You agree.

“All right,” you say. “Maybe…maybe I got too carried away with everything. You just came into my office this morning, dressed like you were and…yeah.”

Doe sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. A slight smile appears on her lips, and then vanishes again. “I should have come in wearing an anorak,” she says. “Look at me now: how am I supposed to work looking like this, John?”

Doe does look ravaged. Walking around the office now is out of the question; people will think Doe’s been dragged through a hedge backward. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying. At the very least, your coworkers will know something happened the minute Doe steps outside your door.

“How am I supposed to work with this?” you ask Doe, indicating the raging hard-on that has yet to subside between your legs.

“There’s no fucking way you’re putting that back up me,” Doe says. She puts a hand between her rear cheeks, and winces. “My ass is so sore, John.”

“What happened to letting me do whatever I want?” you ask. “I want your ass.”

“Please, John,” Doe says. A look of something akin to desperation appears in her eyes. “Let me do something else for you. You did it too hard before. Don’t you understand? I’m raw!”

On one hand, it’s true: you don’t want to hurt Doe. On the other hand, the idea of taking Doe up the ass once more, regardless of her preference, is almost unbearably exciting.