We’re Fucked, Pt. 17 (Fiction)

I think that from now on I will use this new format to increase the legibility of my prose. I should have been using it already, but I was concerned that formatting it back into its proper shape for an ebook would get too annoying. A somewhat idiotic concern, given that barely anyone has read my ebooks.

As I’m hunched over the table and perusing Python’s online documentation, a sudden racket coming from my sides disconcerts me. My coworkers Jordi and Jacqueline have stood up and are gathering their stuff to leave. My computer’s clock confirms that the workday has ended. Usually, my boss strutting out of his office at a quarter to five signals that the day’s torture is about to end, but I must have been so absorbed in programming that I missed it.

Someone switches off the radio that for the entire workday had tried to lift our spirits with its chirpy popular songs. I keep scrolling the documentation when Jordi bids me goodbye, but I feel Jacqueline towering behind me. As I turn my head to look over my shoulder, she applies pressure on my trapezius muscle with a pincer grip. Warmth spreads through my shoulders and neck.

“Are you coming?” Jacqueline asks in a mellifluous voice as she keeps massaging the tense muscle.

I lean my head back until the inverted version of my coworker’s narrowed, cobalt blue eyes stare into mine.

“Sorry, I’m working overtime today. I have to get familiar with this damn snake language, and write a whole bunch of tests…”

Jacqueline smacks her lips, then sighs.

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to a long conversation in my car with you.”

She slides her warm hand between my jawline and scarf to caress my sensitive, moist skin, then she strokes my cheek softly as she lifts her hand away. A jolt runs down my spine and tingles spark in my lower stomach. I feel like a starving dog who smelled a steak cooking. When I recover, my heart is beating quickly and Jacqueline is walking away to catch up to Jordi, that was loitering near the open entrance. Jacqueline waves and smiles, but in a moment I find myself staring at a closed door.

I curl my toes and press my hands against my trembling thighs as I focus on regaining my composure. I can’t deal with my throbbing pussy now; unless I learn enough about Python’s updated features to assuage my nibbling suspicion that I won’t be able to complete my assignment, I will waste my whole weekend worrying. But that woman’s lingering warmth and scent has made me dizzy, and likely left a wet spot on my panties.

I shake my head and straighten my back. I’ll spend a couple of hours browsing the documentation, then I’ll rub one off and head to my lonely apartment for a good night’s sleep.

For the next five minutes I struggle to douse my dark desires; I imagine myself convincing Jacqueline to stay for at least an hour of overtime. I would lock the front door and shut the blinds tight. With only the slight possibility of being overheard and interrupted, I would kneel in front of that woman and bury my face in her soaked mound. Jacqueline would tremble and pant from my tongue’s intricate dance on her inner folds and that pink nubbin on top of her slit.

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye makes me look to my right by instinct. My boss is standing behind Jacqueline’s chair. He has pushed its seat under the table and is resting his hand on top of the backrest as he stares at me.

It takes me a couple of seconds to figure out that I haven’t been visited by a hallucination. I’m slouched as if I were melting, I’m scratching the inside of my right nostril with my index finger, and my face is likely offering the stupidest expression imaginable, the kind of dumbfounded gape that would make anyone ashamed of knowing me.

I jump in my chair.

“Ah, what the hell!”

Ramsés’ mustache widens in a satisfied smile as he holds up his right hand, palm out, in a placating gesture.

“I didn’t intend to startle you. Everyone picks their nose, you don’t have to worry about that.” His gaze slides down to my neck, and he raises an eyebrow. “What are those? Is that a wound?”

Shit, I had taken off my scarf because sweat had seeped into the fabric and my skin was itching. I rub the line of four healing puncture wounds on my neck as if I wondered how they got there. I’d prefer if he never found out about my craving for self-abuse.

“I must have gotten bitten by a couple of tiny vampires as I slept. But don’t worry about it!”

“Alright… In any case, I have stuck around because I intended to talk to you in private, Leire,” Ramsés says solemnly.

My mouth has dried up. My gaze falls down the gravity well of my boss’ crotch for long enough. The fabric of his creased, navy blue suit trousers is bulging where this bastard’s engorged, slimy cock pushes to break out. He has caught me unawares as I sat on my chair, my face aligned with the concealed mushroom head of his dick, which must be cursing the belt loop’s buckle and the fly’s zipper that are holding that monster captive.

I had only glimpsed for an instant, but when I look back up, I can’t mistake that lustful, domineering sneer, nor his drooling tongue nearly peeking out from his puffy lips. In a few seconds he’ll cup the back of my head and force me to taste his putrid saliva, a mix of cigarettes, rotting teeth and rancid meat cooked in oil.

