The Boardroom Pulse

Warren sits at the conference table in his navy Zegna suit, the Hermès tie knotted tight, while the plug pulses slow and deep inside him, timed to his breath, and he keeps his face still as the deal talk drones on. His phone buzzes face-down on the polished wood, and when he turns it over, David has sent a photo of Willow in pink latex from her public website, her eyes dark and knowing, and the caption reads, 'She's waiting for you.' Warren's thumb hovers over the screen, the image burning in his mind, and he feels the cage press against his briefs as the plug pulses again, and he has to grip the edge of the table to keep his voice steady when the managing director asks for his opinion on the merger. He answers, the words coming out smooth and professional, but his mind is on the photo, on the collar locked under his shirt, on the small blue light blinking between his legs, and he knows David is watching him through the phone, waiting for him to break. The plug begins to work automously visions of David's cock. The hunger to be Willow is insatiable as Warren pretends to be male