The Middle Road

by K. G. Reuss

  “Abigail,” I grunt, moving past her and going into my office. The click-clack of her heels on the polished marble floor echoes behind me. Internally, I sigh because I know she wants to start the day off with my itinerary… or loads of questions about why I’ve canceled everything and called an emergency meeting of the board.

  “Mr. George,” she calls out as I sit at my desk and stare out the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking New York City. Truly a beautiful view. I’ve never really bothered to care before. “Did you want me to cancel all your meetings this week?” she asks from behind me.

  I swivel back to find her frowning. I never cancel meetings.

  “Yes, Abigail. All my meetings. In fact, cancel them all indefinitely.” I press my lips into a firm line. Decision made.

  Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she gawks at me.

  “Um, Mr. George, you have a meeting with Senator Wilkins tomorrow. You’ve spent months trying to get this—”

  “Abigail,” I say with a sigh, rubbing my eyes as the muscles in my neck begin to tighten and my head starts to ache. “Cancel the damn meeting.”

  She pauses before coming to sit on the edge of my desk, putting her long legs in her short red skirt on display. It hasn’t slipped past me what a beautiful woman she is. Hell, it was one of the reasons I’d hired her—something nice to look at. And I’d be a damned liar if I hadn’t thought about wrapping her long, chestnut colored hair around my hand and pressing her naked body against my wall while I fucked her for all I was worth.

  Her hand comes out and rests on mine, concern written in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. George? Is there anything I can do to help?” She leans forward, her cleavage flashing me.

  I have six months to live. I’ve never once screwed an employee. Well, not in the natural sense. And it isn’t like I’ll be around for the fallout. Reaching out, I brush the front of my fingers gently down her stocking-clad thigh. A visible shiver travels through her as she leans into my touch.

  “Why don’t you go close the door, Abigail,” my voice is a soft, low command as my eyes meet her lust-filled ones. “Maybe we can find something for you to do.”

  The door clicks softly, and I’m hot on her stiletto heels, pressing her breasts against it before she knows what I’m about. She’s wearing these black hose with a sexy seam sewn up the back, like hookers and strippers wear. My dick goes rigid every time she wears them. I trace that seam with my fingertips from the back of her knees all the way up under that fucking red siren skirt to grab her pert ass cheeks.

  “Oh, Mr. George. I’ve waited forever for you to notice me,” her voice is heavy with lust.

  “Holy shit, Abigail. Are those garters?” I caress the smooth mounds of her ass cheeks, slowly inching forward to her sex until my fingers are wet, and my dick is pointing straight to the North Pole. I drop to my knees and shove my head under her skirt for a better inspection.

  “Yes, sir. Do you like them?”

  “Fuck yes. Now, what do we have here?” My knees nudge her legs wider apart for a better view of one soft, perfectly pink, and hairless pussy with a piercing. “Abigail, you’re a naughty girl.”

  “Yes, sir. I am. It doesn’t hurt if you want to touch…or lick it. Go ahead, Mr. George. You won’t hurt me.” The way her breathless voice addresses me has me ready to spill my load in my pants.

  “Well…I haven’t had breakfast yet, and they say it’s the most important meal of the day.” I snap her G-string in two with my fingers and run my tongue up the seam of her labial lips, flicking that diamond and sucking on her clit, putting a shine on it like it’s on display with the Crowned Jewels.

  Her climax comes quickly while juices that taste like pineapples drip down my chin. Pineapple happens to be my favorite fruit, so I eat like a man harvesting the best pineapple crop ever. I’m so involved in lapping her up, I’m oblivious to her hands pressing and pounding on the door with each orgasm that rakes through her.

  By the time her legs stop quivering, I’m full-blown desperate to be inside her. My dick is aching and pushing on the zipper of my pants so hard, I swear it has teeth marks embedded on it.

  “Abigail,” I growl.

  “Yes, Mr. George,” she purrs like a kitten lying in the sun.

