Now

You look at Nami, her chin dripping with saliva down onto those pillowy-yet-firm tanned Hawaiian tits. Her eyes were sparkling, but her mascara was running from the tears the produced at the effort of deepthroating your dick. That'll change with more practice. Her tank top was soaked, her nipples hard as deep brown diamonds.

"You can start now, just go to HR and let them know to start the paperwork," you say, stroking your spit-soaked cock in front of her.

"Yes sir!" she said happily, her voice a little rough. She bent forward and gave your head a tender, slow, deep suck, tonguing your piss slit as she started to stand. "Missed a bit. Sorry sir, it won't happen again."

Nami stood in front of you, the tall islander's crotch almost at your eye level. The junction of her thighs was soaked. It wasn't spit, though the underside of her impressive tits bound in her tight croptop tank top was wet from the river of spit that had drained between them.

"Good. I'll expect excellence and consistent improvement," you say with a grin.

She propped a foot on the arm rest of your chair and she pushed just a little bit away, keeping her foot there as your chair moved back, giving you a better view of the jean shorts that she was wearing. Her pussy was practically sucking on the seam. You could almost see her split pussy lips on either side of the cum saturated denim.

Your fingers slid up to feel the heat at the center of those shorts. No pretense, no sliding your fingers up her thigh, just massaging her pussy and clit through the fabric. The heat was intense as you slid two fingers across the saturated fabric.

"Oh, let me get that," she said in a moan. She pulled your fingers up to her mouth and sucked the remnant of her pussy juice from them and moaned again. She let your fingers go.

"HR, sir," she said, acknowledging what you said earlier and turned to sway that ass out of the room.