We’re Fucked, Pt. 32 (Fiction)


Some of my nightmares have recreated this moment, when I enter my workplace and I face the view of these walls, the ceiling, the row of cabinets and the long table, everything sporting different shades of white as if stripped of color, except for our black and blue ergonomic chairs, and the digital windows of our computer monitors. The strength of the white-yellow light fixtures makes me squint. At least the glass door to our boss’ office is closed, and that room remains unlit.

I thought I had snagged my umbrella on something, but Jacqueline has grabbed it from my hand to put it along with hers into the stand by the entrance. Our intern Jordi swivels in his chair towards us. He’s the same thin-faced, freckled kid with his coppery red, side parted hair, the impeccably ironed white shirt and black pants, and the thick glasses perched upon his nose. Still, I feel that he should have changed along with the entire world, now that Jacqueline and I have entangled our particles.

Jordi smiles with relief.

“When I came in and realized that you weren’t in the bathroom, that you hadn’t even turned on your computer, I thought that something might have happened to you.”

I clear my throat.

“Well, people shouldn’t be that predictable. It would get boring.”

Our intern’s gaze slides down to my Sunday dress, that shows through the opening of my corduroy jacket. I feel vulnerable, so I instinctively look over my shoulder for help from Jacqueline, but she has taken off her coat and is hanging it on the rack. I hurry over to imitate her. When I take hold of my jacket, its fabric feels heavy against my hands, like an old blanket that used to warm me when I was younger.

As we walk to our workstations, I feel Jordi’s gaze on my face, but I’d rather ignore him until I settle back into the routine. I can’t remember how many days ago, when my coworkers dragged me to a nearby restaurant to spend the lunch break with them, the kid admitted that he lacked interest in sex. I wondered if his lack of enthusiasm stemmed from having been molested by his babysitter, or because his parents shunned masturbation, or because that’s just the way he’s wired. In any case, it made me feel safer at the time: he was that less likely to rape me. However, now that I’ve returned to the office thoroughly fucked, I’m as eager to deal with him as I would with a child. What, most of your mental energies aren’t spent fantasizing about filling your mouth with a breast, holding an engorged clit between your lips, or having something hard and tubular shoved into you? I don’t give a shit about Jordi’s reasons. I’m not going to let some stupid boy ruin my day.

“I must say, Leire, that’s a lovely dress,” our intern says with the tone of someone who’d rather ask why I’m wearing a dress at all.

I snort as I type in my login credentials. I need to focus, to slide into the mindset of a programmer whose main preoccupation is figuring out how to synthesize abstractions into code, but I suspect that the people around me will keep dragging me down to the material world, where my thoughts are trapped.

“Well, wearing a dress wasn’t my first choice, let me tell you,” I mutter as I stare at my screen.

“I thought you had an endless supply of hoodies and sweaters. I’m surprised you even own a dress, to be honest.”

“Leire has slept in my apartment,” Jacqueline proclaims from my right side. “In my bed. With me. In my arms. We made love last night.”

I gasp as if she had slapped me across the face.

“So that’s why she had no choice but to wear yesterday’s dress,” Jacqueline adds.

My head whirls around. The light fixtures are glaring. I must have blushed, or at least my face feels that hot. I turn towards my beloved, but when I open my mouth to complain, her cobalt blues, framed by her long and dark eyelashes, hold my gaze with a reassuring serenity, as if there was nothing more natural than to share our lust with the world. That raven black hair cascades around her face and spills over her shoulders. I want to run my hands through it as I feel an echo of her hair’s smoothness on my palms.

The tightness of her blouse accentuates her meaty breasts, and she only buttoned the garment up enough so that anyone bold enough to peek could descry the central gore of her bra. Her skirt is hugging her toned thighs, of which I get an eyeful as she crosses her legs under the table. Back at Jacqueline’s apartment, I beheld her as she covered most of her delicious skin with these clothes, and yet I find her presence more erotic now, maybe because if she ordered me to kneel at her feet, possibly to test my devotion in front of our intern, I’d have to resist the urge. But how will I concentrate on my tasks when Jacqueline, the most desirable woman I’ve encountered in this world of flesh and blood, remains naked under those clothes and underwear of hers?

“You and Jacqueline have… had sex?” Jordi asks, baffled. “It seems I was out of the loop. I didn’t notice any of this going on.”

I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I put them in my lap, my fingers curling into the hem of my skirt. When I turn my head back towards the guy, I can barely lift my gaze to his hairless chin.

