"No. You're not pegging me, Emma."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
I stood in the doorway while Emma faced me in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. She'd called me over because she "needed" me for another "project." I'd assumed it was another footjob video request, so I'd driven all the way from the penthouse. Instead she was trying to talk me into getting pegged on camera. There was no, no, NO fucking way.
"Fine." She exhaled, clearly disappointed. "Another footjob video, then. But the same customer said he'd pay extra if you got pegged."
"We're good without that bonus," I said. "I'd rather keep my backdoor shut."
"The strap-on is only four inches," she offered. "We could even maybe…"
"No, Emma. No."
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Emma rolled her eyes, then pulled the oversized t-shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion.
