Pretty Phill
I’ve done two assignments in four months. I’ve been working. One was a new contract and one is a regular client. I was at the regular client second.
I remember cutie Phill from being there previously. I always thought he had a thing for one of the HR girls who has since left.
Pretty Phill.
I first noticed Phill again when he and two of his colleagues, Alistair and Nick, came down to our office to see the HR Director, Isaac about some campaign. Now there is a porn movie just waiting to happen.
Alistair is blond and manly and moody and handsome. His wife has just had a baby, he looks a bit tired since the last time I’d seen him. I’d like to see him pin his wife to the bed and impregnate her. What a hot boy. He’d have a big cock that stayed rock hard.
Nick is your pretty wog boy with plenty of good humoured swagger. He’d have a big fat cock, uncut that he’s love to have played with. He’s got a bulge on him, has Nick. His suit pants are full of his Italian sausage, seemingly, trying to escape. Both in their thirties and on top of their game. Phill is their apprentice. Pretty dark haired movie star looks, smart and reserved and smiley.
I got definitely distracted while the three of them walked in and proceeded to waited for Isaac, kind of hanging around in front of my desk.
I got all toey and completely absorbed with their presence. To tell you the truth I’ve never been completely convinced that it was straight Phill. I always pictured him getting fucked by both Alistair and Nick, over the marketing desk one night late after to many knock off beers.
“Hi,” I said to Phill when he looked over at me, as Alistair and Nick laughed at each other’s jokes.
“Hi,” Phill said. Smile.
Just as handsome, I thought and so quick to say hello. His mum taught him good manners when he was a boy. It’s his eyes, the boy has sexy eyes.
Alastair and Nick were the Alpha males, Phill was our Beta man.
Our eyes seemed to meet once more – you’d so be the other two’s cum receptacle – with Phill quickly looking away as soon as he did.
Isaac’s door opened and he ushered the three of them into his office.
The girls all like Phill. The young girls think he is cute. None of them like Alistair. He has this way of looking at you that says that he is going to fuck you any minute. It’s his eyes. He has the eyes of a killer. I think the young girls find him intimidating. They call him the serial killer. I think it is because they have allowed themselves to go there, when Alistair looks them in the eye and it feels like rape. He only gets the maximum of one sentence out, and the young girls already feel like he is inside them. (Well, I do) I can see it, they get all unnerved by him.
They don’t like Nick either. He is too goofy. He is the guy who has always got drunk and pestered each one of them with offers of hot sex any night down the pub.
“I always thought Phill had a thing for Alice, I always saw them together at staff morning teas.
“I don’t really think that Phill is all that straight,” said Christine.
Christine has been there for years. She practically runs the company. Her goss is the only goss you take any notice of. The three young girls all pretty much only chat about themselves and their Tindr dates. They have them lined up. The girl’s are now, pretty much, lining up boys to fuck them. They call them dates, but that is pretty much what happens in the end. Boy screws girl. Girl says he wasn’t the one.
Phill’s gay? Well, I’ll be. I never really put that together. Sure I’d pictured him in his undies, with his bosses just about to dog him. He’s got a great smile and a great arse and those two attributes can get a young gay boy far. Phill gay. I so wanted him.
There’s this thing, you see. In the “admin suite” ha ha, the admin floor, being on the ground floor, the toilets attached to it have solid brick walls and full size doors. The cubicles are completely separate to each other. And we’re not so snooty, not like the executive penthouse, after all. So the guys from the first floor, particularly sales and marketing all come down to our floor to use the facilities. I mentioned to my team how odd it was, but the girls were all in total agreement. They had toilet cubicles where it was possible for some one to hear them fart. “Of course you’d come down here,” said Sahyleen.
Christine said, “They come mid morning. I think they want a little more privacy than the toilets upstairs afford?”
“You mean because the walls go all the way to the floor.”
“Pretty much.”
“That is ridiculous, everybody shits.”
“Well, precisely.”
Phill and I have seen each other a few times in the street, he goes to the shops at the same time as me to get his lunch and he always says hello. Friendly. Tuned in, not seemingly on rote.
And of course, in the toilets when he comes for his morning shit. It, for some reason, is always around my second cup of work coffee, around 9.15. He always says hello in the hallway.
There was the first firm morning tea. The first since Alice left. I stood with the girls, not for any reason, I was too mesmerized by the spred of food that I wasn’t noticing much else. (I could have been a little bonged over) So Phill came and chatted to us. He’s handsome and funny, his has a twinkle in his eye, he has a sexy smile and beautiful face. I couldn’t help but get interested in the conversation. Alastair and Nick were standing off to one side. Alistair looked as usual that smoke could be coming out of his nostrils and Nick had lazy, sexy eyes on. More sexy friendly, he kind of mesmerises you with his confident bedroom eyes. He laughs at Alastair’s jokes. Alastair kind of grunts back at Nick’s jokes.
