The Bully Pt. 14

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.

As I purveyed the image my heart sank. Carefully staged by John or Mr. Marshall, the photo of Lela kneeling by the urinal in the men's restroom was highly incriminating. Lela was dressed in her peach-colored lingerie, smiling broadly as she pointed to the stainless steel wall that had her escort name and phone number scrawled on it in peach lipstick. Her other hand was resting against her ear, thumb and pinky finger extended in the universal "call me" sign.

"It's certainly not my business to judge what you do in your private life," Stephanie began diplomatically. "However, you have to understand that this is a professional work environment. I don't have any issue with your future wife being a sex-worker. That said, it is extremely inappropriate to invite your girlfriend, sorry fiancée, into your work space to attempt to sell her wares."

My shock at this turn of events must have been clearly transmitted because Stephanie backed off a little.

''I am sorry if this is a revelation to you, Mark," she said empathetically. "Mary, the receptionist, corroborated Mr. Marshall's account of what occurred this morning."

"What occurred?" I said, my confusion increasing with every exchange between us.

"Apparently your girlfriend, or fiancée, showed up claiming to have an appointment with Mr. Marshall. According to Mary's statement, Lela was dressed in an extremely provocative manner. Mary also stated that your fiancée was heavily scented and despite her attempts to hide her scantily-clad body with a long trench coat, appeared to be wearing little more than lingerie."

"Lela was wearing a short skirt too, Stephanie," I said, surprised at the direction in which this exchange had headed.

"Listen, Mark," Stephanie said empathetically. "I know that you and Samantha recently broke-up. It must have been difficult to lose a woman that is destined to be a full partner in this law firm. Particularly as your new girlfriend's vocation is that of a sex worker. That said, it is unacceptable on many levels to have your girlfriend, sorry fiancée, hanging out in the men's restroom trolling for clients. I can understand how you might feel that this male-dominated law office would be a goldmine for Lela. This firm is full of young competitive men with inflated egos and income surplus to their needs. Of course, on any given day a few of them will likely succumb to their desires and cough up a few dollars for a quickie. However, this firm actively discourages any manner of solicitation, and may I remind you that prostitution is illegal. This unlawful act is particularly unwelcome in an office that strives to defend the innocent accused of criminal activity. In addition, in order to keep the Alpha Males focused on the tasks at hand, we have a fairly rigid dress code. You don't see Mary or I parading around in lingerie do you? In the men's restroom for Christ's sake."

I was lost for words by the time Stephanie was done with her diatribe. She was a no-nonsense, straight-shooter and had apparently felt compelled to share her take on this humiliating incident. I shuffled around uncomfortably in front of her for a few moments and then uttered a weak retort.

"Six hundred dollars," I mumbled, regretting the words the instant they left my mouth.

"Excuse me, Mark?" Stephanie responded with a confused look on her face.

"Lela charges six hundred dollars per hour," I muttered. "My fiancée wasn't in that men's restroom offering quickies for a few dollars."

"The price of entry is immaterial, Mark," Stephanie said in exasperation. "Your fiancée can't sell her services at your place of employment. I am sorry to inform you that I am going to recommend that you receive a written warning for your treatment of Mr. Marshall. I also think that a contrite apology from you would go a long way to clear the air. Shall I ask Mr. Marshall to join us?"

Despite just having been torn a new asshole by the Head of Human Resources, it was the thought of having to apologize contritely to that arrogant prick Danny Marshall, that spurred me back into attack mode.

"May I offer my side of the story, Stephanie?" I asked respectfully.

The look on her face indicated that Stephanie didn't want to waste any more time on Lela's clear-cut indiscretion. However, she nodded curtly and I began to defend the actions of my fiancée.

"Stephanie, may I email you one image that was sent anonymously to me this morning?" I began politely. "My iPhone screen is too small to view it."

After a cursory nod of approval, I forwarded the photo to the Human Resources Head and she opened it on her computer screen. Stephanie leaned forward slightly to view the high-resolution image and then recoiled in disgust as she processed the visual.

"What the hell, Mark?" she exclaimed reflexively. "Why on earth are you showing me this disgusting photo?"

I had sent Stephanie the photo of Lela kneeling passively by the urinal, with her head lowered in apparent submission as a man relieved himself against the stainless steel wall of the office public convenience.

"Can you see that the man urinating right next to Lela is wearing a gaudy yellow watch, Stephanie?" I asked excitedly, eager to prove Mr. Marshall was complicit in my fiancée's debasement.

"Vaguely," she said in a non-committal tone. "Why is that relevant?"

"Zoom in slightly," I directed her. "Focus solely on the watch."

As Stephanie enlarged the image, the distinct yellow and gold bezel of Danny Marshall's watch came into view, along with the time, day and date that was clearly depicted on the watch face.