“Regarding our talk,” Ramsés continues calmly, “back when you complained about the workload, I’ve given it some thought. I appreciate your contributions, Leire, and it’s about time I propose to you something that I’ve run by your coworkers, so you can take a step forward in life.”

Ramsés has spoken in a low voice filled with calculated intimidation, a tone meant to capture me in a trap of words. This man is a hypnotist who has ensnared many victims, someone whose power over people is based on a carefully crafted persona and a subtle mastery of body language.

My heartbeat has become a ticking bomb, seconds away from exploding and sending my blood spurting out of my arteries like a geyser of red hot lava. This man had waited to corner me until Jordi and Jacqueline left, so he could pounce freely on the isolated prey. That sheeny sweat that has coated his scalp under the thinning hair, and the dark, curved sickle shape of his eager mouth, scream that he has anticipated for a long time how he intended to ravish me.

But what kind of pervert would want a slobbering freak like me? Do I seem like some impressionable housewife that returned to the workforce only to be dazzled by the wealthy man that demands her obedience? I never manufactured situations such as my skirt getting bunched up above my waistline so my boss could catch a glimpse of my panties; a few times I even came wearing sweatpants because I didn’t bother to wash my usual outfits. I’m a low-status cockroach with abysmal self-esteem and a tendency to mumble and mutter to myself. Anyone interested in me must be a dangerous fetishist, possibly a serial killer.

“Leire, are you okay?” Ramsés asks, mocking my plight.

His dark, predatory eyes evidence that he had figured out that I’m a scared little mouse. This man could lift me and carry me under his stained armpit as if I were a child. How would I oppose him? Whatever muscles remained from exercising throughout my schooling years wasted away due to the neglectful diet to which I subjected my decaying body. Ramsés could force me into any sexual position he wished while his thick hands squeezed my breasts or his fingers probed between my legs. He must want to see me lying helplessly facedown in front of him, my ass exposed as if I were begging him not to use my anus or pussy as an ashtray. He could humiliate and degrade me at will while I cried out in pain, then he would frame the incident as nothing more than the clumsy bump of two bodies colliding during the struggle of everyday life. I might even resign myself to the assault and try to forget it, because involving the police feels embarrassing and bothersome.

Ramsés is staring down at me like a bloated king observing how ants crawl over his crown jewels. The insects multiply in his presence, they lay their eggs in his shadow and feed them to him as proof of their submission and loyalty toward a master of unlimited authority, a man of patience who can afford to wait until he gets his fill of a woman’s tears. Due to the ceaseless worship, this monster grows bigger day after day. He has anointed himself as a god in a world ruled only by beasts.

“P-propose what?” I ask in a thin, shrill voice.

Ramsés blinks twice, then tilts his head as if confused.

“Follow me and you’ll understand. This company of ours is special, and worth helping grow and prosper beyond imagination.”

He’s about to shove his fat dick in my mouth to make me choke on the filthy shaft, leaving me gasping for air, so my stomach ends up churning with his foul-smelling cum. As he steps forward and reaches for my hand, I roll the chair back abruptly, which causes me to elbow my notebook and two pens to the carpet.

“Oh, fuck no!” I blurt out as I hold my hands up to ward him off.

Ramsés’ smile drops, then he raises his mustache in a grimace of disbelief because I interrupted his victory plan. I bend over to pick up my notebook and pens. After I return my items to the desk, I take the opportunity to swivel my chair towards my PC and shake the mouse to wake the screen up.

“I-I had decided to work overtime because I wanted to advance my tasks at my leisure,” I gabble out with a nervous grin that barely lasts on my face, since the devil’s tongue has been planted deep inside my brain. “Sorry, sir, but you can’t lay something like that on me suddenly. I don’t handle change well, and I-I have to focus on what I’m doing.”

I’m breathing fast. I refuse to pry my gaze away from Visual Studio as I scroll through the lines of code, but I sense that my boss remains immobile. I can’t tell how many seconds pass until Ramsés clears his throat, then the soles of his expensive shoes squeak as he turns around.

“My bad,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. “I’ll approach you during the workday.”

Ramsés’ heavy footsteps echo as he walks away with measured strides. I hold my breath until the front door of the office closes slowly, as if my boss wanted to avoid startling me further. Silence descends upon the empty space left by the absence of that monster who tried to turn me into a sexual slave, who intends to spread his seed across all four corners of the Earth before he finally dies and is reduced from a man of infinite power to a mere corpse rotting away, likely buried in a grave right outside the gates of hell.

I exhale, relieved, but my heart pounds in my throat and I can’t stop trembling. When I manage to release some tension from my shoulders and neck, as my spine becomes less hunched and my head feels lighter, I hurry to the door, turn the deadbolt from inside with my spare key, then leave the key in the lock.

2 thoughts on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 17 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 16 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

  2. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 18 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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