Phill smiled at everyone, he appeared interested in every thing we said. I’m sure our eyes connected for too long, a couple of times, but I might have imagined it too. Desire transference is a hard one to control.
Then everybody just drifted off naturally and I was left watching Phill’s hot arse walk away.
Mostly, though, I have seen him in the corridors. I noticed around the place, he was saying hello and smiling sweetly first, before me. It was surely a good sign.
Vinegar tits had just turned fifty. It makes you think.
I guest I’d never make the world of 100 great guitarists. You know, you think of the things you could no longer possibly do. Like, I could never now win best baby in show, just by my age. I wondered if I’d still make it into a boy band, I reckon I’d just make it.
I was heading to the toilet.
Pill was coming out of one of our toilet’s cubicle, just as I was going in.
“Hi,” he said.
“How are you?” I always asked questions because then he’d have to answer. “Good,” he said.
Then I broke my golden rule. The rule that make’s every other action acceptable, and that is that you never look back.
He is still looking at me.
I smile.
He smiles.
I motion with my head. What the hell was I doing? This is really happening. I start to shake.
He looks surprised.
I look serious. Trying hard not to shake. I often wonder if that just makes me look constipated, but I digress.
He realises that I am doing what he thinks I am doing. What the hell was I doing? Instincts kicking in. His eyes soften, he kind of smiles, but tries not to. He looks at the door. He looks back at me.
And then he steps towards me, that is the moment I think this could all go horribly pear shaped. The cross over moment. He steps to the cubicle door. He smiles. He laughs self consciously. I push the door all the way open.
He slides into the cubicle in front of me. His eyes are burning. He looks hot.
I bring my hand up between his legs and feel his nuts and cock through the front of his suit pants. He plays with my cock. I can feel him going hard in the palm of my hand.
I pull the front of his pants out and slide my hand down onto his soft cotton jocks and, by then, his rock hard cock.
Fuck, he kind of says quietly in my ear, self consciously, in pleasure.
He fumbles with his belt and his waistband. Then he unzips and his pants fall away.
I slide my hand into his jocks and onto the sticky hot skin of his burning erection. His cock is hot and hard. He is bending up from the nuts like a rocket ship.
I drip saliva all over my left hand and then move it in. I let go with my right hand and take hold with my left and the lubrication of my spit. His cock goes all slippery and I spit into my right hand, gazing into his beautiful eyes the whole time. Then I take hold of his dick with my wet right hand and start rubbing, easily, slippery, wet. He groans. “Yes, yes, yes.” He rests his chin on my left shoulder as he moans.
I can smell his hair.
His pretty thick cock matches his pretty face. He has a nice foreskin. I pull him hard and purposefully, I want to make him cum. How long do you realistically think you can wank off the pretty office boy (Chief copy writer, actually) without someone coming into the bathroom and hearing you, full length doors, or not.
He unzips my pants and gets my hard cock out. He spits on his hand and grab my cock again and rubs.
He is fat and hot and hard in my hand. I masturbate him holding the underneath of his big dick, stroking him tight in the palm of my hand. It is solid and chunky in my hand, unbreakable, it feels god. It is like steel to its very tip. I could squeeze it tight, that made him moan. I kept squeezing. He comes really quickly, suddenly he is gushing jizz, swallowing his moans, as he spoofs in pure white globules, as you would expect him to, all over the floor, gasping quietly for breath. His stringy white spoof hangs from my hand.
I want to taste his arse, he isn’t keen, but I make him. I push his shirt up. I pull his undies down over his sexy mounds. He struggles to catch his breath pushed up against the wall. I wipe my cum soaked hand up his arse crack, making him all wet with his own spoof. Then I slip my tongue into his furry pussy arse. Pretty as him, as you’d expect. Brown and furry and perfect. And lick it off. He begins to whimper. He is rolling around on his still hard cock, pushed up against the cubicle wall. I lick his velvety brown, sweet anus, the scent out of his arse is intoxicating. I can’t stop myself, I cum in my hand. The pristine floor is covered in thick pools of wet liquid.
Phill did up his pants and left immediately. He didn’t look back, he just wanted to get out of there. I think the enormity of what he’d just done had hit him. Instant dismissal. A career ruined. I locked the door behind him. I mopped the spoof off the floor with toilet paper until it shone again. I pulled myself together again and left the cubicle too.
It was my last day.
Until next time, my crew said. It was likely, this was my third contract, fourth? There would probably be another one.
