We’re Fucked, Pt. 7 (Fiction)

I can’t escape, I can’t refuse to shoulder this unfair workload as the leading programmer of the only company that hasn’t discarded me because I’m a lunatic. Now that my mind has surrendered for a while to the nightmare that my life has become, it has ceased to struggle every time I stop adding new lines of code, so in what little remains of the workday I’m accomplishing more work than I had since it started. But my brain aches and burns from overexertion. Sweat is dripping down my forehead onto a keyboard covered in smudged fingerprints. My breasts and nipples are itching under my hoodie. My pussy is also on fire and needs relief desperately. I want to cry as I curse myself for having failed to masturbate before coming to work today.

As if inhabiting my festering body wasn’t enough of a punishment, I keep typing while I ignore the black shapes that dart in my peripheral vision. They are shadowy, indistinct blobs, the negative images of living beings whose absence has punched holes in reality, leaving behind pitch-black voids. Sometimes they approach me slowly like marauders stalking prey, but most often they appear suddenly, and shortly after they fade away. They must be phantoms created by my mind to torment me.

I hear shadowy whispers inside my head, I feel them draining more and more of my energy with every passing minute as if I were covered in leeches. This is a hellish world of shadows and nightmares, and it’s slowly killing me because that’s all I deserve. Nobody cares for me, nobody loves me, nobody wants to help me out of this hole of despair that is eating away at my sanity.

During a pause to wipe the sweat off my face, I look over my shoulder expecting to stare back at a deformed horse’s eyes, but that equine stalker has disappeared. Now that I think about it, I haven’t caught a glimpse of him since I exited my supervisor’s office in defeat. Maybe Spike was a manifestation of my growing urges to kick someone’s skull in, and now that I’ve capitulated, that horse has abandoned me without saying goodbye. I had complained so much about him and insulted him as creatively as I could muster, but that horse was willing to talk to me instead of treating me like a wage slave whose duties unfortunately can’t be automated. He treated me like a person worthy of respect, and now I might never see his ugly mug again.

My fingers are numb and trembling from stress. The keys are sticky and wet with perspiration and tears and snot and semen and blood. About an hour from the end of the workday, my mind is so worn down that it refuses to understand the lines of code I force it to read. I can’t think of anything besides how badly I need some release for this unbearable tension building inside of me. I need something real, tangible, and palpable. I need a dick deep inside of me, one thick meaty pole full to bursting with cum to fill up the empty spaces left behind when my thoughts are depleted.

I slip away to the bathroom, which is thankfully empty, and I lock myself in a stall. As soon as I have collapsed onto the toilet seat, I start shaking uncontrollably. A few tears trickle down my cheeks. The pressure from the built up tension causes it to force its way out of the small openings in my eyes.

I squat over the toilet bowl as if trying to dig out an impure substance that has seeped through the cracks of reality to infect my insides, and then I release a stream of piss as if a floodgate had opened somewhere in my lower abdomen. I hunch over while my piss hits the water, and the tears that run down my face drip onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom tiles. My body shakes and shudders with each sob, and my stomach knots up into painful cramps.

After I empty my bladder, I rest my elbows on my knees and I take deep breaths as I sniffle. The knot in my abdomen loosens somewhat. Once the last tear drops away, I grab toilet paper to blow my nose. I open the stall door.

I find myself staring at a pair of white, thigh-high stockings that are hugging two shapely legs. A fleshy bit of thigh is showing between the welt of the stockings and the dark grey skirt. Wait, I recognize these appetizing legs, and also the cream white blouse tucked into that skirt. The gilded buttons shine in the bathroom lights, as well as the pearly pendant that draws my attention to a large pair of breasts that I want to sink my face in.

I wasn’t ready to face Jacqueline’s concern as she observes my red eyes, my swollen eyelids, my tear soaked cheeks. My hands are trembling. I squeeze the tissue soggy with snot to control my pulse rate. As I walk up to the sink, I open my mouth to brush away my pain, but Jacqueline has brought a hand to her chest, and I see myself through her glistening eyes: a broken woman who’s barely hanging by a thread.

“I-it’s nothing,” I say under my breath. “It all felt like too much for a moment.”

Jacqueline smacks her lips. I turn the sink tap on to wash my face, but my coworker steps forward and runs her soft, warm hand across my cheek to comfort me. Despite her beautiful face and those pearly white teeth, she can’t hide her crow’s feet and the marked nasolabial folds that betray a lifetime spent smiling. I find myself leaning into her hand as Jacqueline strokes my damp cheek.

“Oh, baby,” Jacqueline coos. “It’s okay to cry to release your feelings, and there’s no shame in needing someone to talk to when things get rough and tough.”

I wasn’t ready for her touch nor for that soft tone meant to comfort me. A warm tear slips past my shivering bottom lip. I turn my head away, but Jacqueline cups my chin and turns it back. With her other hand she wipes the wetness from my cheeks. After she steps closer, she wraps both arms around me as if she was embracing a frightened child. When I return to my senses, Jacqueline is running the fingers of her right hand over my scalp while she whispers in French into my ear.

