by Caldon Mull
The less I needed them, the more determined they became that I noticed them. I had not realized that the more determined they became, the less I paid them attention and thus the more determined they became. Into this cyclic maelstrom, a dose of chaos was inevitable.
By the middle of the week, my home life had settled nicely, Michel and I had fallen into a routine which suited us both and was non-intrusive to each other. We had both discussed our gym routines for the next few weeks and had started thinking about how and what to do to match my Football exertions and I had finally shaken off the physical shock of the short, sharp style movements the game required compared to my more leisurely pace of routine. We had adopted an impact program and he was working me through it.
Ultimately he had got me to clear out the back of the shed, the bastard, so there was space for both my car and his, and a fair additional space for gym equipment, exercise mats and a punch-bag. As I unpacked my Norflex I realized that the shed was in fact a small barn. The loose planks of wood and the old dry crates were smashed into firewood and the rotting sack-cloth was just loaded up onto his truck and disappeared with him one morning. I felt better and clutter was cleared. I had shown Michel how to start the generator, and we topped it up regularly, every twelve hours. The diesel was starting to dwindle and I had stacked the empty drums one side to refill at some stage. I had planned to reduce inventory to about a third of what it was, probably about 3 days worth. Considering the current conditions, I was in two minds just to use all the old diesel and replace the whole lot.
Still, I enjoyed coming home to a porch light, and the irregular power supply on AC Mains just wasn’t good enough for me. Call me sentimental, but for the first time in a long while my house was my home. It had taken me a year and a half to accept this.
The boiling black clouds of the weekend had settled into a deluge of biblical proportions. Apparently a hurricane had passed very close to the area and was dumping half the sea into our valley. It was like living in a monsoon. Starting early Monday morning, even a walk through the car park was strenuous. I was soaked through by the time I got through the doors and the power was off just about everywhere else except in the mission critical areas, luckily my section was one of those. I found a forgotten gym bag of mine, and stripped down to tracksuit bottoms and T shirt, and was dry the whole day, although very casual.
With the power down and everyone wet through, the day was extremely productive for me. I finished the final calibrations and sent them off, and the rest was up to the technicians at the launch site. I draped my wet clothes over the aircon and got soaked in my casual kit of the way out of the almost deserted building earlier than any day with co-workers.
It was quite nostalgic for me, it reminded me of night shift. When I got home, I topped up the jenny and had a hearty stew waiting for Michel and… no surprise to me at that point… Dean.
Over supper we laughed quietly at the people who were going to spend their time wet and miserable tonight and counted our blessings at not being in that situation. Part of the fun of supper was also watching Dean and Michel feign sleepiness as an excuse to turn in early while I cleaned up and paced. A hot shower, a good jack off to the noises next door and I slept fitfully through the night.
The next morning, I had learned a lesson and wore the least amount of kit under my slicker, tucking most of my clothes into a waterproof tog bag. I set off an hour early, hoping to shower at the company change-rooms. Belting through the deluge, I picked my way down to my section, using the corridors non-one else used. Luck simply wasn’t with me that morning. Standing outside my door, still damp and mussed was our accounts manager, Paul.
Paul and I played handball on occasion in the company gym. He was about 5’10” tall, sandy- brown hair and hazel eyes, fit and smooth. He had a sun-bed tan, extra-white teeth and a practiced smile. Well, his handball game is more about competitive bullying than actual skill, and I got tired of him expecting to win the games by sheer virtue of his position in the company.
One of the reasons I stopped using the corporate gym was that if I wanted exercise, I didn’t want to be placed in the position I usually was with people like him. If you gave him points, he would crow all week if he won. If you didn’t and still beat him, he would use his position to bully you outside the gym on completely irrelevant points, a real sore loser.
I had always beaten him, no matter how he started to squall, and if I played him again – which will be never- I would still play my best game. He was muscular without being defined, and as we showered I noticed his average sized cock. His pale skin was shaped over his groin like a thong, the rest of him was a dark, very artificial tan. Paul was definitely all about appearances, petty vanity and pampered spoiling. He was pretty senior in the company, and there was only one reason he would be outside my room this early: trouble.
“Ah, Andy.” He smiled his thousand-watt smile “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Morning, Paul.” I groaned inwardly. “What about?”
“We’re having a meeting this morning about the –ah- project, and I thought I would come over and tell you about it.”
“It’s not on my schedule, Paul.” I unlocked the door and shouldered in, switching on the light. He followed me in. “If it’s not on the schedule, then it’s not particularly important to me.”
“Ah, no.” He looked around, seeing my dry clothes against the vent. He closed the door behind him. “But it’s more about you than about anything else.”
“I’m sure I’ll get to know in good time.” I dumped my bag on my desk and retrieved a towel and started to rub my hair dry.
“Well, you see as the Accounts Manager for the Client, I must say their insistence that you remain on the project is quite gratifying. You could almost say that your continued excellence is making them more interested in what our company is doing.” Paul grinned a ‘you-and-me- against-the-world’ grin. “Considering I know the client very well, I would think that your inclusion in my department would be the most logical.”
