I want him to fuck me over the leather chair.

There’s no doubt as to why. I imagine the feel of the soft leather brushing against the front of my body every time he moves contrasted with the brush of hair and warm skin and hard muscle against my ass—I can almost come just from imagining the sensory overload.

I’ll grip the back of the chair as he pushes into me. The fabric will creak and I’ll inhale the sweet odor of old cologne and cigars as he pushes my legs further apart and runs his fingers through my hair.

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