Boyle

You catch Amy’s eye across the bullpen after she finishes tampering with Rosa’s water bottle. She gives you the tiniest nod toward Charles Boyle’s desk.

Boyle is in the middle of one of his long-winded stories about heirloom tomatoes to a visibly bored Hitchcock. His fancy imported Dutch coffee creamer - the one he guards like a precious artifact - sits on the corner of his desk, right next to his limited-edition “Soup’s On!” mug.

Your cock twitches at the sheer depravity of the idea.

You wait until Boyle stands up to dramatically gesture with both hands about “mouth feel” and “umami depth.” The second he turns his back, you move.

Amy covers for you perfectly, walking over and asking Boyle an overly detailed question about the difference between Dutch and Belgian creamers, keeping him distracted and facing away from his desk.

You sit down in Boyle’s chair like you’re just borrowing it for a second. Heart hammering, you quickly unzip your pants under the desk and pull your aching cock out. You’re already leaking precum from how turned on the whole game has made you.

You stroke yourself fast and tight, using the image of Amy spitting and fingering her own pussy into Rosa’s bottle just minutes ago. It only takes about thirty seconds of frantic pumping before you feel that familiar rush.

You lean forward slightly, aim the head of your cock directly into the narrow opening of Boyle’s fancy creamer bottle, and unload.

Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot straight into the bottle. You keep stroking, milking every last drop, watching with twisted satisfaction as your white load swirls into the thick, creamy liquid. You give the bottle a gentle swirl with your finger to mix it, then carefully place it back exactly where it was.

You tuck yourself away just as Boyle turns around.

“Peralta! My chair is warm. Were you sitting in my sacred space?” Boyle asks, narrowing his eyes.

You shrug with your most innocent smile. “Just resting my feet, buddy. You know how it is.”

Amy walks back to her desk, barely containing her grin. She watches with dark, hungry eyes as Boyle returns to his station, picks up the creamer, and pours a very generous amount into his fresh coffee.

He stirs it slowly, brings the mug to his lips, and takes a long, appreciative sip.

“Mmmph!” Boyle’s eyes flutter with pleasure. “Oh wow. This batch is exceptional today. There’s a new… richness. A deep, almost savory undertone. It’s like it has extra body. Incredible.”

He takes another big gulp, then another.

Amy has to turn away and cover her mouth so she doesn’t laugh - or moan. Her thighs are pressed tightly together under her desk.

You text her under the table:

You: He just swallowed at least three big ropes of my cum and he’s calling it “rich” and “savory.”

Amy: I’m so wet it’s ridiculous. I want to fuck you right now.

Boyle takes yet another satisfied sip, practically moaning into his mug.

“Truly outstanding creamer. I’m going to have to write the company a letter. This mouthfeel is… life-changing.”

Amy bites her knuckle hard, clearly fighting the urge to touch herself right there at her desk.

You watch Boyle finish the entire mug, licking his lips afterward with a blissful expression.

Later, when Boyle steps away, Amy walks past his desk, casually drags two fingers through the leftover drops in his empty mug, and brings them to her mouth. She sucks them clean while staring straight at you.

Then she texts you:

Amy: Your cum tastes better when it’s been in Boyle’s mouth first. We’re doing this to everyone today. Holt’s office is next… and I want you to cum directly on his favorite pen.

The game has officially gone completely off the rails.

And neither of you has ever been more turned on in your lives.