I’m overwhelmed by the snuggly feeling of Jacqueline’s embrace and her large breasts pressed against mine. Our nipples would touch if it weren’t for the fabrics that separate them. I bask in the warmth that radiates from her tits, those two soothing cushions in which I want to sink. They are breasts with a soul. I wish they would crush me into submission, that she would hold me tight enough that my ribs would break and my lungs would get punctured from the pressure of her breasts crushing inwards against my ribcage.

I raise my hands to hug Jacqueline back. My breathing has become shallow and rapid, and a shuddering sensation ripples throughout my trembling frame as my coworker’s fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck. I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work because Jacqueline’s scent is overwhelming, a mix of her perfume, shampoo, deodorant, sweat, and other bodily fluids, a strong aroma that makes my legs weak with a desire to slide down to her crotch and bury myself between those plush mounds until my eyes roll up into their sockets.

Jacqueline is so close to my skin that her bacteria must be jumping ship. I picture the millions of microorganisms that inhabit her vagina as tiny, pink cells squirming in a thick mucus soup inside of a gelatinous, fleshy pouch. Her vaginal secretions are a rich source of nourishment for those microscopic creatures, which multiply rapidly in a moist environment such as hers. My imagination takes flight; I can feel each individual cell moving within its own bubble of fluid, and I am seized by an intense urge to taste some of that delicious liquid.

As Jacqueline strokes my back gently with both hands and presses her breasts more firmly into me, I imagine her vagina opening up like a flower with petals of slippery jelly stretching wide and welcoming me into a hot steam bath of gooey juice. A tingle starts at the tips of my nipples, and it spreads quickly throughout my breasts and down my stomach towards the waistband of my pants. Then I feel a gush of wetness between my legs that threatens to soak through my panties onto my thighs.

Jacqueline coos, “It’s alright, honey. I know you’ll make it out of this alive because you have such an amazing brain in your pretty skull. It’s going to be fine…”

I sigh. I close my eyes and bury my face in her neck. Does Jacqueline notice how hard my nipples are getting? Are they digging into her flesh through our bras, my hoodie and her blouse?

I’m so cozy, like a baby in its womb. When was the last time someone offered me such a caring gesture? No one is interested in talking to a person whose head is a mess of strange thoughts and feelings they can’t understand, especially someone who is clearly suffering like a zombie trapped within a cage of its own making.

I’m feeling woozy as if drugged, and the troubles that had threatened to crush me seem lighter and bearable. I wish I could stay forever with this woman’s arms around me, with her breasts pressed against mine, with her warm breath on my face and her fingers massaging away my discomfort.

When Jacqueline pulls back slightly, signalling that the embrace has ended, my heart skips a beat, and I want to beg her to continue consoling me. Her blue eyes stare into mine with genuine concern.

“It’s true you work too much,” Jacqueline whispers. “I wish I could tell you I would convince our boss to hire someone else to help with the workload, even an intern, but he won’t. Most of it goes to pay the bills of this place so he can keep the miracle going. That’s just how it is. But you can rely on me, Leire, for everything. I’ll keep you strong, alright?”

I nod weakly. My mouth has filled with saliva. Jacqueline smells so good, she’s so warm. She’s a beautiful angel with a kind smile on her lips, ready to give me a shoulder to lean upon. A beacon of light amidst my dark days.

Jacqueline accepts my silence for a few seconds as I look deeply into her eyes. Then she tickles me gently on my chin, and leans in to kiss me on the forehead. Her lips linger on that spot just above my brow line, a kiss that sends a jolt straight to the base of my spine and a warm glow to my cheeks.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Jacquelines asks softly. “You just need a break, a vacation, or a boyfriend, and everything will be fine, won’t it?”

She must notice that I’m breathless, and how much I’ve blushed. I’m holding back the urge to shove my tongue into her mouth. If we were alone in this building, with no one to interrupt, I may do something drastic.

Jacqueline’s blue gaze dances over my countenance. The tip of her tongue pokes out for a moment before disappearing again behind those lovely white teeth.

“Ah, you are so cute,” Jacqueline says, then she brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Listen, just do the most you can during your regular workdays, and then head home for your well deserved rest. If Ramsés can’t organize himself better, you shouldn’t have to suffer for it. You will do that today, right, head home along with us?”

Jacqueline’s gentle voice struck me with an unexpected wave of melancholy. I feel like a child I had never been, one that could rely on someone who would lend her a hand when she was helpless, without asking anything in return except for a little bit of love. I lower my head and narrow my shoulders. I have been forced to play a cruel game for too many years, pretending to be someone else than the child who once fell by the side of the road and never managed to stand up again.

My thoughts are muddled. Jacqueline reaches to turn the sink tap off, then she guides me out of the bathroom as she rubs my neck.

“Let’s go back to our desks now. You already have my number, right? You can call me when you feel like this and you want someone to comfort you.”

A warm sensation flows through the pit of my stomach while I rack my brain for any excuse that would keep Jacqueline by my side.

One thought on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 7 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 8 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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