  “My desk. Now,” I command. She immediately steps around me and walks to the desk without another word. She flips her skirt up, flattening it neatly against the desk to avoid wrinkling it, and presses her chest against it, anchoring herself with her hands wrapped over the edge. Her face turns to meet mine. “I’m ready, Mr. George.”

  There’s a knock on the door. “Is everything OK in there?” a female voice penetrates the locked door, causing Abigail to giggle.

  “That’s Lindsey,” she whispers.

  “Lindsey, everything is good. There was a bug. Go back to your desk.” Abigail winks at me as her footsteps fade.

  By the time I reach her, my hands have fumbled through unbuckling my belt and have undone my pants and zipper. I pull myself out of my briefs and stroke my dick a few times, pumping and priming it to ensure a good load.

  Fuck. What about birth control? Do you really want to leave a kid without a father, or have a child who might die like you at a young age?

  “Umm, Abigail, are you on something? You know, to prevent pregnancy?”

  “Yes. I just had a new IUD placed last week.”

  That’s all I need to hear before I kill my own mood. I thrust inside her, slamming her hips into the embossed leather desk pad.

  A loud grunt escapes my throat as her pussy walls clench against my dick. Jesus Christ, I’m done for. I slam into her over and over, gripping her hips and swirling around hitting all the secret spots a woman has. She blabbers incoherently what sounds like “harder, deeper, faster…rougher.” Maybe. I give up trying to make it out.

  The lower part of my back tingles with my impending orgasm, so I slow down. A quick glance at the clock tells me I have thirty more minutes before my meeting. So, I tease her with the tip of my dick. After a few moments, she climaxes, soaking herself and the papers on my desk. Usually that shit would’ve pissed me off but not today.

  My fingers lose their grip on her hips as her orgasm runs over the edge of my desk and onto my carpet. Wanting to see more, I roll her onto her back and watch as she opens her blouse and lets her tits spill from their cage.

  I let out a groan of ecstasy as I push back into her, my hands fist around her luscious creamy mounds. “Fuck, Abigail. You’ve soaked everything. I’m going to have to finish here early just to clean this mess up.”

  I pound her until my balls leave red welts on her ass cheeks. When the tingle in my back travels up my spine, I explode like a rocket into her atmosphere. It’s a full, throttle kaboom without the smoke and flames. Damn, that’s great pussy.

  Wouldn’t you know it? That’s karma getting another laugh in at my situation.

  I straighten my tie and stare at myself in the mirror in my attached bathroom. My dark hair is a freshly tossed sexy mess. I haven’t shaved, so I’ve amassed an impressive five o’clock shadow. Deep brown eyes stare dully back at me. Ugly, bruise-like circles surround them, a beacon screaming how sleep-deprived I’ve been. How stressed out I’ve been. How fucking close to death I am. My little death halos. I snort at the thought.

  After splashing water on my face, I quickly towel off and leave my office, ready to face the board members on what could very well be my last day in my own company. Maybe a part of me hopes for a miracle, so I’ve decided not to totally let it go. I’m going to turn it over to my CFO for five months. After that, maybe I’ll be able to gauge my health better.

  Abigail is back at her desk when I walk out. She gives me a sexy smile, her cheeks reddening when her eyes rake over my body.

  Whatever. I’m a one and done kind of man. But man, that pussy had been almost top shelf. Too bad for both of us. Again, karma was a real fucking bitch. I don’t bother acknowledging her past a blank look.

>   “Carter, what’s going on?” John Billings, my CFO greets me the moment I walk into the conference room. Concern is written all over his aging features, making his usually bright eyes appear larger.

  “I’ll explain if you’ll have a seat, John,” I say, patting him on the shoulder, back to being all business.

  John Billings is another one of my father’s old friends. He’s probably been more of a father to me than my own father ever was. There’s been more than one time in my life when I’d gone to John for advice instead of my own father when he was still alive. Father would’ve told me to crush my enemy by any means necessary. John would advise to simply think it through to find the best logical, beneficial approach without making a lot of waves. Overall, John is a decent guy. I trust him.

