You arrive in what appears to be an office boardroom.

"I've always worked here"  you think, immediately rationalizing the place you now find yourself in. You are surrounded by other scared souls who are trying their best to make sense of it too. A man who you all recognize to be the boss enters the room, declaring that you will each participate in a guided meditation. You are instructed to lay on the ground as he takes out a small boombox, which he places on the floor. You are instructed to close your eyes as he begins to play a tape.

It is a repeating loop of slow, cheesy acoustic guitar, over a man softly speaking in a hokey hippy affectation.
"You are now entering the piss dungeon" he calmly states.
"You can smell the stagnant piss in the air...you can feel yourself becoming tense and agitated..."
You do indeed begin to feel yourself immersed in the piss dungeon. All the while, you can distinctly feel the presence of your boss looming over you. Faintly, behind the obnoxious acoustic bullshit, you can hear the quiet rubbing of flesh on flesh, as you are absolutely certain that he is vigorously masturbating his dry cock mere inches above your head. You power through, tensing your eyes as you attempt desperately to immerse yourself deeper in to the piss dungeon.

"You now find yourself in a semi-deflated kiddie pool situated in the very center of the piss dungeon. You are in it, soaked in warm, pungent piss."

The sound of tense, strained rubbing is punctuated now by the odd grunt. You can almost see the outline of his bulbous form peering through the doorway of your imagined piss dungeon. You try harder to block it out, knowing deep down that your job, whatever it may be, depends on this.

"Now.. you are laying on your back, floating in the piss pool. you are full of self loathing. You are full of doubt."

You feel yourself suddenly covered in a hot, viscous goo. You are immediately certain in the moment that it is neither ejaculate, nor the promised ecstasy of a urine shower. No, it is some elusive third discharge produced from what you can only hope are human genitalia.
You open your eyes, certain that you caught him in the act, but find yourself now fully submerged in what appears to be a public swimming pool after hours, up to your neck in piss and in near total darkness. You become panicked as you commence a frantic doggy paddle to the platform you can half make out in front of you.


EXIT THE POOL