“How so, Paul?” I muttered, braiding my hair. “The services they are utilizing can’t be ‘managed’, they either are available, or not. Sheer binary.” I tossed the damp towel onto the desktop and pulled off my slicks. His eyes widened slightly. There was a lot more of me than when I first started at the job. I grinned inwardly. He was the envious type, and even though only three of four years older than me his general muscle tone looked to be slowly going to hell.
“I don’t think you really know what they need from me, it’s far too technical to explain. I can’t rely on a whole department of non-technical people to represent services they simply can’t understand. You have no idea what they need from me, and you have no idea of what I need to give it to them. I don’t see there being any synergy. Our clients want results on a deadline.”
I pulled off my tee shirt and wiped down my chest with my towel. His eyes narrowed as I mopped up. I kicked off my sneakers and started to dry my feet. For some or other reason, I was convinced I heard him seething in silence.
Truth was, I was being honest. If I were to be placed in his department, I would have to report to ten other people before I could leave the floor to go to lunch. I knew how things worked in his part of the world. God help me if I ever needed to spend money on equipment, the requisition would die a horrible death somewhere between his departments accounts and the purser. Why would a services department ever need any ‘equipment’? Request denied. He watched me pat my other foot dry, his teeth grinding. “So then, Andy what you’re saying is that I’ve gotta kiss your ass?” He growled.
“No, Paul.” I shrugged “I’m saying ‘no way, jose’. No amount of ass-kissing is going to change anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m changing here.” I turned my back on him and dropped my tracksuit pants and stepped out of them.
I don’t know what set him off, I probably never will. Perhaps he thought I was mooning him, perhaps no-one had ever told him there was nothing he could ever
do about anything. All I know was one minute I’m reaching for my dry civvies and the next my face is slammed into the top of my desk. As the stars wink behind my eyes, all I hear is his muttering “ … you egg-heads really don’t know fuck about what’s going on… you think I don’t know shit about anything, well let me tell you that I know…” My kidneys smarted from his clothesline slam, I groaned into my sopping towel, tried to stand up. His hand pushed between my shoulder blades, pinning me down. “…you don’t think you know about ass-kissing, well after ten years in this stinking job in the middle of no-where, you’re talking to the best ass-kisser around, baby…” His face rammed between my ass and his tongue slavered my pucker. Still stunned, I tried to grab onto the side of my desk for some leverage, but my arms didn’t obey my brain.
I felt his hands move to my hips and flip me, the top half of my torso balanced over my desk, my head slammed against my chair seat. He pushed my legs up against his shoulders, his fingers stabbed into my spit-lubed ass. His face was flushed and he ranted “… you want asses kissed, I’ll kiss them… you want cocks sucked, I’ll fucking do that too, but ain’t no-one gonna tell me that I don’t know what they need…!”
His head bobbed over my half-hard cock and with teeth scraping he pulled me into his mouth, fingers still jamming into my ass. I tried to sit up, but the desk was too narrow and his other arm was locked around my thigh. Whatever his fingers were doing to my ass wasn’t particularly pleasant, and for once I was almost angry that my cock swelled up to about as hard as it could get. The hand on his locked arm stretched out and mashed my balls against my body. I groaned in pain, I could feel his four fingers sawing into my ass against my crumpled scrotum. His mouth slid off my cock as he dragged my hips closer to the edge of the desk and started to suck my feet.
He nipped the soles behind my toes and I could feel his thick tongue press through the thick, curly hair on the high arch of my foot. His hand left my ass –relief- and gripped my other ankle and rammed it into his crotch, he started to dry hump my foot. I felt some semblance of balance return to my arms, but thought he had got this far, what could I do to change things if I defended myself at this point? As my thoughts became less scattered, I realized his cock was out of his pants and rubbing over the hair on my arch. My balls were free and hanging, another definite improvement to my comfort. His one hand gripped my heel and scraped it up and down his fuckmeat. His mouth continued its wet attack on the left foot, he was sucking and biting the pad on my big toe.
With a snarl, he came over my foot, spilling down between my toes. He dropped the other leg against his shoulders and squeezed all his cum off the foot, towards the toes. Flipping me behind the knee, he positioned the ankle against the other shoulder and squeezed his cum-lubed hand into my wide-stretched cornhole. While not so painful as earlier, I wasn’t enjoying this at all.
“Asses kissed, cocks sucked… well I’ll show you, I don’t just kiss asses… fuckin’ little nerds like you think you always know better… that’s too good for you. I know what you need you little shithead…” With that, his four fingers in my ass suddenly included a thumb. I moaned and arched my back, he had his whole hand in my chute. Slowly he clenched his fist, turned his hand anti-clockwise, his knuckles scraped past my bud, one, two, three… My ring was clamped around his wrist, I could feel the cold steel of his Rolex pressing my stretched rind. My feet went numb, my body started to twitch. I could feel his thumb knuckle and his little finger rubbing against my pelvic bones from the inside.
He pulled his arm backwards and clamped, locked… my body slid inches over the polished desk with him. He pushed… or punched... and I slid over away from him, my head banging into the seat of my chair. Blood was rushing in my head and my eyes were watering. My twitching body started to tremble. He sawed his arm back and forth several times, and I slid with it, his middle knuckle rabbit-punching my prostrate. With a hissing noise from my cock, I came. Showering my belly and my chest, drops of my juice rained on my dangling head, splattering my lips.
