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Her heels accentuated her legs and her leggings compounded that. She wore a tight black top overlayed with a cropped black blazer. Her dark brown hair took the form of a shore line, flat before curling inward at the ends. Becky placed a knee to the right of Avery's head then swung her other knee over him so that and arch formed above his head. The white ceiling above him, yellow-tinged by a desk lamp was replaced by blackness. The air above him had suddenly become moist. Avery reached his hand out in front of him, cupping her crotch. "Your pussy's wet already?" he said. "Did you expect me to be dry? When have I ever been dry around you?" "You're like Pavlov's dog." "The moment you walk into my office, honey." Becky bent over and wagged her ass above Avery. The more she wiggled it, the higher the tent pitched below his waist became. "I see you like when I shake it like that, huh?" "I can't hold back—you're a smoke. That fat, tan ass; the way you throw it around; that whoreshly.

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