Smudged makeup and strong flavours

Sabrina looked at her face in the bathroom mirror, checking her hastily reapplied make-up one last time. It really wouldn’t do to be caught coming out of Mr Benson’s office with her lipstick smudged and trails of mascara running down her cheeks. Even if she avoided the occasional dribble of semen and saliva leaking from one corner of her mouth… the look would certainly be enough to warrant unwanted questions. Her employer himself seemed extraordinarily blasé about the risks, apparently confident enough in the security of his power and position in this place that no-one would dare say anything. But the intern herself was not so convinced… or regardless, did not want the humiliating thought of everyone else in the office knowing what she got up to in there.

She stared at her nineteen-year-old reflection. Sometimes she wondered just what she had gotten herself into here. Was this really the best way to secure her future? When she was down there, in that suffocating little box: Surrounded by racks of sex-toys and lit by neon lights, with only the lower half of a man she barely knew for company… It really felt like she was losing herself, a little. Losing her grip on the passage of time and her place in the world. Becoming just this performing meat-puppet that he and his enraptured audience lusted after. She became numb to the dreams, restraint and identity she had outside of that space; letting some other subservient, simple and animalistic version of herself take over. And Sabrina wondered, when she broke the surface and re-emerged from that state… just how much of that other came along with her, each time.

There was a buzzing within her tights that she’d barely even noticed… She’d somehow managed to walk out of his office with the vibrator still pressed up against her panties and singing its mosquito-like song. How could she possibly have failed to register that?! All her worries about a little bit of smudged make-up, yet she might have stood there chatting to a colleague with that whining noise undercutting everything she said. Sabrina quickly pulled it out and turned it off, unsure exactly of what to do with it. Her body finally noticing when it was gone… feeling strangely cold without just that constant, slight tremor of excitement. She was clearly so used to being in an undulating state of arousal for hours on end, that it felt strange not to be. The girl tucked the little thing into the waistband of her skirt, all she’d brought with her was Mr Benson’s card for the vending machine.

The taste of his ejaculate still clung to the back of her throat. However many mouthfuls of the stuff she’d swallowed by now, it never seemed any less potent a flavour. The salty, milky taste seemed to permeate right to the back of her skull, making Sabrina feel like some part of what he was depositing would never wash away. 'You are what you eat' they say… and the girl was half convinced that each gooey gulp she swallowed was changing her in some fashion. Making the next invasive expulsion just that much easier to gargle down. It didn’t bother her, as such… but did leave a strange sense of detachment. Of separation between who she thought she was and who she might become.

She needed a drink. Something sweet and refreshing to rinse away such thoughts. Sabrina left her reflection behind and made for the break room.