Returning to the meeting

Once Destiny was finished with David, she retreated back into his pants. David straightened out his clothes and returned to the meeting.

“You feeling alright, David?” His boss asked.

“Yeah...sorry about that. You can’t control when it comes” he said while returning to his seat. He felt haunted by his own words, “heartburn. When heartburn comes.” He clarified while his boss gave him a puzzled look.

“Of course heartburn, what else would we be talking about?”

“Oh...I don’t know...” he said slumping down in his seat. It was now getting difficult to interact with normal people- upon discovering that he was not safe from Destiny even at work, everything now felt as though it had an implied sub-context of his dick.

“By the way, David,” I hate to point this out, but it looks like you have something on your lip.

David wipes his lip with his hand and brings it into view, despite the fact that he already knew what it was.

“How did this happen?!” David frantically thought, why didn’t I check my reflection before I left the rest room? Probably to get back to my meeting as quickly as possible. Why the rush? Because it seems unprofessional to excuse yourself from a meeting to suck your own dick, plus presumably Destiny’s entire load was shot in my mouth. She must have dripped a little on the way out.”

“Oh! Looks like it’s just a little bit leftover from my heartburn formula!” He laughed in the form of a question and then licked it off his hand while immediately regretting that he did. It didn’t matter how overwhelmingly familiar he was with the stuff it didn’t make it any more pleasant or tolerable. If anything it felt/tasted worse each time.

The person continued going over figures and strategies and David was lost in thought. “Man, even at work my focus is STILL on Destiny! It’s hard to separate myself from that with these damn dick-prints on my face. And then I return to the meeting with cum on my lip. Did they notice what it was? How could they not at least suspect it? The mental association with is is literally written on my face. This game of trying to hide it is stressful and exhausting. I want to just bite the bullet and step in front of that train. No one wants to hear you talk about your dick. Not to mention, can you imagine what they’d think of you told them that your penis came to life, can grow to terrifying lengths and has a bizarre obsession with cumming directly into your mouth? They’d throw you into a padded room- and worst of all, leaving you alone with her constantly”

“And that’s the intention for Fall” the marketing person concluded.

“Wow!” David said, trying to pretend like he was paying attention, “that’s a great plan! We’re going to explode!” Just then his dick twitched and he got nervous about the implied sub-text about what he just said, “I didn’t mean it like to explode on-“ he caught himself, “I just meant we’re going to blow up” his dick twitched again making him even more nervous, “not as in ‘blow’” he mumbled, “I just meant we’re going to ‘blow’ everyone else away, not as in a ‘job’.” He continued trying to save his phrasing, “well, I guess executing this would be MY job, so I guess I meant I’m going to give my southern market a blow job” he concluded, feeling that he fully his the sub-text from the people in the meeting.

The people looked at him shocked, and then he finally processed what he had just said, “oh! No! What I meant was-“

“Nope,” his boss stopped him, “I’m afraid to hear how you will further clarify this”