The Bully Pt. 13

Seconds before my boss unleashed a torrent of piss against the vertical steel wall of the urinal, I remembered the reason it hardly ever got used. As soon as his steady stream of urine hit the wall, Lela and I felt the fine mist of piss droplets in the air. It wasn't enough liquid to give either of us a good soaking, but the yellow mist permeated the fabric of my suit and I could feel a minor sticky dampness in my hair, almost like a very humid day. Lela was still in character, looking up at Mr. Marshall as if he was the most important man on the planet, as he spritzed her with a fine mist coating of his amber fluid.

As my boss' piss stream slowed to a trickle, he turned to the side facing the two of us. Shaking the tip of his cock he flicked a few last drops of urine in our general direction, one of which I felt land on my neck. Then with the tip of his cock still protruding from his open zipper he reached over Lela's back and ripped the tag from her bustier.

"Oldest trick in the book," he said with contempt, as he tossed the proof of purchase into the base of the urinal.

After zipping up with some theatrical flair, Mr. Marshall removed his wallet from his rear pocket. As Lela looked on intently, my boss counted out three thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills, which represented five hours pay for less than four hours work. Holding the hundred dollar bills right in front of Lela, Mr. Marshall gave me a disdainful smirk and then tossed the crisp bills into the trough of the urinal.

"Get back to work, boy," he instructed me, as I got to my feet and Lela stuck one of her perfectly manicured hands into the urine-coated trough to retrieve her payment.

This was one of the most emasculating experiences of my life, and as I slinked back to my office I contemplated quitting the law firm. My hair felt damp, and I could detect a slight waft of urine on my clothes. It probably wasn't enough to be noticed by other people, but I couldn't get that particular indignity out of my mind. I wasn't even sure if it was worth the three thousand dollars that Lela had retrieved from the piss trough. It was almost an hour later that John showed up at the door of my office.

"Danny wants you to freshen up the men's restroom," he said with a smirk. "Right now."

It took everything I had to suppress my indignation and head towards the men's facility. I opened the door with a healthy amount of trepidation and my heart sank as I processed the disgusting visual. Someone had written "Lela CumSlut" in bright peach lipstick across the rear of the urinal wall. I immediately recognized the shade as the one that my fiancée had been wearing when she worshiped Mr. Marshall's feet. Right beneath the scrawl was Lela's cell phone number and her hourly rate.

And below that, just above the piss-coated trough, numerous distinct peach-colored kiss marks that were undoubtedly left by my bride to be.