Bend your hose away from your face.

Georgia Lemmings, still fully dressed and chuckling darkly, continues to probe your meat with every toe of her right foot. You stare up at her in despair, and see no sign of her stopping. Your hands begin to shake as they try to reach for your cock, the unexpected pleasure of her footjob threatening to rob you of willpower... and without that, promising a self-facial. The angry head of your cock swells, ready to humiliate you before your blackmailing co-worker and, if her plot works out, your employers once she e-mails the video of your mug covered in your own spunk. Even letting your hands get coated will be incriminating, nevermind a huge mess given the pint you're liable to serve up right now. With your last reserves of self-control, you cup the head of your cock with both hands... and regret caressing it more out of habit than any want to speed up your orgasm. Your balls begin to pulse as they ready to coat you like a birthday cake.

"Are you already going to- no way... how pathetic!" Georgia cackles at you as she feels your shaft swell and harden underfoot. Her toes stroke down, pressing on the very root of you, threatening to destroy any intelligent thought for the next five seconds. Desperately, with no regard for comfort or safety, your fingers wrap around the back of your head... and push. Painfully, and so intensely pleasurably, your dick pushes forward a bit... and then bends ever so slightly between her merciless big toe and both of your hands. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you feel the intense pressure building in your base, threatening to permanently damage you if the pressure isn't relieved.

"I didn't think you'd be such a-" Her toes lift ever so slightly to stroke near the top again... but that's enough. The moment the pressure eases, the narrow path for your cum is opened and your seed blasts out like water from a pinched fire hose. In your youth, the wrong grip could've meant shooting up towards eye level, even above, chaotic as those events were... but your new and improved lower abdomen affords a pressure and volume so intense that the head shoots away from you and up towards Georgia... just as her mouth opens to form the "a".

The blast paints her cheeks and nose, but only on the peripheral of the massive load that flies over her tongue and to the back of her throat. Her mouth hangs open in shock, her foot doesn't move, and you're too lost in the pleasure to immediately understand your handiwork. Neither trajectory nor pressure notably change: another blast, this one mostly on her nose and eyes with a few drops on her tongue before her mouth finally closes to half-swallow, half-****. As she recoils, you spend the rest of your barrage on her fleeing legs, the nearby cabinet, the floor, and your own lower-half.

You slowly regain your senses... and look down at yourself. Your hands are mostly clean save a full coat of baby batter that covers your glans and index fingers. Wiping that on your soiled thigh, you then check your face and find that, during your brief blackout, nothing landed there. You sigh with relief... then inhale with panic as Georgia remains present, still facing you... and with her legs and skirt covered in sperm. The soft sounds of licking, the smacking of lips, the gentle pop of probing fingers withdrawn from a greedy mouth... you've grown accustomed to these noises thanks to your ****{if@ Mothers > 2}s{endif}, but are shocked to find your violent co-worker engaging in them, sighing happily while scooping a clump of semen off the bridge of her nose. But where by now you would expect to see affection, you find naught but some cruel, ugly intention in her visage. She says nothing at first, and slowly licks the gray from her soiled finger. Despite your fear, you're rock hard and ready to go again.

Continued silence. She look down to see that you've painted her conservative skirt and stockings, and dribbled plenty of you across this corner of the office. She removes her last shoe, and wipes the larger globules from her legs and outfit. "Please, Georgia-" you begin to plead, but stop when she takes a step towards you, menacingly. Even as she savors your seed, you're no less terrified by her approach. Her eyes cast down to the floor, where the rest of your spray landed in droplets and generous blasts... and watch, slack-jawed, as this proud, fierce woman gets down on her hands and knees, lowers her face to your wasted seed, sniffs it audibly... and licks it from the dirty floor, half-eating, half-drinking it in swallows ended with irritated grunts. You remain silent as she does this for what feels like minutes, slowly cleaning the floor that your errant orgasm stained. She eyes the filing drawer, as long as your body, that you stained. She pulls it close to her, pinning you behind one end of the opened drawer while she cleans the other with her loud suckling and licking... and there, as you peer over the cabinet to try and watch her, your gaze catches a file label about tax records. It catches your attention for some reason... and despite the circumstance, or perhaps because of it, you remember: for the first week that the new client was with your firm, you mistook it this case's company. The new client, whose notice you lost... the notice, that...

The memory flashes in your mind, of you giving a glance at the notice for hearing regarding a tax record and, with barely a care, shoving it into this very folder. She tries to close the wide drawer, having finished licking it clean, but you keep it open in an iron grip that surprises her, just long enough to pry the folder open... and produce your ticket to freedom. You hold the notice, as you finally remember (misfiling) it, and shove it before her face, all but attacking her with it. "THE NOTICE!" you desperately cry. "This is it! This-"

She moves faster than you can come down from your elation. Her left hand engulfs your right at an awkward angle, the notice still pinched between those fingers, and corrects her posture while twisting the offending hand to the left and towards your chest. It's a discomforting wrist lock as your muscles there are twisted unnaturally, straining against the bones of your wrist. You think to resist it... for the half-second it takes for her to snap it upward, tearing muscles and nearly breaking the bones caught between them. The notice flutters in the air after you release it, screaming in pain. "JESUS FUCK, GOD, WHY DID-"

"Quiet." She barely more than whispers the word, and all the divinity you called down could not silence you faster. "You'll heal that wrist in time. I didn't break the bones... you should thank me for my self-control, you know."

The astonishment, but moreover the pain, leaves you seething with an animal hate. "Fuck y-" Her right foot barely moves, but it finds the perfect place to land on the pad of your relaxed left foot... and just as you tense it to try and resist, she shifts her body weight onto it, crushing it backwards towards your shin and spraining your ankle with nary a second to brace. You scream out again for the gallery of nobody that attended this brutal show. You both already waved your goodbyes to the nightly cleaning crew some half-hour ago. The floor won't have another living soul until the morning, barring some mad exception.