"This picture was taken today around midday," I began more confidently. "Mr. Marshall took advantage of the fact that all of the Senior Managers and partners were out of the office this morning. He invited Lela to our office with the intent of employing her services as an Escort. At some point he took my fiancée into the men's restroom and defiled her with his urine. I think it is Danny Marshall who needs to be severely reprimanded."

I had a self-satisfied look on my face as I finished my closing argument. I knew I had proved my boss' involvement without a shadow of a doubt.

"I recognize that watch," Stephane said as she turned her head to face me. "Three years ago, to commemorate the twenty fifth anniversary of this company's founding, the partners gifted all the managers the same Yellow Gold Rolex Submariner watch. There were nineteen of us, if I remember correctly, sixteen of whom still work here."

"But that is Mr. Marshall," I said in desperation, as I pointed at Stephanie's computer screen.

"That is one of sixteen people, Mark," Stephanie responded coldly. "Maybe it was me misting your future wife with my urine droplets," she added sarcastically, as she retrieved a Yellow Gold Rolex Submariner watch from her desk drawer, and tossed it onto her desk for dramatic effect.

As I surveyed the distinct yellow and gold bezel, Stephanie allowed the gravity of my situation to sink in before continuing to belittle me.

"Mark, have you considered that it was a paid, consensual encounter?" she said quietly. "I imagine six hundred dollars buys a whole lot of Lela."

I felt my face redden as I absorbed Stephanie's last cutting remarks, but I had no comeback.

"Is there anything else on your mind?" Stephanie said finally after an uncomfortable silence. "I need to get back to work and you need to go and apologize to Mr. Marshall. I am going to leave it to him to decide your punishment, as he was the ranking staff member on duty when this sordid event occurred."

After I left the office of the Human Resources Head, I went back to my own office in an attempt to get my head straight. My meeting with Stephanie had been an unmitigated disaster. Her actions were in direct contrast to the Mission Statement of the HR Department, which roughly paraphrased, referred to equal protection from work-place harassment for all employees. It appeared that the true goal of the Human Resources Head was to protect the hierarchical structure of the organization.

Apparently I now owed Mr. Marshall a contrite apology for falsely accusing him of inappropriate sexual conduct with my fiancée. Stephanie was of the opinion that the CumSlut, as Lela had clearly advertised herself on the urinal wall, had been trolling for paid sexual encounters at my place of employment.

Stephanie left my punishment in the hands of Danny Marshall, and I spent the rest of the day sweating as I waited for him to summon me. Finally, about seven o'clock in the evening, after most of the staff had left the office, I got the call that I had been dreading.

As I stood in front of his oversized desk, Mr. Marshall sat impassively behind it, dark sunglasses on and puffing on a cigar, as if he was celebrating some kind of windfall. Finally, after a protracted period of uncomfortable silence, he addressed me.

"I have been informed of the HR ruling," he began coldly. "They have left your punishment in my hands," he added ominously. "I have spent the last hour with the partners of the firm, and they have assured me that they trust my judgment and will back whatever sanction I decide. You are about to learn how career-damaging it is to swim upstream."

"Mr. Marshall," I began, with as much deference as I could muster. "I am really sorry for the actions of my fiancée."

"Hold your tongue, boy," he said firmly as he raised one hand in the air. "I am not looking for an apology from you, or the CumSlut."

I swallowed hard as Mr. Marshall referred to Lela in such disparaging terms. He was in control of my destiny and wasn't in the mood for my ramblings.

"The partners have given me considerable latitude in your punishment," Mr. Marshall said, clearly relishing the moment. "My options range from a verbal warning, which would appear as such in your personnel file, to immediate dismissal from this firm. If I decide to exercise my right to terminate your services today, I will also inform the State Bar of California of your legal improprieties with regard to the CumSlut. Believe me when I say I will use specific legal verbiage that will undoubtedly prevent you from being hired by any other law firm in this state."

"Please, sir," I implored my boss. "I have spent my entire adult life working towards this goal and have endured unspeakable suffering to get here. Please don't have me disbarred."

"Well," Mr. Marshall began with a smile, "I know exactly what John put you and Lela through over the years. And, I am encouraged to hear that your career is extremely important to you. That will benefit me no end in our upcoming negotiations."

"Negotiations," I repeated quietly, as my mind raced through the possibilities.

"Yes," Mr. Marshall replied assertively. "Your rash behavior today has cock-blocked me from future office encounters with the CumSlut, and I expect some serious accommodation from the two of you in return. I want you to go home and have a heart to heart with your fiancée. Maybe the two of you can suggest a reasonable compromise and safeguard your employment here. Lela knows exactly what floats my boat. Now beat it, boy."