  John surveys me before nodding gruffly and going to his spot among the eleven board members already seated. I move to stand in front of the room, facing them. All of them wear looks varying from confusion to concern. Some of the members I don’t trust as far as I can throw them. And believe me, some of the pricks I’d like to toss from my office window. Money, greed, and time has turned a lot of them into snakes. But John will handle them. It’s what he did.

  “Gentlemen,” I begin, clearing my throat. “I’m leaving.”

  “What?” John frowns, while the other members sit forward, all voicing their confusion.

  “Where are you going?” David Sanders, one of the snakes, asks. “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “I’m going on a trip that I may not come back from.”

  This statement is greeted by more confusion, so I hold my hand up to silence them. “I need time away for my own mental health and clarity. I’m going to be turning over everything to John to be dealt with in my absence. I don’t wish to be bothered by anything. My phone will be off, and I’ll be out of town.”

  “Jesus, Carter, for how long?” Richard Garber demands, the fear of what it means obviously scaring him a bit because his dark eyes look wild.

  “Five months. Maybe longer,” I reply, my voice not as strong as I hoped it would be.

  Another murmur of confusion echoes through the room.

  “Carter George doesn’t leave his job behind to chase mental clarity,” Bob Jones screeches, his eyes bulging, his overlapping stomach banging against the table as he sits forward quickly in his seat. “You take down men that do!” He pounds his pudgy fist on the table. “Don’t you recall tearing apart Irving Davie’s company after his wife passed away? You stripped the man of everything in only a matter of hours. You’re a predator who strikes when prey is the weakest! You’re not the prey. You’ve never been the prey!”

  “Don’t forget Cameron Unkel’s company, Haspert Holdings. Unkel came looking for help, and Carter stole the company right from under his nose!” Brian Mathis adds, looking at the men in the room. Brian glances at me, shaking his head. “If I remember correctly, you screwed his wife and his sister right after you signed the papers.”

  Yeah, I’m a fucking snake. Probably the biggest one in the room. Those aren't even my worst atrocities in the business world. Karma finally caught up with my treacherous ass.

  “Carter, what’s going on?” John asks, his brows knit.

  I shake my head and look down at my hands which are clutching the chair in front of me. I don’t want to tell any of them. They’ll probably overthrow me if they know what’s really going on.

  “I just need a break. That’s all. I realized it’s time to take one before the opportunity passes me by. My lawyers have drawn everything up. They’re waiting outside.” I can’t stay around and answer questions or argue with them. I sweep from the room as it erupts in more questions. I haven’t made it a few steps down the hall before John catches up to me.

  “Carter, what the hell is going on?” he demands once more, stopping me. “There’s no damn way you’re walking away from this because you need a break. I want to know what happened.”

  “I’m my father’s son,” I reply, deadpan. “In every conceivable aspect.”

  “Your father wouldn't walk away from his empire, son,” John’s tone softens as he looks at me. “Only death could pull him away.”

  “Like I said, I’m my father’s son.”

  “Carter, are you sick?” John’s voice becomes hushed, his hand on my shoulder.

  The backs of my eyes burn, my throat tightening. What the hell is this? Am I struggling to not fucking cry? Jesus. I haven’t cried since I was five and fell off my bike. Father had come barreling out of the house my mother had loved so much, screaming at me to get up and not be weak. I remember the spit flying from his mouth, his hand striking me hard across the face. I’d fallen across my bike, breaking my arm in the process.

  Tears were for the weak. And no son of his was weak. If I wanted to cry, he’d give me a reason to.

  “No.” I swallow hard, my voice wavering. “I just need a break, John. Please. Help me.”

  “Absolutely, Carter.” John’s eyes sweep over me again, the worry evident in every breath he takes. “What can I do?”

  “Just keep my company safe. And take care of Linda. I always liked her,” I say, speaking of his wife of forty years.

  “Of course,” John murmurs as I back away.

