I went running the other morning, while Sir had other obligations. When I came back home, Sir was in his office. I knocked on the door, and asked permission to enter.

“Come in,” he said. I walked in. Dropped to my knees. He was wearing his kilt.

“I had a good run, Sir,” I said.

“Good,” he motioned me closer, lifted his kilt, “Service me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I opened my mouth and reached towards his cock. It felt powerful to feel him hardening on my tongue.

“Good girl,” he said, and put his hand on my head. With steady, but gentle, pressure, he held me still as he pushed further into my mouth. I concentrated on opening my throat, and relaxing. He held me still, even as he pressed onward, then stopped. I felt his hand come up, and could tell he was counting time by the second hand on his watch. Every bit of my attention was on remaining calm, and trusting his judgment.


He released me. I pulled back, gasping for air. A couple of breaths, and I took him in my mouth again. He let me for a few seconds, then pushed me away.

“Maybe more later,” he said.

Yes. Yes, please.


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