I didn’t see Phill again.
I remember cutie Phill from being there previously. I always thought he had a thing for one of the HR girls who has since left.
Pretty Phill.
I first noticed Phill again when he and two of his colleagues, Alistair and Nick, came down to our office to see the HR Director, Isaac about some campaign. Now there is a porn movie just waiting to happen.
Alistair is blond and manly and moody and handsome. His wife has just had a baby, he looks a bit tired since the last time I’d seen him. I’d like to see him pin his wife to the bed and impregnate her. What a hot boy. He’d have a big cock that stayed rock hard.
Nick is your pretty wog boy with plenty of good humoured swagger. He’d have a big fat cock, uncut that he’s love to have played with. He’s got a bulge on him, has Nick. His suit pants are full of his Italian sausage, seemingly, trying to escape. Both in their thirties and on top of their game. Phill is their apprentice. Pretty dark haired movie star looks, smart and reserved and smiley.
I got definitely distracted while the three of them walked in and proceeded to waited for Isaac, kind of hanging around in front of my desk.
I got all toey and completely absorbed with their presence. To tell you the truth I’ve never been completely convinced that it was straight Phill. I always pictured him getting fucked by both Alistair and Nick, over the marketing desk one night late after to many knock off beers.
“Hi,” I said to Phill when he looked over at me, as Alistair and Nick laughed at each other’s jokes.
“Hi,” Phill said. Smile.
Just as handsome, I thought and so quick to say hello. His mum taught him good manners when he was a boy. It’s his eyes, the boy has sexy eyes.
Alastair and Nick were the Alpha males, Phill was our Beta man.
Our eyes seemed to meet once more – you’d so be the other two’s cum receptacle – with Phill quickly looking away as soon as he did.
Isaac’s door opened and he ushered the three of them into his office.
The girls all like Phill. The young girls think he is cute. None of them like Alistair. He has this way of looking at you that says that he is going to fuck you any minute. It’s his eyes. He has the eyes of a killer. I think the young girls find him intimidating. They call him the serial killer. I think it is because they have allowed themselves to go there, when Alistair looks them in the eye and it feels like rape. He only gets the maximum of one sentence out, and the young girls already feel like he is inside them. (Well, I do) I can see it, they get all unnerved by him.
They don’t like Nick either. He is too goofy. He is the guy who has always got drunk and pestered each one of them with offers of hot sex any night down the pub.
“I always thought Phill had a thing for Alice, I always saw them together at staff morning teas.
“I don’t really think that Phill is all that straight,” said Christine.
Christine has been there for years. She practically runs the company. Her goss is the only goss you take any notice of. The three young girls all pretty much only chat about themselves and their Tindr dates. They have them lined up. The girl’s are now, pretty much, lining up boys to fuck them. They call them dates, but that is pretty much what happens in the end. Boy screws girl. Girl says he wasn’t the one.
Phill’s gay? Well, I’ll be. I never really put that together. Sure I’d pictured him in his undies, with his bosses just about to dog him. He’s got a great smile and a great arse and those two attributes can get a young gay boy far. Phill gay. I so wanted him.
There’s this thing, you see. In the “admin suite” ha ha, the admin floor, being on the ground floor, the toilets attached to it have solid brick walls and full size doors. The cubicles are completely separate to each other. And we’re not so snooty, not like the executive penthouse, after all. So the guys from the first floor, particularly sales and marketing all come down to our floor to use the facilities. I mentioned to my team how odd it was, but the girls were all in total agreement. They had toilet cubicles where it was possible for some one to hear them fart. “Of course you’d come down here,” said Sahyleen.
Christine said, “They come mid morning. I think they want a little more privacy than the toilets upstairs afford?”
“You mean because the walls go all the way to the floor.”
“Pretty much.”
“That is ridiculous, everybody shits.”
“Well, precisely.”
Phill and I have seen each other a few times in the street, he goes to the shops at the same time as me to get his lunch and he always says hello. Friendly. Tuned in, not seemingly on rote.
And of course, in the toilets when he comes for his morning shit. It, for some reason, is always around my second cup of work coffee, around 9.15. He always says hello in the hallway.
There was the first firm morning tea. The first since Alice left. I stood with the girls, not for any reason, I was too mesmerized by the spred of food that I wasn’t noticing much else. (I could have been a little bonged over) So Phill came and chatted to us. He’s handsome and funny, his has a twinkle in his eye, he has a sexy smile and beautiful face. I couldn’t help but get interested in the conversation. Alastair and Nick were standing off to one side. Alistair looked as usual that smoke could be coming out of his nostrils and Nick had lazy, sexy eyes on. More sexy friendly, he kind of mesmerises you with his confident bedroom eyes. He laughs at Alastair’s jokes. Alastair kind of grunts back at Nick’s jokes.
