It was a disgusting and humiliating task removing the peach lipstick from the stainless steel urinal wall. Ever since Lela became a submissive escort she had used non-smudge lip products, and while they were well-suited to the requirements of her job, they were a bitch to remove from the wall. I don't know quite how word had spread around the office, but by the time I showed up at the men's facility, it appeared that every single male employee had taken a piss, most of them aiming their streams in the general area of my fiancée's kiss marks. Judging by the stubbornness of the lipstick, it appeared that it was also waterproof.
That urinal got more use in that one hour period than it did in a month, as it was common knowledge that it was completely unfit for its intended purpose. Inexplicably, the trough was almost full of piss. In fact, as I knelt at the foot of the trough, my first task was to clear whatever was blocking the drain. Predictably, John was looking to pile on additional humiliation, and despite the fact that I had displayed a yellow, A-frame safety sign that clearly stated "Closed - cleaning in progress," he barged his way in while I was on my knees inspecting the drain.
"Mr. Marshall asked me to check on your progress," John said with a smile.
"Do you know where I could secure a pair of gloves, John?" I responded dryly. "I think the drain is blocked."
"Mr. Matthews expects junior employees to muck in and not be afraid of getting their hands dirty," he said dispassionately.
I had already been incapacitated by this man once today and had no stomach for a fight, so I lowered my head to avert his gaze. My temporary loss of focus almost cost me dearly as John quickly unzipped his pants and directed a strong stream of piss against the vertical wall of the urinal, immediately creating the fine yellow mist that had dampened Lela and I earlier. I did move away from the trough as quickly as I could, but I felt some of John's droplets land on my exposed forearms.
"Have fun," John said as he washed his hands and left the facility.
The trough at the base of the urinal wall emitted a strong odor of piss and it was quite difficult to work in such a disgusting environment. I had removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, but I had to resign myself to the fact that I was working without protective gear. I got to the base of the drainage issue fairly quickly. Some asshole had removed the protective cover of the urinal drain, wedged a small piece of cloth inside the drainage pipe, and reinstalled the cover. The urinal trough would have drained slowly given enough time, but Mr. Marshall was proving a point by having me attend to it while the trough was still fairly full of my co-workers' piss.
Once I removed the skin-colored material from the drainage pipe, the excess urine drained immediately, and I re-installed the protective cover. Then I washed my hands and forearms with the thoroughness of a surgeon scrubbing in for surgery. Despite the use of hot water and anti-bacterial soap, I couldn't rid myself of the faint waft of urine that continued to assault my olfactory receptors. Once my hands were spotless, I grabbed some paper towels and picked up the small piece of skin-colored material. My heart sank as I realized that the offending drain-blocker was none other than Lela's brand new peach colored panties, that I had last seen discarded on the floor of my boss' office.
Mr. Marshall had only just purchased these silky intimates for my fiancée and they looked expensive. It seemed unnecessarily wasteful, and a complete kick in the nuts to thoroughly enjoy my future bride wearing them, before using them to clog a public urinal. Needless to say they went straight into the garbage, and as I opened the swing-lid trash can I noticed a full pack of nitrile protective cleaning gloves. Some asshole had put them in the trash so that I wouldn't discover them until they were no longer needed.
After I scrubbed my fiancée's kiss marks from the base of the urinal wall, I assumed Mr. Marshall was done fucking with me. I had given him some pushback and been punished for doing so, lesson learned, time to move on. However, later that afternoon my phone dinged and I was notified of a new email. I didn't recognize the sender but as I opened it I noticed several images were attached.
I recoiled as I opened the first high-resolution photo. Lela was on her hands and knees right by the urinal trough dressed in her peach bustier and matching garter-belt and stockings. She had tied her long black tresses up into a bun, and had her hands clasped together behind her back. Presumably either under duress, or merely for the amusement of my boss, my fiancée had lowered her face into the trough, which at this point was apparently draining effectively. The photo depicted Lela attempting to fish the price tag from her bustier out of the urinal drain, using only her mouth. There was no evidence of anyone else in the photo, which made it difficult for me to tie it directly to my boss. The caption read simply "Evidence for HR."
My hands were shaking as I viewed the image, and then I felt the familiar twitch in my pants as my cock reacted to my future wife's debasement. With equal parts disgust and excitement, I opened the second attachment. Lela was in a very similar position in this photo, on her hands and knees with her head lowered into the urinal trough. However, in this high-resolution image, Lela had her peach glossed lips pressed firmly against the stainless steel wall of the urinal, as if she were kissing it.
There were two photos of my fiancée with her lips pressed against the urinal wall, although in the second picture she had moved towards the drain and you could see the evidence of her peach lip-prints all over the stainless steel wall. Again, considering Lela was the only person in the photo, it would have been difficult for Human Resources to tie anyone else to the scene.
Whoever took and sent these images made a serious mistake in the fourth photo, inadvertently giving me the rope that I needed to hang them with. In this photo Lela was kneeling passively by the urinal, head lowered in apparent submission. There was a noticeable mist in the air, which every single male employee knew was caused by the improper design and construction of the men's urinal. Apparently, as my fiancée was forced to kneel on the restroom floor, some previously unidentified male was urinating against the stainless steel wall with sufficient force to create the fine mist of urine droplets that was clearly visible in the image. Whoever took the picture had failed to notice one very important detail, which wasn't even apparent until I zoomed in and expanded the image. When you looked closely, there was a gaudy yellow watch clearly depicted in the reflection created by the urine running down the wall, briefly turning it into a makeshift mirror.
I knew I had Danny Marshall by the balls the second I noticed this incriminating detail. Human Resources would be compelled to let him go once they had this incontrovertible proof that my boss had defiled my fiancée. I was ecstatic as I processed my discovery, and I opened the next image without much concern for its content. Taken from behind Lela as she was positioned on her hands and knees, it did clearly depict her arousal which was a little disconcerting. If I had to prove that my fiancée had been coerced into these despicable acts of submission through intimidation or fear of violence, the fact that her vaginal secretions were all over her inner-thighs definitely muddied the waters.
I did feel like the reflection of the Yellow Gold Rolex Watch was sufficient evidence to tie my boss to the scene, regardless of my fiancée's obvious arousal. So, emboldened by my discovery, I headed directly to the HR Manager's office.
From day one at the law firm, during our indoctrination, we were introduced to the Human Resource team and encouraged to seek guidance or assistance with any work-related challenges. For this reason I felt comfortable approaching Stephanie with my pressing concerns about my boss. My comfort level decreased the moment Stephanie greeted me.
"Hi Mark," she began in a friendly tone. "I was just about to call you. I have had a complaint that your girlfriend was in the office advertising her services as an Escort. Were you aware of her indiscretion?"
"Fiancée," I corrected her. "Lela is my fiancée."
"Oh, congratulations," Stephanie said with a tinge of sarcasm.
Before I could even redirect the conversation and present my concerns, Stephanie opened a folder and pushed a few printed images towards me.
"This picture of your fiancée was taken today just before noon," she said in a far more professional manner.
