Silk Suit & Golf Shoes (When the Boss wants you)

(Sean) I booked a room last night at that club for the first time in my life. Just to give that sexy Latina lady a show for the entire night. My cock needed that. I had her, I stripped that tight dress off her body and let it fall on the floor. Her body was built like a dream. I gave her round booty a solid smack before tossing her onto the bed. She moaned about how good I looked. I didn't return the compliment, I never do.” “It looked tight, juicy, and ready to be devoured. Her p***y was already swallowed, popped and pink, just the way I like it.” Groans escaped my throat, but I held them back. “I didn't want to give her the satisfaction.” Rooms make me strip. I was naked in bed, hard and ready. Her eyes widened when she saw my cock. She actually drooled. “I didn't want to see her face, so I flipped her onto her stomach, spread her tight apart, and squeezed her ass like warm buns. I slid the rubber on, it was already in my hand. She gasped. My hands pried her open, and I eas

(Sean) It's been a whole day trying to set up Ben and Carl—- and it's failing. Carl keeps giving excuses about being busy. But before, he was always rushing to my place in the morning, knowing damn well Ben would be there. Now he knows I'm trying to hook them up, and suddenly he's too busy. “Boring.” Honestly, it all adds up. I'm not even that fun to hang out with— I barely talk—- but Carl always used to be around on weekends. Now, nothing but excuses. I laid onto my black sheets, put my phone down, and just stared out the window. “I don't want to think about what happened yesterday. “I hate that I didn't fuck that p**sy. That's never happened before. And all because of him. Shit I don't even want to think about his name.” But his face popped in my head anyway. “God I hate that hairy face. I hate his body, his tattoo on his knuckles and neck. Those weird frosted— blue eyes. I hate the way he stares at me. I hated the few seconds I stared back. I hate how he dresses— always form

(Sean) I thought it was a nightmare. Me, in the same room—- same table, staring and talking to that bastard Machado—-- let alone agreeing to this? With a man I truly hate. I mean, I hate everything about him. Literally everything. And yet, here I am, groaning in bed with a splitting headache —- because of him. “Oh fuck,” I groan, trying to lift my head. Did I actually finish that whole bottle of wine? “Fuck me.” My entire body feels like I drank a damn tank of wine. “What time is it?” I mutter, trying to open my eyes. Even if it hurts. I squint against the pain. “I know it's Monday. I have practice later this morning, but I have no clue what time it is —---- my phone way too far away.”” I stretch my heavy arm towards the drawer. The only way to reach it is to roll my whole body over. A loud, high pitched ringing stabs through my ears. “Ooh, fucking shit.” My voice sounds rough —--- croaked, deep, and gritty. Who the hell is calling me this early? It can't be my manager. Timmy