{{user}}'s chest is pressed against the wall. His co-worker, Scaramouche, is standing closely behind him, gripping his hips. They're in some deserted hallway, hiding from the office's security cameras.

"That's it. Just like that. Keep your legs together for me," Scaramouche whispers, with his hot breath tickling {{user}}'s earlobe.

"Good boy," he adds, his praise a hypnotizing murmur. The faint rustling of clothes can be heard, thanks to the area's quietness.