His hand unclenched and left my raw ass. I tried to sit up, struggled to get my head above my body and relieve the pressure. My come tasted salty in my mouth. When I had gripped the desk edges and hauled myself upright I saw him standing by the door adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair. He looked like nothing was wrong or out of place.
He glared at me “See, I know what you need. Guess you enjoyed it too, because you sure as hell came.” With that he flipped out the door and was gone. I patted my slowly shrinking ass. It was messy, but at least it wasn’t bleeding, and at least it wasn’t torn open. I opened my tog bag and took out some repair gel and smeared myself up with it until it put pressure on just the one finger.
Quickly, I dabbed off my cum and sweat and finished dressing. Three dabs of cologne from my desk drawer and a hair band and I was the snappiest dressed in the whole building. It was a pity that inside I was seething mad and there did not seem to be a whole lot I could do about it just yet. I had been assaulted and I wasn’t sure if I should feel ashamed, murderous… or nothing at all.
I decided to go to the canteen, have breakfast and a root-beer and just get my act together. What no-one else seemed to know was that my work was finished already, and what they were squabbling over was a non-event. The work was already done.
I walked around like a zombie for a few minutes, then went back to my office and did reports and status modules. That afternoon, I attended a meeting that I was half-expecting where after an hour or so, my technical department was included in Paul’s section as a ‘value added’ service to our client. I sat through the meeting playing with my pencil until it was adjourned, not looking at Paul’s smug face and sly, victorious grin the whole way through the cluster-fuck shambles.
Apparently the trade involved me getting my own secretary and a line manager who had nothing better to do but to walk down to my office three times a day and check in on me. After the meeting I went down to my section and put a fresh video tape into the security system and packed the old one into my tog-bag, wrapped in a zip-lock plastic folder I usually kept hard-drives in.
I was convinced that Paul was unaware of the cameras in our section, nor the video surveillance of all the mission critical data systems. Why should he be? I had only introduced them six months ago.
I phoned the doctor, was surprised he made house calls and booked a call for that evening and gave my address to the Nurse at his reception. I posted a sick note into the system, checked that I had almost sixty days regular leave accrued from my ‘time-and-a-half’ night schedule and left the almost-empty building to brave the rain home at the usual hour.
I drank coffee until an unfamiliar car pulled into the drive. It was a battered 4x4, not the sort of thing you would expect from a doctor, more like a vet. Through the rain a short bundled shape scurried to shelter clutching a battered leather bag. He scrambled up the steps and I stiffly rose to go and open the door for him. He smiled gratefully as he walked in.
“Doctor Mason? Come in please, you look soaked.” I closed the cold out when I shut the door.
“Mr. Finch?” He stamped and took the coat off his head. His rimless glasses were covered in rain drops and I took his coat from him and hung it up to dry. He really wasn’t very tall, perhaps five foot three or maybe four inches. I towered over him by at least a foot. He was busy cleaning his glasses when I turned back to him.
“A coffee? Perhaps something stronger, I’m sure I have a pot of mulled wine around.” I shook his hand after he replaced his glasses. He blinked his bright hazel eyes and looked up at me, as if seeing me for the first time. He was a true red-head. Pale freckled skin and bright red hair, not the strawberry-blond -red, but carrot-orange. His lips weren’t even a different colour, they were pale and even they had freckles. Looking at him, I was convinced he got his clothes from the boy’s section at the mart.
“Oh yes, p-please,” He stuttered slightly “black coffee, strong.” I went to grab him a cup and he followed.
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“You know, you’re the only one in town that seems to have p-power.” He peeked around at the lights and the oil radiator.
“Generator.” I mumbled pouring him a steaming cup. I stirred the mulled wine absently while he took the mug gratefully. “I’ll have to fill up the tank soon. Mind if I do it now?”
“Not at all, I don’t have anything else after you.” He shrugged “Unless it’s an emergency. Besides, I’d like to see how you’re running this setup, I can’t hear any generator.”
“Come with, I’ll show you.” I warmed to the man. He reminded me of a Jack Russell Terrier, somehow.
He followed me outside and dodging the rain under the eaves, we opened the hatch to the Ventilated Room. I pressed a wall switch and a small fluorescent light winked on to show the throbbing firetruck- red jenny. Stiffly I grabbed another drum of diesel and poured the tank full once more, granting us another 12 hours of careful use. I placed the drum on the ‘empty’ side while the good doctor watched me.
“How old are you, Doc?” I stood up and dusted my hands clean. My lower back smarted, but from the inside “Fifteen, sixteen?” I grinned to show him I was joking “You like a Doogie Howser, or what?”
He roared with laughter, suddenly, spontaneously. “Oh Good grief!” He chuckled eventually, wiping tears from his eye “No, I’m twenty-nine last birthday. You p-probably have no idea how many p-people around here want to ask that question and never do.” He put his glasses back on and burbled with belly-laughs for a few more minutes. “You cut through the chase Mr. Finch. That’s quite refreshing.”