Fuck Ling

You start to gyrate over his hips. His cock feels huge inside you, and with his hands clamped on your pelvic bone, you can't even stand up.

Soon you're panting openmouthed as you start to fuck him in earnest. He sucks on your breasts, kneading them with his hands. He clamps a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet as you moan, pinches your asscheeks, handles and manipulates your flesh in ways that he finds entertaining, and you find unbearably arousing.

You're being used by him. He doesn't give a shit whether you come or not.

This realization makes you come, of course - it seems that's the way you're being conditioned - and you cry out, falling forward onto him. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean your work is done. He pushes you back upright and slaps your face.

“I didn't give you permission to come, you fucking cunt,” he hisses. He grabs a fistful of your hair and uses it to jerk your head back, so that you're **** to gaze up at the ceiling. He orders you to keep fucking, and you obey dutifully, grinding your pelvis onto his cock rythmically.

Finally he spurts his hot load into you, gasping. He pushes you off his lap, and you fall into an exhausted heap on the floor. He bends down and releases the lock binding your wrists together.

“Since the filters'll prevent you from understanding me anyway, I'll let you in on a little secret, John,” Mr. Ling says, breathing heavily as he stands over your prone form. “I'd have done this to you regardless, even if there weren't business considerations. You always were a little cocksucker. Now you can bear the name with pride. I can't wait until some guy impregnates you, and you turn into some kind of Stepford Wife soccer mom baking cookies and giving head. I'll bring your ex-wife over and you can make us tea. Would you like that?”

He grunts. “No, you can't understand a fucking word I say, can you? You actually think you're a woman now. How fucking pathetic.” He gives your thigh a light kick with his shoe, and suddenly disappears. You realize he's logged out of the IVR.

John? Who the fuck is John? You think to yourself. You drag yourself up off the floor. It's time to get out of here, now.