Page 17 of Quickies

I watched as white liquid flew through the air and splashed over his little pucker.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

More.

I came like a fountain. Cum was dripping down his underwear-model butt, running through his crease, and his little hole clenched again, wet and glistening.

If I ever touched him, I’d self-combust.

One white drop made it to his hairless balls, slowly oozing lower…and the erotic vision turned into a car crash in slow motion.

Oliver Shen, my twenty-three-year-old student intern, was bent over my desk with his pants down his legs, looking at me over his shoulder. His cheeks were red, his mouth open with short breaths, and his eyes glowed with obvious arousal. My cum was trickling down his ass and over his balls.

My postcoital rush lasted about ten seconds. Then anger hit again. Anger and pure dread.

I zipped up my pants, slapped the laptop shut, and grabbed it under my arm. My phone, wallet, and car keys were already in my suit pockets. Or at least, so I hoped.

I unlocked the door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind me. I ran away from there with my ass on fire.

“I haven’t told anybody.”

I sighed. “Oliver. Please. Don’t do this.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I like you better when you’re angry. Begging doesn’t suit you.”

Rubbing a hand down my face, I shook my head. He was unbelievable.

“I haven’t even seen your cock,” he said casually. “You haven’t touched me. I had to lock the door again and jerk off. I used your cum as lube, by the way.”

He was going to kill me. “Oliver, leave my office. Now.”

“Or?”

Okay, two could play this game.

This time, it was me who locked the door.

“Strip.”

He was lightning fast. His clothes flew through the air. And within seconds, he stood there, smiling like the sun, his amazing little body on display and his hard cock straining toward me.

“Kneel on the desk, ass up.”

He sauntered to me and brushed past me before he climbed on top of my desk, knelt with his legs spread wide, and bent over. Stretched diagonally over my desk with his ass toward me, he supported himself on his elbows and wiggled his pretty butt. He thought he’d won. Did he honestly believe I’d fuck him in my office? At seven p.m. on a Tuesday?

“Now make yourself come.”

He sputtered. “What?”

“You heard me. Jerk off. I want your jizz on my desk.”

He hesitated for a moment, scowling at me. I kept my expression impassive.

“Or you can put on your clothes, unlock the door, and leave,” I suggested in the mildest tone I was capable of.

Oliver rolled his pretty, expressive eyes, then he grabbed his dick and began stroking himself. Soon, he was rocking his hips, fucking into his fist, his hole twitching. He paused only to spit into his palm, then kept going, fast and hard.

I sat down in my chair, leaned back, and watched.

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