Destruction In The Office 2: Resumption

[imani 83]

*** Public urination, vandalism, whole nine yards.

In this installment (I love that word), the narrator continues the recommencement of her devious acts which were brought to a screeching halt years ago for...reasons the writer herself is still unsure of.

She'll get it together eventually.

Read the first story for context. Not guaranteeing that will make this make sense.

 

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I strolled into my office with an unusual pep in my step, some files supported by one arm and two bottles of water sqeezed in the other hand. I was never too crazy about my daily eight cups, however adequate hydration was key to success that day. I was never much of a morning person either, but my bright smile and sparkling eyes said otherwise.

Without idling around for even a second I got to work immediately. The data I printed for Hartley yesterday probably hadn't survived, so I went ahead and prepared some back-ups.

And speaking of the devil, there was Hartley barging into my office, red in the face and up in arms.

"Yes?" I called, rolling my chair around to face a big contrast from my current mood at the time.

Hartley said nothing, too furious to speak. The night before I'd dreamt about Hartley's reaction to seeing her office renovation (best sleep of my life, might I add), but seeing it in person tickled and warmed my heart. Mustve been a bit unexpected if the way her blood pressure spiked was anything to go by.

"Yes, Mrs. Hartley? Is everything alright?" My voice was soft, yet vivacious and bubbly, my smile audible and my joy visible.

Hartley on the contrary could barely keep her hands to herself. She sighed a shaky sigh, attempting to calm her nerves as she slammed my door closed to sheild our interaction from prying eyes. Walking closer and leaning down to my level like she always did when she wanted to make me feel small, Hartley finally spoke.

"What happened to my office?" she whispered, almost nose-to-nose with me, her warm breath tickling my face. I rubbed my legs together. Hartley was quite enticing when worked up.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, matching her volume and pushing my face a quarter of a smidgen closer to hers.

"My office," Hartley's voice cracked. "What did you do to it, bitch?" Her little nickname for me only made more aroused. If only Hartley could see how wet I would be by the end of her confrontation. I wore no underwear beneath my skirt and no bra beneath my blouse for easy access — for reasons other than to allow Hartley view of my privates, but I didn't mind doing that along with my original plans.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to...I only dropped off your papers and clocked out right after. Check the footage if you want," I told her, faux tears glazing my eyes as I offered "proof" of my innocence. Few people knew the truth about the cameras, and someone who only started the job some months ago was bound to be oblivious.

Hartley chewed the inside of her cheek, reconsidering. "Did you lock the door?" she said.

"Oh," I gasped, putting on a show for my worked up visitor more so than actually recalling a happy accident. "Oh, no, I didn't. I was in such a rush to leave I forgot! I apologize for that, Mrs. Hartley."

"Where can I check the camera footage?" she demanded, backing away from my face and ignoring my pleads for forgiveness.

"I believe you'd need to go through the receptionist first," I informed her.

Then, just like every time before, she stood to her full height before clacking away on a pair of sleek heels, and at my keyboard I did the same, but that time with a newfound drive. There was a lot I had in store for the day, and I was elated as ever to get to it.

"Oh, and also," said Hartley as she peaked back into my office. "I need more copies—"

"Of the data? On it," I interrupted as my fingers glided smoothly along the keyboard, and with a sneer, she was gone.

I could never wrap my head around Hartley's facial expressions. Whether I did or didn't do what she directed, she was pissed. When she was happy, she appeared pissed. When she was sad, she looked pissed. When she was pissed, she seemed pissed — that was the only one I could make sense of.

"Did they role back the cameras for you?" I asked Hartley later that day as I entered her office.

"I did," she said. "And the receptionist told me she saw no suspicious activity on the footage. I would've liked to see that with my own eyes, but whatever, sit down so we can get this over with."

As I pulled up a chair to her desk, I took into account the missing rug and mug of utensils. Anybody's guess where they went — according to the receptionist and the very real footage she pulled, no suspicious activity occurred. And the woman definitely didn't mention that innocent face of mine, so how would I know what went down?

After spending the last hour of our shift working together, Hartley tenser than I'd ever seen her, she lead me out of her office personally and double checked to make sure her door was locked up good and well. It wouldn't have made a difference.

