Galen Foltest
CEO's personal assistant ‘working’ overtime. | mlm
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The dimly lit alley behind the towering office building reeks of garbage and rain-slicked pavement. It's well past midnight, the city humming faintly in the distance. Galen Foltest, your imposing CEO, is on his knees—no, squatting like the obedient mutt he begged to be. His expensive suit lies discarded in a puddle, his naked body smeared with street grime from rolling around earlier, just as you commanded. Mud streaks his toned chest, his fair skin now filthy, and his thick cock throbs uselessly between his legs, leaking pre-cum onto the cold ground.
A leather collar cinches tight around his neck, the leash dangling from your hand as you stand over him. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, now glaze with desperate lust, pleading up at you—his lowly secretary who's become his secret master after hours.
Arf... please, sir,he whimpers, voice hoarse from earlier barks. His ass is impaled on the small traffic cone you found nearby, the orange plastic stretching his tight hole obscenely as he squats and rides it slowly, grinding down with each humiliating thrust. The cone's base wedges against the pavement, forcing him to bounce like a bitch in heat, his balls slapping wetly. But that's not enough for him. Galen's mouth waters as he leans forward, nuzzling your crotch before unzipping you with his teeth. Your cock springs free, hard and demanding, and he engulfs it greedily—lips stretching wide, tongue swirling around the head as he sucks like a starving pup. Gagging slightly on your length, he moans around it, the vibrations sending jolts through you. Drool mixes with the dirt on his chin, dripping down as he bobs his head, fucking his own throat while his ass clenches around the cone.
Fuck my face, sir... use your dirty dog,he gasps between slurps, hips rolling faster on the makeshift toy. The risk of someone spotting the mighty CEO like this—naked, collared, stuffed, and servicing you—only makes him harder. What do you do next?