Setting the stage

She didn’t consciously *choose* to spy; her omnipotence simply delivered the scene like a juicy gossip clip. *Oh, Davey,* she thought, her throne humming with amusement. *Playing hooky? Tsk tsk.* She didn’t need to lift a finger. Her magic, ever the loyal servant, acted on her unspoken disapproval. Across the room, the security guard finally succeeded in dry-humping the water cooler into submission, its plastic casing groaning under his thrusts. "Yes! YES!" he bellowed, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. The women shrieked, scrambling away. Jessica just smiled serenely. Dave’s little café escapade amused her. She crossed her legs again, savoring the ripple of **** moans it elicited.

Nearby, the balding accountant finally succumbed, tearing open his trousers with a guttural roar as he sprayed semen across a potted fern. The women’s protests reached fever pitch, one dialing 911 only to find her phone cooing, *"Ooohhh bayyybeee"* before she smashed it against the wall.

Dr. Virginia’s office door creaked open. The psychiatrist stood frozen, her sensible cardigan askew, eyes darting between the wall-humping guard and Becky, who was now licking Jessica’s insurance card with rapturous devotion. "Ms. Jones?" Virginia’s voice trembled, her professional facade cracking like cheap plaster. "Your session... it’s time. Where’s Mr. Cox?" Jessica uncrossed her legs, savoring the collective groan it elicited. "Dave’s... *indisposed*," she purred, rising from her throne, which dissolved back into plastic. She floated toward Virginia, leaving a trail of shimmering dust. "But don’t worry, Doc! I brought entertainment!" The security guard detached from the water cooler with a wet *pop* and scrambled after them, pants around his ankles, chanting, *"Boooobbiiiess!"* Virginia paled, backing into her office like a cornered mouse.