I had no interest in striking Hartley's office again anyway, at least for the time being.

I took extra time to straighten up my office after leaving Hartley's to give my colleagues a large window to leave the building as an excitement built up in my chest. They were better being fellow employees than witnesses testifying against me after all.

Slowly but surely, I walked down the hall in the opposite direction of the exit. My heels clicked in a manner similar to Hartley's, my head high as she liked to hold hers as well. I'd never been so confident on my way to the ladies'.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door and let it gently click behind me. The washroom was echoey and bounced every sound I made back to me. I just couldn't wait to hear my piss hitting the shined floor.

In my head I formed a game plan. I wasn't powered by emotion like the time before, but rather the desire to wreak maximum destruction while gaining the utmost pleasure from it. I had to be logical, and I had to use my head alongside my bladder and horniness...just like I did back then. As much as past me just the day before would be appalled with my actions, who I'd become in that moment — who I'd rediscovered — didn't have another fuck to give.

With a few seconds of thought and a few broad, resounding strides through the space, I'd prepared my goals for the afternoon. To begin, I pulled the toilet paper dispenser key from my pocket. I'd collected it in my high school years and it'd come in clutch numerous times afterward. I hadn't touched it in a while and had to shuffle for it in my dresser that morning, but the second I touched it years of precious memories rolled in.

The sound of each of the six dispensers' covers falling were music to my ears. Yet another time my key didn't let me down.

All six of the rolls I removed from their containers. I unraveled one until there was a mass of tissue in front of the sinks, finishing the sizeable thing off my scattering the remaining rolls around. I positioned the pile perfectly so that I was directly in front of the grand mirror as I unbuttoned my blouse to let loose my breasts, which seemed to bounce with enthusiasm upon being let loose from confinement. Just like myself when I broke through my shell of meekness for a second time in Hartley's office the day before.

Carefully, I raised my skirt to see my bare lips. I felt so mischievous not wearing any underwear, but even more so when I used my fingers to aim towards the mound of toilet paper upon the tiles, and even more when I finally began to relieve a full bladder. I observed as a trickle morphed into a strong, arching stream, melting the tissue into the ground like cotton candy. I swiveled my hips this way and that, being sure that every section of my first target absorbed my piss.

I caught my grin in the mirror.

Urine dribbled down my legs as I made my way to a stack of two toilet paper rolls on the other side of the bathroom, which I shot with my warm liquid as well. I figured that it'd be more fun to spend the rest of my bladder's contents on just one roll than to stretch what was left over a few.

It was a joy to watch the last of my piss soak the roll then trickle onto the tile when it could hold any more, forming a puddle around the paper.

When my piss converted back into a weak dribble, I sighed contently and pulled my skirt back down. I'd forgotten how satisfying my old life of self-fulfilling had been and wondered why I tried to bury what was an undeniable part of me.

I hoped the place would stick to their facade about their cameras. So long as they assumed the employees thought we were being watched, I could keep itching my urges as they came along. Soon the entire establishment would hear it from me, like a flash flood arising from nothingness and taking over and devastating everything in its wake, and leaving with no sign of its presence other than the damage in its footsteps. That was me — I was the flash flood.

They could run if they chose, but it would be difficult to hide when they couldn't even locate the threat, who would forever be one step ahead. Work had never been so engaging.

Edited September 22, 2021 by imani

[glad1 2,832]

OMG, you're the serial urinator! 😱

[annon115 32]

Loving the story so far, can't wait for the next update!

[88mphArtist 970]

Your stories are incredible. I love them so much 😄

[imani 83]

On 10/21/2021 at 5:47 PM, 88mphArtist said:

Your stories are incredible. I love them so much 😄

Thank you! I've neglected this honestly. I'm writing part three though, so it's not forgotten.

Edited November 21, 2021 by imani

[annon115 32]

I'm glad to hear that you are still writing! I love your stories, but you haven't posted lately, so I was worried that you had quit. I can't wait to read the next part!

[imani 83]

24 minutes ago, annon115 said:

I'm glad to hear that you are still writing! I love your stories, but you haven't posted lately, so I was worried that you had quit. I can't wait to read the next part!

I was on temporary leave, you could say. Can't wait to write the next part!