You're Fired

Uma Jolie slacks off hard. Shows up late. Spills shit everywhere. Gets her ass in trouble every goddamn time. Today’s no different. Abigail Mac’s had enough. She slams Uma’s file down on the desk and says, ‘Maybe you’re done here.’ Uma’s heart drops. She needs this job. Bills don’t give a fuck about excuses. Abigail circles her slowly. Eyes locked on Uma’s tight dress. ‘That little number barely covers anything. And no bra? Again? You trying to get my attention?’ Uma stammers back. Says it’s just how she likes it. Her nipples stand out anyway. Hard as bullets. Abigail reaches out. Grips the hem, tugs it. ‘Bullshit. You wanted this.’ Uma pulls away. ‘This makes me uncomfortable.’ Abigail laughs—low, mean. ‘Then leave.’ Silence. Uma swallows. Stays put. ‘Good girl.’ Abigail leans in, voice thick with heat. ‘Pull the shirt down. Show me.’ Uma hesitates. Hands shaking. Shirt goes down. Nipples bare to the air. Abigail’s smile widens. ‘Now strip.’ One by one. Hands drag fabric off shoulders, hips. She folds the clothes neatly because that’s the habit she’s trapped in, then stands naked while Abigail drinks it in. Abigail nods toward the floor. ‘On your knees. Mouth open.’ Uma drops. Abigail grabs her by the hair, guides Uma’s face into her already slick pussy. Rubs slow at first, then harder. Pelvis grinding. Wet heat smearing across lips, tongue, chin. ‘Suck.’ Uma obeys, tongue sliding deep, and Abigail moans loud—low filthy sounds that echo off the closed door. She pushes Uma flat on her back, mounts her face, thighs tight around her head. Grinds hard, clit stroking Uma’s tongue until every muscle in Abigail’s stomach clenches. Then she comes hard. Screams tearing out raw, slick dripping everywhere as she shudders, marking Uma’s lips, cheek, jaw with the sticky mess. Breathless, Abigail laughs, cradles Uma’s face like they just became coconspirators instead of casualties.