I can’t stop staring at Jonah from accounting’s fingers.
I mean, they’re just fingers, right? Attached to a perfectly normal hand and an unremarkable arm and a man who by all measures of attractiveness is just … well … ordinary.
I’ve been working at this company for almost two years and I’ve never even met Jonah from accounting (and yes, that’s what I’m calling him because I don’t know his last name) before today. Sure, we’ve been in some of the same email chains and I’m sure I’ve seen him filling up his water bottle at the fountain or eating his lunch in the breakroom, but I’ve never actually met him. I’m not sure I would have even recognized him if it wasn’t for the ID badge he wears on his pocket.
And now that I have?
I can’t stop staring at his fingers. They’re enormous. His entire hands are, really. They’re huge and calloused and rugged and … I want those fingers in my pussy.
I feel a throb between my legs, inner muscles clenching on nothing, like my cunt is already imagining what it would be like to be impaled on two, maybe three of those thick digits. Good lord, they’re huge, even one would give me the friction I need to …