Phill smiled at everyone, he appeared interested in every thing we said. I’m sure our eyes connected for too long, a couple of times, but I might have imagined it too. Desire transference is a hard one to control.
Then everybody just drifted off naturally and I was left watching Phill’s hot arse walk away.
Mostly, though, I have seen him in the corridors. I noticed around the place, he was saying hello and smiling sweetly first, before me. It was surely a good sign.
Vinegar tits had just turned fifty. It makes you think.
I guest I’d never make the world of 100 great guitarists. You know, you think of the things you could no longer possibly do. Like, I could never now win best baby in show, just by my age. I wondered if I’d still make it into a boy band, I reckon I’d just make it.
I was heading to the toilet.
Pill was coming out of one of our toilet’s cubicle, just as I was going in.
“Hi,” he said.
“How are you?” I always asked questions because then he’d have to answer. “Good,” he said.
Then I broke my golden rule. The rule that make’s every other action acceptable, and that is that you never look back.
He is still looking at me.
I smile.
He smiles.
I motion with my head. What the hell was I doing? This is really happening. I start to shake.
He looks surprised.
I look serious. Trying hard not to shake. I often wonder if that just makes me look constipated, but I digress.
He realises that I am doing what he thinks I am doing. What the hell was I doing? Instincts kicking in. His eyes soften, he kind of smiles, but tries not to. He looks at the door. He looks back at me.
And then he steps towards me, that is the moment I think this could all go horribly pear shaped. The cross over moment. He steps to the cubicle door. He smiles. He laughs self consciously. I push the door all the way open.
He slides into the cubicle in front of me. His eyes are burning. He looks hot.
I bring my hand up between his legs and feel his nuts and cock through the front of his suit pants. He plays with my cock. I can feel him going hard in the palm of my hand.
I pull the front of his pants out and slide my hand down onto his soft cotton jocks and, by then, his rock hard cock.
Fuck, he kind of says quietly in my ear, self consciously, in pleasure.
He fumbles with his belt and his waistband. Then he unzips and his pants fall away.
I slide my hand into his jocks and onto the sticky hot skin of his burning erection. His cock is hot and hard. He is bending up from the nuts like a rocket ship.
I drip saliva all over my left hand and then move it in. I let go with my right hand and take hold with my left and the lubrication of my spit. His cock goes all slippery and I spit into my right hand, gazing into his beautiful eyes the whole time. Then I take hold of his dick with my wet right hand and start rubbing, easily, slippery, wet. He groans. “Yes, yes, yes.” He rests his chin on my left shoulder as he moans.
I can smell his hair.
His pretty thick cock matches his pretty face. He has a nice foreskin. I pull him hard and purposefully, I want to make him cum. How long do you realistically think you can wank off the pretty office boy (Chief copy writer, actually) without someone coming into the bathroom and hearing you, full length doors, or not.
He unzips my pants and gets my hard cock out. He spits on his hand and grab my cock again and rubs.
He is fat and hot and hard in my hand. I masturbate him holding the underneath of his big dick, stroking him tight in the palm of my hand. It is solid and chunky in my hand, unbreakable, it feels god. It is like steel to its very tip. I could squeeze it tight, that made him moan. I kept squeezing. He comes really quickly, suddenly he is gushing jizz, swallowing his moans, as he spoofs in pure white globules, as you would expect him to, all over the floor, gasping quietly for breath. His stringy white spoof hangs from my hand.
I want to taste his arse, he isn’t keen, but I make him. I push his shirt up. I pull his undies down over his sexy mounds. He struggles to catch his breath pushed up against the wall. I wipe my cum soaked hand up his arse crack, making him all wet with his own spoof. Then I slip my tongue into his furry pussy arse. Pretty as him, as you’d expect. Brown and furry and perfect. And lick it off. He begins to whimper. He is rolling around on his still hard cock, pushed up against the cubicle wall. I lick his velvety brown, sweet anus, the scent out of his arse is intoxicating. I can’t stop myself, I cum in my hand. The pristine floor is covered in thick pools of wet liquid.
Phill did up his pants and left immediately. He didn’t look back, he just wanted to get out of there. I think the enormity of what he’d just done had hit him. Instant dismissal. A career ruined. I locked the door behind him. I mopped the spoof off the floor with toilet paper until it shone again. I pulled myself together again and left the cubicle too.
It was my last day.
Until next time, my crew said. It was likely, this was my third contract, fourth? There would probably be another one.
I didn’t see Phill again.
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