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This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do Big black woman fucking white man repost anywhere else without the Where are the fucking jobs at consent.

For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things Where are the fucking jobs at expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak.

If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it. I do not condone any of these actions in real life. This is just a story. His name was Paul Martin. And apparently, according to everyone else I worked with he was this perfect fucking guy. Judging by the stories, when he would walk across the office, light would shine on him and the angels would sing. Everyone fawned over him. The other girls in the office talked about how cute they found him and how lucky his wife was.

The guys would say how cool he was and talk about how they had hung out with him that one time. He was treated like a rock star within the office. No, Where are the fucking jobs at it was more like, they treated him like a rock star, crossed with the pope, who was also an Olympic hero.

And of course he was, without a doubt, the most aggressively nice guy around. Where are the fucking jobs at was annoyingly nice.

He would chat people up, and he knew every little thing about every single person. He would talk to the other salesmen and the bosses one minute, and the secretaries and the janitors the next.

He would even talk to those old-timers who had been working the same fucking job for years. He would schmooze them up in a way that would seem totally false from most others, but not him.

I think he actually cared about these people, which is just nuts to me. He was either the most incredibly friendly guy around or an incredible conman. But as time went on he never slipped.

His perfect veneer never wavered, even after working here for years. It seemed like he was actually as perfect as everyone thought he was. He was the top salesman at the company.

His rise within the company was unprecedented, but his high intelligence, humor, and charisma made him an absolute natural. Even I could admit that. He was very good at his job. The big bosses loved him and he almost became the poster-boy for the company. He was the guy the company sent out for PR events, the young, handsome face of the company.

His face was probably on a company billboard somewhere. I'd definitely seen him on the website. He would be the guy they would trot out to donate checks to charities, volunteering at the church and the local soup kitchen. The bosses knew what they had in him, and they threw everything his way. Promotions, money Now, he held one of the highest positions in the company, he served many different roles within the company, and he was married to the CEO's little princess.

Not bad for year old. He was a lifer here for sure, and judging by how his life was going, the rest of it was gonna no doubt be very good. At 30 he was already set, and it seemed like he barely had to try. His future was very bright. God, it was so annoying! He was just one of those guys that had everything just come to him, you know? If he bought one lottery ticket, he would win. If he went to a baseball game, he would catch the foul ball. If he dug a hole in his backyard, he would strike oil.

Everything just went his fucking way. It was infuriating how easy he had it. I hated him with a passion. He was just He was too perfect. It just HAD to be bullshit. No one was that nice. No one cared that much about other people. I would see him at work, and it was SO obvious to me what he was doing. A conman couldn't do it better. He was such a good schmoozer and it was just so natural for him. He did it with everyone and they loved him for it. People bent over backwards to be in his presence to have his attention.

To his credit, he was great at one-on-one interaction. When he talked to you, it felt like he was your best friend, like your problems were the only thing on his mind.

He came across as totally genuine and truly caring. It was infuriating! I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when he flashed those pearly whites and gave that charming laugh of Tumblr teen chubby nude. I couldn't let anyone else see how much Paul frustrated me. How irritating I found him. It was impossible for anyone to Where are the fucking jobs at the immaculate Paul Martin, apparently.

And even voicing the slightest bit of that annoyance would be enough to make me the talk of the office. Not that I already wasn't, but that's a whole other part of the story. I can't tell you how many times I had to look up and watch him chatting with the execs, seeing them slapping him on the back like a son.

I grit Where are the fucking jobs at teeth every time he made some old lady giggle, or some young woman blush. I gave him my death glare when I heard him effortlessly transition from talking intelligently about world events with one group of people to chatting up fantasy football with another.

Plus, because he had to just have everything going for him, he was also very good looking, of course. The girls in the office always talked about his cute smile and his square jaw, the dimples, and that perfectly unkempt Nude philippine girls marriage. The less inhibited girls Where are the fucking jobs at openly about his impressive Where are the fucking jobs at body and cute butt.

He was this fucking perfect, All-American golden boy. Good looking, with the perfect life, a pretty wife, a perfect house, and a perfect body. He would be the guy in the fucking pictures when you bought a fucking picture frame. He would be the love interest in some shitty rom-com.

He was just so boringly fucking perfect. If it wasn't clear already, I just couldn't stand him. But, God, did I ever want to fuck him. I know, I know I couldn't explain it.

He was SO not my type. I preferred the type of guy I would find at the club, a guy who could knock back a few drinks. A guy who would buy me drinks, chat me up, and drill my hot ass at the first opportunity.

I knew I had terrible taste in guys, but those obvious flirts, those lecherous party guys who just obviously wanted a piece of my hot body Guys like Paul were boring to me He was so clean-cut, and boyish, and seemingly innocent, a good, friendly, nice guy. But when I would see him, being the fucking perfect guy, all I could think about was that he had to have a dark side. He HAD to. He couldn't actually be perfect. He had to have some sort of character flaw.

Maybe he was a freak in the bedroom, but I couldn't even imagine him fucking. He no doubt made sweet, nice love to his pretty wife on a bed of flowers in the sunshine, while birds sang. I couldn't imagine that mouth of his in a snarl, fucking some slut hard.

I couldn't imagine his muscles taut with need.


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