“I’m dominated by my mating instincts as much as the next pervert,” I say quietly. “Although I technically can’t mate with Jacqueline…”

“I’m so glad, senpai,” Jordi says. “Your skin even looks healthier.”

“She looks radiant, doesn’t she?” Jacqueline contributes cheerfully as she pokes me in the shoulder. “The pancakes I made her for breakfast may have helped.”

Jordi nods.

“We start the week with something nice.”

My cheeks are on fire, my hands trembling. I feel so volatile, so thrown off balance, that I want to downplay what spending the night with Jacqueline has meant for me, but as an impromptu comment slides down my tongue, a stinging pain explodes in the tip of my moist organ. I’ve bitten it. I hunch over and cover my mouth with my palm, like that would help.

A warm hand slides to my nape. Jacqueline has rolled her chair over, and with her right hand she’s holding a water bottle as if expecting me to grab it. I smell her shampoo, the same brand she keeps in her second bathroom, the same that I used for my shower.

“Poor thing,” Jacqueline says warmly. “There’s a dot of blood on your lower lip. Here, wash your mouth off. The water is quite cool from having stayed here overnight.”

I straighten up. The tip of my tongue is throbbing.

“Huh?”

Jacqueline’s cobalt blues glisten when she raises the bottle to my lips, and her gaze keeps boring into my brain as the cool water mixed with some of her saliva floods my mouth. Coddling me like this must turn her on, maybe even more in front of witnesses, but I couldn’t judge her for it, because the tingles are already flowing down to my crotch. Jacqueline smiles knowingly as I swallow the metallic-tasting liquid.

A trickle of water has seeped out of the corner of my mouth, but she wipes it away with her thumb.

“Do you feel a bit better, ma chère?” she asks. “You look calmer now.”

My pussy is demanding attention. I take a deep breath and relax my muscles.

“Y-yes… Thank you.”

My thoughts are swirling. I fear to look over at Jordi’s expression, even if I would just confirm that I’m causing the kid second hand embarrassment.

As soon as Jacqueline places the tainted water bottle next to her monitor, the office door swings open, and the footsteps of an overweight man enter our workplace. The three of us shut our mouths; in my case, because I don’t want to give my boss an opening to bother me with nonsense. The longer this prick sticks around, the more his presence suffocates me, as if he were leaning in towards my face and breathing down onto my nostrils.

My heart starts beating faster. I can barely lift my head from its lowered position; it feels like there’s a thick piece of metal weighing me down. However, I shoot Ramsés a look so he can’t complain later that I refused to acknowledge him. He’s wearing a burgundy suit, carrying a briefcase, and struggling under the weight of his douchebaggery as he walks past our table.

My boss is one of those fiends who believe that everyone should be grateful for their existence, although he forces me to do things for him. Also, his belly pokes out over his belt like an angry monster from the depths of hell. I’ve heard that men look good with a bit of belly fat, but his should have migrated higher to form breasts. Nobody can look good without a pair of tits. And Ramsés’ mustache has to go. It looks like a turd wrapped in hair.

I would take revenge on so many people if only I could afford it. But then I remember that I can’t afford anything, and I have to accept what life throws at me. The thought makes me want to break down in tears.

My boss mumbles a greeting. The bulge in his pants is growing bigger and thicker with each step he takes, until it resembles a small tree trunk. As he dangles the keys that will unlock his private office, he spots me sitting at the central workstation. He does a double take and stops mid step. He lifts his gaze, red from years of puffing on his cigarette butts, from the chest of my dress to my face. His stare feels like a needle pricking my brain. I can feel his dick throbbing in my direction.

“Who…? Ah, good morning, Leire.”

“Yeah, morning,” I say in a raspy voice.

Confused, Ramsés glances away hurriedly, then he continues into his office as he rubs the stubble of his cheeks. As usual, he leaves the door ajar, likely to spy on the conversations of his employees.

I close my eyes. My body is sore from having spent the previous evening getting fucked. I take a deep breath, but the scent of cigarettes has made its way into our office, along with the damp air, the musty odor of old furniture, and the smell of the carpet that hasn’t been washed in ages. When my gaze drifts towards the window, I don’t see anything beyond the rain that is coming down heavily.

Now I fear that Jacqueline, to mark her territory, will admit our dalliance to our boss, but for now she remains busy checking her inbox in Outlook. My French goddess claiming me as hers would make me horny enough to fuel a hundred of self-care sessions; however, if Ramsés finds out that his secretary and I have fucked, he might fire me for adultery.

2 thoughts on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 32 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 31 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

  2. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 33 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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