You’re sneaking away on your breaks, locking yourself in the bathroom, or sitting at your desk with the door closed but unlocked — heart pounding while coworkers walk past.
I guide you through slow, teasing strokes, risky frantic pumping every time you hear footsteps or voices outside, and escalating tributes that drain your work-day budget. You’re so addicted to my arches and soles that you can’t make it through a single meeting or task without aching to edge for me.
Three urgent breaks. Adrenaline-fueled denial. Breath work. Foot worship commands. Heavy financial control. Will someone knock? Will they open that unlocked door while you’re on your knees pumping to my toes? The risk is delicious. Perfect for desperate office gooners who need their counselor to make them cum during work hours.
