We’re Fucked, Pt. 33 (Fiction)


Now that my boss has ensconced himself in his private office, and that Jordi knows that our French secretary and I shared vaginal fluids, I need to focus on making it through this day without going insane. As usual, Ramsés has left the door ajar. I hear him rummaging through papers on his desk while talking on the phone. He’s discussing some contract that he wants to seal. I can tell by the way he sounds that he isn’t interested in listening to the person on the other end of the line.

The lines written in Python stare at me from Visual Studio Code like the sallow, pockmarked faces of men eager to drag me to a seedy motel room, or a basement, to take turns violating me with their thick, veiny dicks. Whenever I attempt to latch my attention onto developing the succession of unit tests, so I can finally get rid of a contract that requires this programming language, my mind detaches itself from the task and flies away, usually to end up landing on a mental image of Jacqueline’s wet pussy, which is swollen and glistening like a ripe peach ready to be plucked.

The minutes pass, but her presence on my right remains an electric current coursing through my veins. That raven black hair is spilling down her back like a waterfall. I yearn to reach out and grab handfuls of the thick mane, to yank it as she arches her head back in pleasure.

Every time she does anything more significant than move the mouse or type on the keyboard, the rest of the world goes blurry. The one time she stood up to open a cabinet then sat down with a binder, the two times she stretched her arms above her head and yawned, the seven times she scratched behind her ears; all these events were waves crashing on the shores of my consciousness.

To progress on this Python contract, I have to browse through the documentation of the latest stable version, but the garbage-collected language fails to engage whatever feral region of my brain gets obsessed with certain subjects to the extent that I need to learn their inner workings, all the way down to the tiniest details.

At half past ten, I allow myself a break. I need something stronger than water to keep my mind from drifting into erotic reveries. I stand up and sigh deeply. When I raise my head to address Jacqueline, because I want to bring her a coffee, my gaze gets stuck between her generous mounds of titflesh. As I stare at them in fascination, they grow even bigger, they swell up to the point where they’re about to spill out over her chest. Her nipples have hardened under my lustful scrutiny, and now they’re ripping tiny holes in the cups of her bra and the fabric of her blouse to poke out through the openings.

“Yes, Leire?” Jacqueline asks to arouse me from my stupor. The dimples on her cheeks deepen as she smiles knowingly at the drooling idiot that I’ve become.

My heart is racing.

“I was wondering if you’d allow me to bring you a latte.”

“Sweetie, more than allow you, I might reward you for it,” she says with a teasing smirk.

A surge of warmth unseemly for this office threatens to engulf me, so I pivot on my heels away from the originator.

“D-do you want a coffee as well, Jordi?” I ask in an effort to regain some self-control.

Our intern smiles kindly as he gets up from his chair.

“I do, but I’ll accompany you to the machine.”

I would prefer to go alone so I could clear my head for a couple of minutes, but I find myself walking down the hallway alongside this guy, who’s barely taller than me. His embarrassing height must be a constant source of self-contempt. When we reach the vending machine, I step back for our intern to swipe his credit card. However, he insists on letting me go first. I shrug, then push the sequence of buttons on the screen to buy a cappuccino.

As we wait for the transaction to process, I steal a glance at Jordi, but his eyes were already fixed on mine through his glasses.

“It must have taken a load off your shoulders,” he says.

I’m unsure about what he means, but I suspect that I’d rather not know the specifics, so I nod my head in agreement.

“If I had given it any thought, I would have assumed that you would frown upon Jacqueline and I doing naughty stuff to each other.”

The vending machine spits out a plastic cup. Jordi tilts his head.

“How so? You’re both consenting adults.”

As the machine pours my cappuccino, I observe Jordi’s innocent expression through half-lidded eyes, and before I know it, this guy’s virginal aura has stolen a smile out of my decaying lips. I might have been an idiot for prejudging our intern, but then again, when it comes to matters of the flesh, we’re all fools, no matter how smart we think we are.

The heat of my steaming cappuccino radiates against my palms as I step aside to let Jordi order his coffee.

“You took this strange development with a gentlemanly attitude,” I say in appreciation, “and now I realize that I have failed to care one bit about you.”

He stops pushing buttons on the screen to shoot me a confused look over his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s alright.”

“But I want to learn more. You are our intern, after all. Please tell me about your angelic self.”

Jordi keeps focusing on the machine as it pours his coffee into a plastic cup. I take a sip from my cappuccino. Once the guy turns around, he narrows his eyes and rubs his chin. Is he struggling between opening up and remaining silent, maybe because he fears that I’ll judge him?

I wipe the foam from my lips.

“What? I have revealed plenty about myself, haven’t I?”

“Not really. As I said, you being attracted to women came out of nowhere for me.”

“I guess I had neglected to mention that I’m not only interested in men.”

“I have no clue what else you like, or what you do in your spare time.”

I swallow. I see myself blushing in the reflection of his glasses.

“You already know almost everything there is to know about me. Apart from that, I’m into board games. I enjoy looking at the pile, anyway. It would be pointless to continue talking about myself, unless you’d like to hear about how often I masturbate.”

Jordi’s eyebrows shoot up. He chuckles softly, then he takes a sip of coffee.

My heartbeat was already throbbing in my temples, but I can’t help but bring up my masturbatory habits to everyone around me. Such a feral impulse must be related to the urge that during a dark period got me collecting piss-filled bottles. I was the one filling them, at least; I didn’t want anyone else to get involved in my depravity. But maybe I should have considered doing it with a partner. The act of sharing the experience with someone who would provide their own urine would be more pleasurable than doing it alone.

When I was a kid, I used to drink water from a hosepipe on hot summer days, but sometimes I couldn’t decide whether the stream should hit my lips or get lost between my legs. I’d squat and let the flow go wherever it felt like going.

