Email (Discord livestream story)

“Fixed your mess. Again”

She looked at her coworker the way one might look at a squashed bug on a windshield. Dirty. Annoying. Bothersome. How that dumb bitch had gotten the job remained a mystery Francine would never figure out, nor, she suspected, could be resolved by the brightest minds on Earth. That her coworker looked at her like a braindead cow didn't help matters.

“Thanks”

“Next time, please try to sort your shit by yourself”

“Yes. You're right. I'm sorry”

“Don't be sorry. Be better”

God. Useless waste of space. If only she had the decency to keep her hair color for a month, Francince wouldn't find the fucking kid so distracting. This month it was a bright, garish purple. The follies of being twenty.

Francine walked back to her office. Jesus fuck. She sighed and looked at her emails. She had her own damn work to do, and she intended to do it. She wasn't the best for nothing.

What was this? Email from the HR. Fucking great, those gasbags were at it again, spamming the whole office with some bullshit new protocols and guidelines no one ever asked for, more banned words or insane “sensitivity” crap. Still, it was part of her job. Not the important part, or the challenging part or any part that would add some sort of value to anything whatsoever, but... fine. She opened it.

Please see the attached file for important updates in best practices and expectations.

Oh great. Lazy fucks couldn't be arsed to actually copy and paste the text. Fine. She double clicked on what she knew was an overlong, overdesigned, overwritten motherfucking powerpoint presentation.

The screen went white, the started flashing. Francine tried to look away, but she found herself unable to look away, her muscles locked in place as the screen changed colors and a series of images and words came and went like lightning, too fast for her to keep up. Was that a girl on her knees? What were those words? They were English words, that much she knew, but for some reason she couldn't understand them. Why couldn't she understand them? She should... she should...

She should let go. She should relax. She should just let it all in. Just let it happen. Just feel her body... feel how warm it's getting, how sensitive... feel her cunt, so wet, starting to drip... feel her will melting, ready and blissfully happy to meet her owner.

Her hand between her legs. Her wet lips parted. Her drool falling on the office carpet.

The door opening, a girl with bright, purple hair. Mistress.