Bring your face over here? (Facial)

"...bring your face over here?"

"By your... cock... sir?" She asked as if you could possibly mean anywhere else, but as a rank professional, she knew the score.

"Unf hmm. Hurry babe."

While Jane was all business, she knew that her single highest priority was to ensure your optimal sexual health. Part of that obligation, she'd come to learn, was to ensure that each and every of your orgasms was maximized. The nerds and wizards in the lab, after having studied what must have been literally thousands of samples of your ejaculate, had come to a rather startling, if simple, conclusion: The more cum you shot, the more viable the resulting sperm. Sure, more cum meant *more* sperm. That much was obvious. The real "a-ha" was that more cum meant *healthier* sperm too. From the moment the docs had confirmed this correlation, Jane's official job description pivoted from glorified chaperon to bona-fide cock-pleaser.

Without further instruction, Jane sprung into action. She moved quickly, albeit with a fetching sway of her hips, towards you and began to kneel down. With her left hand, she quickly undid the remaining buttons on her blouse. Her right hand reached for your cock, but you corrected her: "Hands off. I want to finish myself off this morning. Play with your tits for me."

"Like this?" Jane complied, rubbing her thumbs and middle fingers together over her rose-colored areolae.

"Honestly Jane? Not quite." you chided her a bit. "I think you can do a little better. Less... Less ****. Less... secretarial."

Jane furrowed her brow. "I'm your assistant sir. What more do you want from me?"

Your answer came in a guttural moan. "A fucking living, breathing centerfold. A fucking love doll built for one purpose: To get painted with 11 ropes of cum."

Jane blushed, her tone warming considerably. "11? Do you really think you've got 11 in the chute sir?"

You were close to popping, and could only manage a tortured moan as you momentarily stopped pistoning your enflamed cock with your right hand and intensified your eye-contact with Jane. Her eyes softened, warming up to your primal request, and steadily lowered their focus to your swollen rod, pulsing visibly with each heart beat. Thick, rope-like veins spanning your length; a copious trail of pre-cum beginning to puddle on the floor directly in front of her.

Jane realized that this was no time for hesitation. 11 ropes would be your personal best, which, according to the eggheads downstairs, would quite simply mean the healthiest sperm sample on the planet. Jane had seen you fuck your way through hundreds of the most attractive women on the planet, but knew that, even with the most adept porn starlets imaginable, you tended to top out at 9. "The usual", as you liked to call it, was 5 to 6. To bear witness (hell, to play a part in) an 11? That'd mean more than a raise and a promotion. It'd mean outright fame. Hero status.

She licked two of her left fingers, and drove them immediately into her suddenly wet twat. She cupped her right breast with her other hand, and leaned her pretty young face towards your cock.

"Pump me my 11 ropes, you fucking stud." She cooed, as her doe eyes met your glance, anticipating history.

You lowered your stance, grabbed your cock with your right hand, grabbed the back of her head by her hair with your left, and got back to work coaxing out a personal best onto Jane's face.