The first time I experienced sexual arousal, I was about to pee in a park puddle. I remember feeling like my whole body was on fire. My mind was consumed by an unspeakable lust, which led me to the most primitive, animalistic behavior: to squat in the grass and spread my legs, exposing my virgin slit to the breeze and the sky. The warmth of the sun against my thighs sent waves of pleasure down my spine. I opened my eyes to see a bird hovering above me. As the tiny creature drew circles in the air, I imagined its feathery touch on my clitoris. Next thing I knew, a middle aged man was glaring in disgust. He shouted at me, calling me an idiot and telling me that I should learn how to use a toilet instead of squatting around like a stray dog. Then I experienced my first full-blown orgasm. I can’t remember what happened after that because I passed out. The memory of my pubescent, piss-soaked body naked from the waist down, surrounded by grass and trees, haunted me for a few years every time I closed my eyes, until I learned to drown it in a river of self-abuse. But I still think about the way those birds keep circling above my head, waiting for me to release them from their cage.

“A-also, I guess that I’m obsessed with Jacqueline,” I add.

Jordi pushes his glasses up with a finger.

“I have my vices like everyone else, some I’m reluctant to share with others, but it’s nice to see you so open and honest about yours. It makes me feel better to know that we can talk about anything without feeling ashamed.”

“I do feel some shame…”

My coworker smiles kindly. He keeps staring with an inquisitive expression.

“In any case, I love anime and manga, mostly classics like Berserk, Vagabond, Akira, Cowboy Bebop and the likes of them.” Jordi’s eyes dart around as if he’s trying to come up with the right words. “I have a bunch of figurines and bookshelves dedicated to my favorite series. I’ve been into the culture since I was young, at first because I considered it exotic, but in the last few years I’ve discovered that something else interests me about it. Although the stories are quite dark and intense, they’re also deep, philosophical, and thought-provoking. They deal with themes such as existentialism and nihilism, as well as dread and despair, which I find fascinating and beautiful.”

His lips twitch, then he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“That’s cool,” I say. “I’ve never been into communism myself, but to each his own, I guess.”

Jordi blinks twice.

“Uh… What?”

“It’s okay if you are. I mean, it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, right? We are all going to die soon enough.”

He stares at me wide-eyed, then he scratches his scalp with his free hand. I can’t tell whether he’s considering my words or trying to suppress an urge to vomit.

“I must have missed something,” Jordi says quietly. “I fail to understand how communism ended up involved in this conversation.”

“I’m not really into politics, but I do feel as though I’ve been betrayed by the system. To be honest, I’d be more sympathetic to that commie garbage if I knew for sure that they would free me from having to deal with our boss. Ramsés is a fucking tyrant! Also, I swear that guy is just aching to defile me. His sole goal in life must be to become rich so he can live out every sexual fantasy imaginable, starting with shoving his thick cock inside me in front of the whole office.”

Jordi drops his polite smile. He straightens his back and frowns at my words.

“Wait, what are you talking about? Has our boss done something to you?”

After his shift in tone, this innocuous little man turned into a burly father who’ve just heard that someone manhandled his daughter. I want to laugh, but the idea of laughing scares me.

I let out a deep breath. When I drop my gaze to the clumps of bubbles that float on top of my cappuccino like tiny white skulls, I’m overwhelmed by the hollow feeling that I’ve forgotten something important. No, vital, as if I had forgotten how to breathe or how to exist. Did I intend to buy some snacks as well?

I shake my head, then I take another sip. The bitter taste reminds me of Jacqueline’s pussy. A shiver runs down my spine. Jacqueline’s latte! I forgot about her drink! How did I allow my French queen to leave my mind even for a few minutes?! It would be so easy for her to slip out of my grasp and escape from me forever.

My chest tightens, I feel like crying. I hurry to the vending machine and I swipe my credit card over its reader, but Jordi puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Leire, you can tell me. If our boss has been mistreating you in any way, I want to help.”

“Wait a second, please! Don’t stop me now!”

Our intern relents under the urgency of my tone, and pulls his hand away. Once the vending machine starts pouring my beloved’s latte, I turn around. The earnest expression in Jordi’s freckled face stuns me. I guess that any man, no matter how physically unimpressive, wants to don a figurative armor and help a distressed damsel.

Jordi doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. He fails to realize the depths of my desperation. I feel like I’m drowning, and if he tries to save me, I might bite off his arm.

“Well, our boss hasn’t defiled me yet, but he’s trying his best. The last time I stayed to work overtime, after you guys had left, Ramsés suddenly appeared next to me, which freaked me out, and he told me… What were the words he used? That he would propose something to help me take a step forward in life. I mean, what kind of narcissist refers like that to raping his employee?”

Jordi narrows his eyes meaningfully as he purses his lips, then he averts his gaze, deep in thought.

“T-that’s how I remember it, anyway,” I say hesitantly. “To be honest, I can’t be sure if any old sequence salvaged from the abyssal chasms of my mind actually happened.”

My coworker nods slowly. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his forehead creased with worry.

“No… that checks out.”

“It does?!”

When our intern slings his gaze back to my eyeballs, I get goosebumps. The vending machine has finished dispensing the latte, but I don’t dare avert my attention from those pupils, that resemble dark, cold tunnels through which something inhuman could exit at any moment.

“Leire, when he offers it to you again, you’ll decide whether or not you’ll listen to his proposal, but if he ends up pressuring you into something you don’t want, call me immediately. You have my number. Don’t hesitate, alright? I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that nothing bad happens to you.”

I nod and smile weakly. I can’t picture the small and scrawny Jordi beating our fatter boss up, but I can’t deny that confidence. His dick must be huge.

2 thoughts on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 33 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 32 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

  2. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 34 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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