Scenes to be believed

You couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing… There, on the screen of your work laptop, was Sabrina; the view switchable between three different angles. Her head bobbing forward and back into the lap of your shared employer with no hint of unsurety or ****. The camera from behind showed her skirt riding up, revealing the visible lump of that vibrator within her tights… and, even as you watched… a hand slid into view between her thighs: arranging things a little better to earn herself some pleasure in this exchange.

You glanced around your cramped workspace in fear once again, convinced that somebody else must be able to see what you were seeing. But no, you remained as tucked away and un-thought-of as ever. Then you gazed out through that gap in the shelving, at the door you saw her enter not half an hour ago… and the wall that was presumably all that really lay between you and Mr Benson's desk. Surely the occurrences on your screen could not be actually happening, just those few metres distant? Surely the quiet, polite young lady you had exchanged no more than three sentences with could not be just there… on her hands and knees… suckling between that older man's knees like a puppy or piglet?

You stared at that blank and uninteresting patch of wall, as if convinced that any moment the thin plasterboard would give way to the **** of your gaze and need for confirmation. Yet, from outside nothing had changed. The office bustled on as if this was any other normal day. Only, from your laptop speakers came the unsubtle, liquid sounds of an oesophagus hard at work. Quickly… you grabbed your headphones from their inevitable tangle and slammed their connector into place. Suddenly finding those noises sounding just a whole lot louder and closer. The occasional polite hello was all you'd heard that voice sing to you up till now… Now you were hearing the most luridly intimate gurgles it could make. Whatever microphones had been installed underneath that modified hunk of office furniture had clearly been arranged with that very purpose in mind: to catch such gurgles as clearly as possible.

You watched Sabrina at work and could only marvel at the level of professional dedication she put in. Driving her mouth down upon the fleshy pillar provided and working her nimble fingers around its base. A larger hand was woven into the hair on her scalp, clearly enjoying and encouraging the experience. Yet no more could be seen or heard of the man but that one appendage and the other. The focus was entirely upon the nineteen-year-old sword-swallower and her clearly-practised craft. It was physically impossible to avoid imagining having such an earnestly eager set of lips washing their way up and down the entire length of you. Feeling the tightness of a throat take grip as you might cause such a similarly visible bulge form within her neck. Sabrina coughed and gagged, on occasion, but barely let that put a pause within her rhythm. The task was too important to slow productivity on. She was an honest worker on the clock, and would not take a break till she'd earned it.

You simply couldn’t imagine how and why she had got herself in this position. How a seemingly normal, pretty girl could be buried under the desk of a man old enough to be her father and servicing him for an audience of thousands. But the chiming sound of donations being offered cut through your questions. Time and again, the chatbox of this streaming window lit up with the sound of someone offering some unhealthy outpouring of lust and admiration. Messages of support in offensive language, demands for attention disguised as insults. The river of text just kept flowing, full of words like 'slut', 'bitch' or 'queen'. They worshipped and praised her cocksucking talents, or loudly announced their dismissal. They told her that was where she belonged, or desperately pleaded for her to notice them. And throughout it all… they just kept sending money. Buying photosets and full length videos. Commanding that she play with their favourite toy next. It all just seemed a whirlwind of utter horndog madness to you…

Yet, you were also swept along. The explicit photosets offered had clearly been professionally done. Had he taken her to a studio? Had she agreed to strip down in front of strangers and let them point their probing lenses wherever they pleased? It all just seemed so utterly detached from the vision you had held in your head for so long. The innocent girl you had imagined you were falling for. Did that ghost only exist in your head? Was this saliva-dribbling, phallus-gobbling succubus really that quiet girl from college who everyone thought of as nice… but unadventurous.