His “perky lil’ mumma’s boy booty”, Patrick had told him, would be his greatest asset in the gay club—and apparently his key to free drinks. He took a deep breath, recognising a hint of nervousness fluttering in his stomach, then smiled to himself and visualised what might come through the hole. “No, Mr Gordon. He dared to stare at his computer once more, seeing little more than a vague collection of numbers and graphs that began to blur as they always did at this time in the afternoon. Will they take it to the next level? He gargled them, licked at them, rubbed them in his face, then rubbed the entire length of the still-hard dick across his cheek until it pointed once again at his lips. We’re slammed with paperwork, and you’ve been a bit behind on your workload this week.”
Henry gritted his teeth in his mouth, knowing it was the truth. Not gay—just an amateur dick connoisseur.