  I can’t bear to stand around and talk any longer. I need to get out of there. Wasting no more of my precious time, I walk out, not even bothering to return to my office.

  “Derek?” I croak into my phone when he answers.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Are we ready yet?”

  “Sure are. We can pick the RV up in an hour. I have all the stuff you asked for.”

  “Good. Come get me. I need to get the hell out of here.” I drag my fingers through my hair.

  “I’m already outside, boss.”

  I hit the End button on my phone and step outside. Derek is waiting for me just as he said, the passenger door already open. I step up to it and turn back to stare at the monstrous granite and stone building behind me.

  It’s probably the last time I’ll ever look at it.

  Diary

  Day 2

  I don’t know why I thought 6:00 AM was a good time to hit the road, but that’s what I told Derek, so that’s what I’m doing up at this ungodly hour. I’ve packed all of my casual clothing, which I’ll admit isn’t much, into two suitcases. Just goes to show how much of my life I’ve wasted in business suits. Anyway…

  Today is the beginning of the end. Jesus Christ, how fucking morbid.

  Today is the beginning of the end of me being a dick. There. That’s better.

  Here are the targeted goals for this trip:

  Learn to be less of a dick and more open to new things. Meaning being less open to my usual hard-assedness, if that’s even a word. Fuck it, it’s my word, and if I live through this by some miracle, I’m going to trademark it for this journal’s future publication.

  Learn to appreciate the melting pot of this great nation with its diversity.

  Learn to appreciate the wonder of small moments and the beauty within.

  OK, that’s enough platitudes for me at this hour.

  Derek is here, and so is the beginning of the “Less Hard-Assedness” Tour.

  Three

  Carter

  “Wow, Derek. It’s roomy. Nice. I like it.” I step from the interior and lean against the wall in the alley behind my apartment building to size-up the exterior of my new home on wheels. Having just finished the grand tour of the inside, I have to admit I’m pleased. It’s luxurious.

  “Well, you said recreational vehicle, but when I explained to the salesmen what we were doing, he showed me the tour buses. This is a Variomobil Signature 1200 tour bus. It’s a medium wheelbase, so I can still drive it with my CDL- A license. And I already have my passenger endorsement from when I had to pick up clients from the airport. So, we’re good to go. And check this out.” We walk to the back, where he pulls a garage remote out of his pocket and clicks it. The back door lowers l
ike something out of the future, and inside is my black Mercedes SL roadster, snug-as-a-bug.

  “Derek, you are THE MAN.” I high-five him for caring enough to bring my baby along.

  “Thank you, sir. We need to hit the road now so we can miss morning traffic with this beast.” He closes the back door, and the excitement builds up in me like I’m eight years old again going on my first plane ride.

  “All right, but first.” I pull a small bottle of Korbel out of my pocket and swing once, swing twice, swing three times and smash it against the back bumper, making sure I don’t scratch it.

  “What are we naming her, sir?”

  “Why does it always have to be a woman? I think you called it before. I hereby christen you, the Beastmaster.”

  “I like it, sir.”

  “And stop calling me, sir. Call me Carter.”

  “Well, c'mon, Carter. We ain’t got all day.”

  “Actually, we do. That’s the beauty of it. We have all the time left in my world.” He rolls his eyes at my melodramatics before opening the door.

  We swing out of the alley quickly and roll through the nearly vacant streets of Fifth Avenue for a few blocks, passing the early morning joggers in Central Park. “Goodbye work-a-fucking-holics,” I holler out to no one in particular before I slump down in the soft leather of the passenger seat and fall asleep.

  I wake up near Allentown, PA with a horrendous headache and a grumbling stomach.

  “Can we pull over? I need to eat and take some meds.”

  Derek pushes a button on the navigator screen and says, “Find pancakes.” After a few seconds of searching, ten options appear, and he picks an International House of Pancakes close by. Once I make my way to the back bedroom and sort through my unpacked luggage for my toiletry bag, I find the dreaded bottle I need and walk back to the front. My God, pancakes sound divine.