Pulse Point Overload

The fluorescent lights of the warehouse hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to my existence. One…two…three. Click-click, the scanner confirming my count, the familiar strain in my OP as the bin filled. My thumb, already weary from the endless cycle, registered the rising number. "Please fuck me!" The words echoed in my head, a primal demand from a hidden pleasure, a desperate plea that always found its way through. I could feel your hands, hot and insistent, gripping my afro, pulling me closer. Your mouth, a silent command, urged me to thrust, while your hands pushed me deeper, forcing a desperate, intimate connection.

Four times my tongue had tasted your pleasure, four climaxes ignited by your touch. You wanted more, a frantic, yearning desire that left you uncertain of its form. My blink was involuntary, a moment of disorientation as I stared at the scanner, lost in the memory of you. Time seemed to warp, each second a torturous delay before the next wave of anticipation. My numbers clicked off, confirming the bin's fullness, the familiar release of my harness echoing in my muscles.

My back, raw from the harness, throbbed under your nails, raking deep into my skin. I lay on top of you, a silent surrender to your dominance. The tiny bit of saliva clinging to my lips was a testament to our shared heat, a tangible reminder of the moments we’d built together. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as you witnessed the welts you inflicted, a brutal display of control that both terrified and thrilled me. Twelve items. Click-click. As I slid back, feeling the release of the harness, I caught a glimpse of the tangled mess in my pants, a drip of pre-cum tracing a path down my leg. It wasn't a rock, not entirely, but certainly not soft.

Break time. The message arrived, a digital beacon in the sterile environment: “I love you Stud Muffin.” A surge of warmth flooded my veins, a welcome respite from the monotony. I scrolled through my phone, finding the picture you’d sent earlier – your chest straining against the confines of your corset, a provocative display of your power. The image sent a jolt of heat through my body, igniting a fresh wave of desire. I quickly returned the phone to my locker, burying the image deep within its confines, yet unable to forget its potent effect.

More counting, the monotonous rhythm punctuated by the distant moans that seeped through the warehouse walls. I felt the heat of your breath on my neck, a constant reminder of your presence. My cock, slick with anticipation, felt as though it were vibrating in response to your needs. You, lost in your own pleasure, remained oblivious to my escalating desire. You were a force, a vortex of sensation that pulled me relentlessly towards the brink.

Lunch. What the heck had I counted for the last two hours? A frantic mental calculation, a desperate attempt to make sense of the numbers, the relentless pursuit of my quota. I texted you, a hesitant inquiry about my performance, hoping for reassurance, a connection in this desolate landscape. You asked how I was doing, a simple question that carried an undercurrent of concern, a hint of shared experience. Sometimes I shared my thoughts, sometimes I didn’t. Today was one of those days, burdened by the weight of my secret obsession, the memories of you a potent, forbidden pleasure.

Back to counting. But those bins faded away, dissolving into the haze of my thoughts. As I faded into you, a willing participant in your pleasure, my hips bucked up into you, seeking the release you promised. Your head snapped back, your long, luscious hair cascading down your back, tickling my balls as you leaned back, surrendering to the moment. Your hands supported you as you clung to my legs, an anchor in the turbulent sea of my desire. Your tits, large and impossibly soft, bounced up and down, a tantalizing display of your femininity. I watched you, captivated by your power, your grace, the sheer beauty of your form. Your pussy juices soaked me, a warm, viscous embrace that ignited every nerve ending. You slipped and slid all around, a writhing, sensual dance that left me breathless. My hands grabbed hold of your hips, digging deeper into your yielding flesh, a desperate attempt to prolong the pleasure. You screamed, a primal roar of satisfaction, slapping your hands on my chest, your nails digging in with a fierce intensity. You pinched my nipples, a sharp, stinging sensation that sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, followed by the hiss of my teeth as I smacked your ass. Your whole body froze, a frozen tableau of ecstasy, except for your mouth, which opened wide in a silent moan, a desperate plea for more.

Another break. The warehouse was vast, offering a temporary sanctuary from the relentless demands of my job. I drove back to park my OP, a small measure of relief washing over me as I left the warehouse behind. I smiled to myself, a silent acknowledgment of the pleasure we had shared. You’re my everything, my constant, my unwavering devotion. I couldn’t imagine a life devoid of your touch, your scent, your presence. I told you I loved you, calling you Pudding lips – my private moniker for your sweet slit, a secret shared only between us. Then, I headed back out to my OP, eager to resume my duties, my thoughts of you clinging to me like a second skin.

The last two hours were a blur of flashing lights, a relentless cycle of counting and submission. Flash after flash, the images of your chest filling my mind, driving me further into a frenzy. My mouth was on your nipples, your hand in my hair, my fingers sliding into your slit, each sensation feeding my insatiable hunger. You were so soft, so wet, so intensely hot. Your heat sent fire through my entire body, consuming me in its inferno. You were on your knees, lost in your own pleasure, your eyes locked on mine with an expression of pure, unadulterated desire. Your tiny pink lips wrapped around your favorite piece of chocolate, a small indulgence that somehow enhanced the experience. Your mouth was warm, your tongue laced with the intoxicating lubricant you reserved only for me. Your hand looked so small next to my cock as you stroked, as you slid up and down, each movement a promise of deeper pleasure. My toes curled, my legs shook, my hand played with your hair, and you moaned, lost in the throes of your pleasure. You opened your mouth and you pulled me in, and the two of us moaned into each other’s mouths, our bodies intertwined in a symphony of desire. You continued to stroke me, your movements becoming more frantic, more demanding.

I pulled you back, a desperate attempt to regain control, and you hungrily threw me back into your mouth. You opened your throat wide, ready to receive my seed, your anticipation palpable. I was about to explode, to unleash the torrent of pleasure that had been building within me. My head was primed, my body trembling with anticipation. The moment of release was imminent.

5:20. Time to clock out. Parking my OP, I felt the weight of my pent-up desires finally lift, replaced by a sense of exhausted satisfaction. A sticky residue clung to my left leg, a testament to our shared indulgence. I reached the time clock, scanning my badge, and headed to retrieve my belongings, eager to escape the confines of the warehouse and return to the anonymity of my life. Then, I saw you, sitting there patiently, a silent invitation hanging in the air. You were clothed, but that could change quickly. Gratitude welled up inside me, a potent cocktail of relief and anticipation. The memories of you, the sensations we had shared, were all I needed to endure another monotonous day.

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