Brand Barrington, consummate gentleman for the save

Every second that passed Vanessa felt a little more urgency, worked even faster. She sucked and lapped at Brand's pubic area and scrotum furiously while the man humped a little bit, rubbing his half-hard penis against her face, obviously taking pleasure from her **** duties.

Minutes passed. Brand was fully hard again, and Vanessa began to fear he wouldn't let her off her knees at all. She buried herself in the tangled mess of his bush, sucking and slurping until finally, "That's a good girl." Apparently satisfied, Brand stood, and easily lifted Vanessa's by her elbows, into the air so that she could plant her feet on the ground. The interior of her mouth was coated with semen and phlegm and pubic hair and more. Vanessa worked her tongue, forming all of it into a little ball that she could **** down to her sickened, roiling stomach.

"Come on Aunt Jemima, my turn to help you."

What did Brand just call her? Vanessa shook her head, swallowing again and again, trying to get room in her mouth to be able to respond.

Vanessa gagged slightly on her sticky hair ball, before finally rasping out, "Just leave, please, Br- Mister Barrington." Brand didn't make a move. Vanessa could feel the seconds slipping away, and a sob welled in her throat, "Please...!"

"Nonsense. Now where's your makeup? Jesus, you look like a cheap whore." Brand picked up her top and her bra, throwing it all on her paper-cluttered desk.

Every moment she wasted... Vanessa stumbled once, her bare boobs swaying, drool hanging, as she walked over to her desk. She opened a middle drawer where a little MAC touch-up kit lay, and some tissues and remover pads. She would be better off with an entire redo to her face, but had never bothered to bring in more than the basic kit. Had never been skull fucked in her office until she needed her whole collection.

Brand followed her, and snatched the stuff from her hands.

"Hold still." Brand roughly turned Vanessa's shoulders, facing her towards him.

Hold still? He wasn't planning to... "Brand, you've done enough. Just go."

"I didn't ask for your input, Miss Lockley. Your hands are trembling, you'll fuck it up. You don't have time to argue."

Vanessa clenched her fists, trying to stop them from shaking. Brand wasn't completely wrong on either point. But... how could he even expect to know what to do with the makeup? Or, if by some miracle he did, what would he make her look like? It was all out of her hands, and he was forcing her into trusting him. Ha! Trust him! What a sick joke.

Still, she didn't have a choice. Vanessa stood still, allowing Brand to guide her face by prompting her jaw. He started cleaning her chin and neck with a remover pad and a tissue, working carefully, throwing away the messy ones, dabbing more than rubbing to retain as much of her original foundation as possible.

Brand's face was inches from hers, staring and studying intently. His eyes only left her features to pick up the next tissue or tool, and then only briefly. As quiet seconds ticked by, Vanessa couldn't help but feel that it was a disturbingly intimate experience - having her face cleaned and her makeup put on by another. Even the smallest movement of Brand's thick hand was a signal for Vanessa to turn, to raise or lower her head, to tilt her face. To work with him. While his hands worked deftly, his eyes explored her skin, her lashes, her brows, eyes, and lips; examining and refining every detail from a distance that was rarely crossed by another person and even more rarely held, even by lovers.

Vanessa was startled out of staring at Brand's intense gray eyes when the silence was broken, "Put on your bra and top. I don't want to get any of your shit on my clothing." Her 'shit'. Like it was her fault that he... Vanessa held in her bitterness, and reached for a tissue so that she could clean up her chest and start dressing.

Without moving his gaze from his close work, Brand backhanded her wrist so hard that it ached, "I only said put it on. You'll wear your clothing over that filth until I tell you otherwise."

Vanessa opened her mouth to protest, but Brand selected that moment to prompt her face up, touching her chin with one finger and snapping her mouth back closed. The message was clear, and Vanessa didn't bother trying again. Instead she angrily snatched her bra from her desk and felt the cups squish into place. Her shirt followed. Vanessa buttoned it high, to cover the semi-transparent white goop adorning her chest.

Brand stepped back and without permission let down Vanessa's mussed hair for her. He stroked his hands through her artificially flattened locks, arranging them into a semblance of order.

"What do you say?" Vanessa eyed herself in the tiny makeup mirror, amazed that she looked even close to passable. She cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Mister Barrington."

"For making you look pretty. Say it."

Brand's hand explored her thigh, her rear while he waited.

"Thank you for... helping me look pretty."

"Call me 'White Daddy'."

Like he was her fucking pimp. Another humiliation, piled on... calling a younger man of a different color her 'Daddy'. How revolting.

She must have sneered, or otherwise shown her displeasure, because Brand tut-tutted her. "Be polite, 'Nessa. It would be a shame if your top got ripped right now, exposing those cum-covered torpedos you lug around." Brand ran the back of his fingertips, his nails, down the crease of her blazer.

Vanessa closed her eyes, breathed, and opened them. "Thank you for making me pretty, White Daddy."

Brand's hand trailed lower and lightly grabbed Vanessa's wrist, escorting it down. A wet spot brushed her fingertips - she had forgotten for a moment that a bit of saliva and ejaculate had landed on her black skirt. How kind of Brand to help her remember. He guided her hand to scoop up more of the stuff, letting it roll around her index finger until it was all gathered into a slimy lump.

"One more time. With feeling, and lick your finger afterwards."

Brand began lifting up her skirt. Vanessa's office phone rang. She was out of time. Brand put the tone on mute, and held up his cell phone camera.

Brand's other hand found her panties. Her wet panties. He stroked firmly, pressing hard on her slit. Vanessa parted her thighs, allowing his touch, and looked into the little eye recording her.

"Thank you for making me feel pretty, White Daddy." Vanessa spoke seriously, in a hushed feminine tone. She brought her finger to her mouth, and careful not to allow it on her newly touched-up lips she extended her pink tongue and licked the spunk off it.

Brand picked up her phone, handed it to Vanessa, and tugged down her skirt for her.

"Yes, Cheryl. Thank you. You can send Mister Thomas in now."