Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Monday...Lunch with Jonathan: "Kimchi Arancini" [Low Tenure] Mr. Howard makes a mess! [Suspicion: +15]

Mr. Howard moved his hips back slightly, indicating Leah to pull off his cock.

“Mhmmmmm hell….remember what I told you about that kimchi arancini?” he said adding "ah keep stroking just like that."

Leah stroked his cock with her right hand quickly, looking up at him only because she felt like had to to even understand what the hell he was going on about.

"What? What about it?" Leah asked not sure why he was asking the stupid question. She stroked him faster, hoping she could get him to just the right spot faster.

She suddenly felt a blast of warmth seemingly blanket her face. She wasn't at all prepared as a giant rope of white goo erupted from Mr. Howard's cock. It overshot her face and landed in her hair.

"WELL...aughg! UGHG I told Agh you that Uh! Uh! It has that UGHG spicy….aghghgh drizzle… I hope you are ready for it! Aghghgh! He huffed and puffed as he came. An immediate second and third salvo plastered Leah's face that made an incredible mess across her face and threatened to blind her left eye from the thick glob trickling nearly into it.

Leah was so taken aback by the sudden explosion that she couldn't do anything but stroke slightly as if on operant conditioning. She couldn't believe that he came on her face like this, in this fucking bathroom, with Jonathan basically outside.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper—equal parts rage and disbelief. Howard, still zipped-down and leaning against the far wall, stifled a snicker with the back of his hand.

“You know what they say,” he called out, voice still trembling with laughter, “if you can’t stand the spicy drizzle, stay out of the fusion kitchen.”

“Shut the hell up.” Leah snarled, pawing savagely at her hairline and smearing the mess deeper into her scalp. "I'm a fucking mess." The paper towels were the cheap, single-ply kind that dissolved to shreds at the first touch of moisture—or, in this case, semen—so she quickly abandoned hope of a graceful cleanup and instead began dabbing, scrubbing, and finally just wrapping a long wad around her whole fist to sop up the worst of it. She could feel the sticky paste gluing her strands together, and for a moment she thought she might actually vomit from the sheer animal funk of it.

“You know,” Howard continued, his voice dropping to a more subdued, almost fatherly register, “I really am sorry about that. It’s just—well, you know how it is.” He shrugged, a parody of sincerity. “It’s a sign of a healthy prostate, so I’m told.”

“You are such an asshole.” she said in weak defiance. She splashed cold water on her face until her skin stung, then dabbed the wetness off as best she could, using three or four more towels until the trashcan overflowed onto the floor.

Mr. Howard had fixed his pants as Leah cleaned up as best she could.

“That’s no way to talk to your boss Miss Williams, but I understand the frustration. I hope you enjoy the rest of your three day weekend. See you at work.” He smiled as he pulled the bathroom door open quietly and slipped out. He didn’t want to be seen with Leah exiting immediately behind him as that would create all kinds of questions for him. Leah didn’t say anything to him and was just glad he was gone.

She dried her hands, gave her shirt one last pitiful rub, and straightened herself as much as possible. The stain was visible—no amount of dabbing would save her now—but she could maybe pass it off as a spill if she acted fast and confident. She forced herself to breathe, then unlocked the door and slipped back out.

When she reached the booth, Jonathan was hunched over the menu, brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the “shareable plates” section. He looked up as Leah slid into her seat across from him, his face lighting up in concern.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. “You look a little… flustered.”

Leah gave him what she hoped was a dazzling, carefree smile. “Just a long line for the bathroom,” she said. “Somebody must have ordered extra wasabi or something.” He laughed, the sound pure and oblivious.

“Well, you missed the waitress. She took our order. I got the Miso-Glazed Salmon Risotto for you and the steak frites for me.” He paused, tapping the table with one finger. “Oh, and I went ahead and ordered us the Kimchi Arancini. That spicy drizzle sounds pretty great.”

Leah’s heart seized up. For a moment, she could still feel the drizzle from earlier clinging to her hair and brow, could smell the odd funk of citrus and shame. She wanted to scream, to crawl under the table and die, but instead she just nodded, eyes glassy.

“Great. Sounds… amazing.”