She attempts to you.

"You're going to find it," she declares with a wicked smile, "and I'm going to motivate you." She walks away from you... but stabs a finger at you when you try to follow her out of this covey of cabinets, rooting you with a glare. She fusses with her smartphone and, after a minute, she perches on the edge of the filing cabinet, giving you a clear line of sight to her propped-up cellular. The flash remains on, as if recording, and hurts your eyes as you try to look at her.

"Take off your clothes."

"... What?" Her smile vanishes, and you regret asking. "I mean, w-why?! ... Ma'am?"

"I'm going to anonymously e-mail this video to the partners - after editing myself out of course - and get you fired... and probably facing legal action." Your head shakes in denial, shocked with disbelief, but she continues, "... unless."

"Un-Unless?"

"You find the document before dawn." The blood drains from your face. "With this hanging over your head, I bet I just might be able to trust you with the task." She smirks at her own plan, but the mirthless hate in her eyes betrays the spitefulness of this ****. **** you have yet to let happen. "Now strip."

You won't stand for this. "Like Hell," you mutter as you start to walk forward again-

Her body spins into view, breaking the blinding light for a second- and then her soft-soled flat crashes into your chest. You hear a crack as the **** vibrates through you and gives your spine a harmless adjustment, though you hardly know the difference after feeling a woman literally stomp your heart. You fall backwards, barely managing to land on your side to keep your head from cracking on the floor. {if Evo_bulgingbiceps = true}You didn't think most could hit you that hard, now that your muscles have evolved to this alarming strength... but i{else@}I{endif}t's clear from her form, and how quickly she is able to return to her previous pose, that hers is the **** of technique. These are facts that struggle with the brief heart attack you just felt from the **** of her blow.

What the Hell is going on?! You never knew her to be the violent sort, or even all that angry... nothing like tonight. It terrifies you to imagine what would've happened if you or anyone tried to **** themselves on her, a plan you {if@ Morality > 0}never intended to use.{else}tactfully, maybe even by coincidence, chose to not employ.{endif} By far, of all the strange behaviors women have been having around you...

And then it clicks, as she sneers at you. "Now get naked, or I'll MAKE you get naked... and trust me, you'll be riding the subway in rags if I have to come in there-"

"OK! OK!" you plead, your mind racing. This has to be because of your pheromones... but she's not apparently aroused, and she sure as Hell isn't amicable. Try as you might to invent some way out of this, nothing comes to you... save getting naked. You take your pants and shoes off, then your shirt, and then shiver in your boxers in hopes that she's satisfied-

"Why did you stop?" Her voice is menacing despite her smirk. She eyes your package and, to your disgrace, your package rises to her attention. "Are you... are you getting turned on by this, Mr. Peck? Because this isn't to make you feel good."

"I'm not!" The protest comes out more **** than you intended.

"Remove your boxers, then." Crestfallen, you obey her command and, predictably, your erection springs forth to greet her. "Well, looks like you're not all that small after all..." It sounds too threatening for praise.

"It's not what it looks... like..." Your voice trails off. What excuse did you have? Well, you could mention that a physiological response hardly warrants consent or even arousal for men or women, but such an elevated discussion escapes you at the moment.

"You disgusting little maggot..." She stomps over to you, and you put your arms up to guard your still-aching chest, then back down to defend your groin, and in your confusion-

Georgia spots your weight distributing to your right, and dives her leg between yours. In a swift motion, she hooks her ankle behind your left and rakes it out from under you, sending you toppling. You land hard on your bare ass, and your head thuds against the backmost filing cabinet where you cornered yourself. Her own flat shoe comes flying off, revealing her feet and toes outlined in her black stockings. She doesn't seem to notice her shoe has come off... until she raises it to stomp on your crotch.

"Tch," she clicks at you as she almost delicately plants her big toe right under your glans, pinching your manhood against your own stomach. "Filthy degenerate."

Her toes all line up against your rod... and stroke its underside with surprising dexterity. You can feel her every toe through the satin layer, each a small bulb rubbing your cock with surprising ****. She digs them in, trying to make this hurt... but the truth of the matter is that she's giving you your first footjob, and it feels shockingly good.

This isn't good. You haven't "relieved" yourself since the morning. You'd be pretty pent up even before your mutations... now, you're ready to burst after a stiff breeze. You moan, a noise she mistakes for suffering. She increases the speed and **** of her strokes, jacking you off with that filthy foot, trapped in a work shoe for half a day, letting the oils of her sweaty feet soak onto your cock. "You're still hard, you pathetic worm?"

"Please, Georgia, you have to stop-"

"Does it hurt, you perv? It better, because I swear if you don't stop enjoying this-" As much as you fear the severity of her promises, she's too on-point: you're about to come, and your prick is aimed straight at your own face.