Is there anything more boring than tax returns? It’s something I dread all year.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the pretty girl kneeling under my desk, nails digging into my thighs as she hungrily lapped at my dripping cunt, it would have been very dreary indeed.
Clutching my P60, eyes glazing over as I searched for the correct grey box, I tried desperately to focus, as her tongue teased my entrance and then pressed slowly inside my slippery snatch.
“H M R C!” I screamed, shuddering as I came all over her face. Who needs self-assessment when she’s around?
