy that crashes over me, cum spurting out all of my hands and thighs.
I haven’t cummed on myself in years. How inconvenient.
I hate how much I’m letting this girl affect me. I need to fix it quickly.
Once I’m all done, I grab a few kleenex from my desk and wipe my cum off of myself before throwing them in the trash.
As the waves of euphoria ebb away, I lean back in my office chair, lost in thought.
Until my phone vibrates on the table, begging me to pick it up.
A text message – from Stella.
I want to be your good little girl.
My hand forms into a fist, and I growl. She doesn’t know what those eight little words are doing to me, but she would soon.
