Office Subordination

This is a blitz story that can be enjoyed in under five minutes.

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The security camera is fixed above the door of a cramped office room. Image is black-and-white, no sound is being transmitted.

Jodie Andrews, 22 years old, is in her chair with a cup of tea, laughing at a story that Amber Dell, 33, is telling her.

The door opens, and Michael Oster, 30, walks into the office. Mrs. Dell slips off the edge of the table. Ms. Andrews scrambles to hide the tea cup.

Oster closes the door and starts shouting. He waves hands, his face darkens. Dell readily nods. She tries to leave, but Oster pushes her back. Andrews speaks, but is barked at and shrinks in her chair.

Yelling at both, Oster reaches forwards and slaps Dell's breasts. Dell steps back. Oster grabs her by the shoulders, turns her around and presses her against the edge of the table. Jodie Andrews covers her mouth.

Amber Dell takes a deep breath, calming herself. She says something. Oster yells and grabs her neck from behind, shaking her slightly. Dell hesitatingly picks at the edges of her skirt and starts pulling it up side-by-side. She wriggles her hips until the skirt's rolled up at her waist. Her skin-colored stockings stop at the thighs, she's wearing small black panties. Oster reaches around and gropes her. Dell hesitates for a moment, then picks her panties with her right index finger and pulls them over her right cheek. Oster unzips, fumbles inside his trunks, and pulls out his member. Jodie Andrews looks away.

Grabbing Dell's hair (she is blond), Oster aims with his right hand, pushes against her flesh until his dick starts to bend, and finally slips inside her.

Mrs. Dell grasps at the table. A keyboard slides under her hands, she bends forwards for balance. Andrews says something with a pleading expression. Michael switches hands in Dell's hair and reaches around to grope Andrews's breasts. She sits motionless, squeezing deeper into her chair. Oster leaves her alone and pulls Amber Dell towards him. Reaching under her business shirt, Oster undoes Dell's bra and starts twisting her breasts through white fabric, displacing the bra entirely.

Dell's panties slip off her ass cheek and wrap on her manager's member. She reaches to fix them, but Oster grabs the panties and pulls them down to her knees. He slaps Dell's ass and goes back to the intercourse.

Oster is not holding back. It takes him only two minutes to be ready to finish. Before he does, he pulls out, allowing Amber to grab her panties and slide them back on. Fabric sticks to sweat on her pussy and bottom. Dell fixes her skirt. She stumbles with the bra; Oster reaches down her cleavage, pulls the bra out and throws it in the bin. He barks, and Mrs. Dell runs out of the office with messed-up hair.

Jodie Andrews is still in her chair. She says something. Oster picks up her teacup and starts masturbating above it. His scrotum shrinks, and white stream of semen spills into the cup from the tip of his penis. With a squeeze, another one follows. Slimy string hangs from the penis head, then breaks and falls on Jodie's shirt. Oster looks at Ms. Andrews and says something. She replies, shaking her head. He pushes the cup in her face, until she finally sips with a grimace. Andrews drinks with her eyes closed; Oster tips the cup up until it is so high she must gulp. Finally, it is empty. Still wincing, Andrews sits with a cup in her hands and foam on her upper lip.

Oster points his finger, says something. He pets Jodie's hair, zips up and walks out of the office.

Alone, Jodie Andrews sits in her chair. In this colourless footage, her blush resembles a tan. She starts to sob for a moment, but calms down bit by bit. Then Andrews looks at the cup and picks it in her hands. She looks inside, sniffs it. Stands up and stares at the door. Nobody's coming.

Grabbing her own hair, she bends herself over the desk and pushes her face against the surface until her mouth is squeezed open. Her hand burrows into her panties. Letting go of the hair, she picks up the cup and starts licking it's rim and inhaling the air inside it.

Andrews arches her back, shifts her weight on the table and bends her legs. Both shoes tumble down. Her toes curl, stretching the stockings. Glancing back at the door once again, Andrews reaches for the kettle. She pours water into the cup, mixes it up with her finger and drinks. Her desk phone starts ringing. She sips nervously as she answers it. The call is not long; Andrews puts the phone back, missing the base. Then she stands up and, positioned awkwardly with her legs half-bent, masturbates.

Finally, she is done. Andrews sits back in her chair, looking at her slimy wet fingers.

After a a minutes, she stands up, wipes her fingers, straightens her skirt and fixes her hair. She wakes her computer and forces herself to go back to work.