Chapter 5

The next day was Friday - not long 'till the weekend and dinner at mine. I was already beginning to plan the meal and the cleaning: juggling it all in my head until I got to my desk. Work started normally enough: arrive, plonk into chair, log in, check email: nothing much. Sit back for a moment and let the mind get into gear for some actual work. It was during my little personal contemplation moment that Mr A showed up.

"Idling again, David?" he boomed from behind me, causing me to start.

"No sir", he always insisted we call him 'sir', "just thinking".

He let it slide: usually he would make me tell him what I was thinking about. He was obviously here for something else.

"My hard drive failed last night-", he opened. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next.

"- and I lost a ton of work." Translation: I haven't done some work I was supposed to, and now I'm in the shit.

I didn't even bother asking him about backups and whether it was on the network file store, I knew he just hadn't written it.

"I've got a damned report due on Monday: I need you to do it for me so I can get on with some more important stuff today." Translation: I need you to write my report because I don't really know how to do it. I don't really have that much important to do, but I'd rather swan about all day or browse the internet (he didn't know that IT could find out what he was looking at).

"I'll send you everything you need", he said with a dismissive wave as he walked off.

Shit.

Looked like my weekend was in serious danger.

I sat waiting for the Mr A's promised email so I could get started: it took more than an hour for him to get round to sending it to me. When it arrived, it was clear that this report was going to take some research, thought and above all, time.

Shit.

The weekend was now officially toast.

I phoned Sally's mobile and told her the news. I think she had been looking forward to our 'proper' dates at the weekend: she sounded disappointed.

"I'll make it up to you: I promise", I said plaintively.

"Don't worry about it", she replied. "We'll have our time."

Slightly odd way to put it, I thought, before hanging up.

I got as much done as I could that day, but It never could be enough. I left the office late and I knew I would still have to work all weekend to get it done.

I explained the situation more fully to Sally when I got to her flat (after my slut welcomed me home, that is). She was sympathetic and not too disappointed any more: she had had all day to digest the news. Then she made a suggestion.

"Why don't you take your slut to work?"

At first I wasn't sure: it certainly didn't sound like a way to get things done quicker; but Sally and my cock both worked on me ("it'll be a great way to relieve stress", throb, throb) until I agreed. Sally, my slut, would come to work tomorrow.

We both arrived at my building mid Saturday morning. I swiped us in, and we walked hand in hand through the many corridors to my office area and then my cubicle. I was nervous as hell: what if someone spotted us. I knew what we were going to do and I couldn't help focussing on it, refusing to accept the obvious fact that no-one else would know and that we were just a couple holding hands. At least for now: that would change. As anticipated, there was no-one else around. I felt relief from tension I hadn't even realised I was carrying.

Once we were relatively safe inside my cubicle, Sally turned to me and grinned nervously. She was obviously feeling it a little too.

Nervous as I felt, I knew I should be the one to take command. There was a game to be played here.

"Show me your tits, slut", I commanded.

Sally complied, yanking her loose top and her bra down so they hooked under her breasts, pushing them up and presenting them beautifully for me.

I grinned and felt the smooth upper slopes so presented, sliding my hands down to rub and tweak the nipples.

"Under the desk", I said.

Sally crouched and crawled, ensconcing herself under my desk - just in front of where the chair would go. I sat down, moved myself in front of her and started work: she knew what to do.

As I was opening my browser and my word processor, and as I started to 'load up' all the facts I would need into my brain, Sally reached forward and pulled the open the fly on the deliberately loose trousers I had worn today. She started to caress my cock.

I could already tell this wasn't really going to speed up my work, but what the hell: I wasn't going to give it up now.

Sally took her time, being gentle with me rather than stimulating, and I found that I could get into a flow and get work done while she was working on me. I lost concentration a little when she first took me in her mouth, but she settled into a gentle motion and sucking that, again, wasn't too stimulating.

I had been working for about half an hour when I felt my concentration shift. I was now thinking more about Sally's sucking mouth, and less about the report. I figured the best way to deal with this was to cum in Sally's mouth to relieve the pressure. The most efficient way would probably have been not to have a slut under my desk, but right then I would certainly have argued the 'most efficient' was not the same as 'best'.

"Time for more action, my little cumslut", I said.

Sally obviously heard, because her action below my desk changed. She started to go deeper and to deliberately stimulate the more sensitive skin on my glans. I reached below the desk and held her head, being firm enough to be dominant, but gentle enough that she could release herself at any time. I started to fuck her mouth with my cock, slowly and deliberately.

"David!", I heard: it was Mr A's voice.

I looked around with a start, nearly choking Sally with my cock before I remembered and made sure my body didn't swivel. Shit - where did he come from? I wouldn't have guessed he would turn up on a Saturday: he never had before when I did work for him. At least the cube screens were hiding us from view. He wouldn't have seen me apparently humping a desk. Unfortunately he also closed far too quickly for Sally to extricate herself: she squeezed in under the desk.

"No, don't get up", said Mr A as he came in through the opening in the screens that served as my door. Thank heaven for small favours. That and the fact that my desk was set facing the 'door' - I hated having people watch over my shoulder and I had arranged my cubicle this way. It was a bit of a squeeze to get 'round the back to my seat, but it was a compromise I had always thought was well worth it. It was definitely paying off now.

Mr A proceeded to berate me for not updating him on the progress of his report. He was obviously scared of missing this particular deadline.

"My butt is on the line, David", he said more than once.

I placated him as much as I could: making the right noises in what I felt were the right places and trying as hard as I could to get him to stop lambasting me and just go away.

I lost my train of thought half way through his tirade when Sally, figuring that if she hadn't been discovered yet she wasn't going to be, pulled my cock out and put it in her mouth again.

"David. David! Are you paying attention to me."

I tried to backtrack the last few moments' worth of conversation in my head.

"Yes. Yes, I was just trying to figure out how to work in the annual review figures to the team productivity section", I lied.

He actually seemed pleased with that, breaking off from his aggressive tack.

"Yes, see that you do", he said. "And David ... make sure you do a good job of this one, or I'll have your job. And I'll make sure you're given the worst reference possible."

With that threat, he walked off.

"Holy shit that was close!", I exclaimed under my breath.

Sally broke off from sucking my cock and poked her head out from under the desk.

"Your boss is an arse", she said. "I don't know how you can stand to work for him."

I was in the process of starting a reply when Sally interrupted. She seemed to have made some sort of decision.

"Look, Dave", she said, "I know you'd love to quit, but at the same time you're scared of it."

I just nodded.

"Let me help", she said. "Just this once, to help you, I'll take command: I'll help you write your letter, make sure you send your email and help you quit."

"Tell me now if you want to do it", she said. "Tell me now and I'll help you: push you. If you want to back out say so now."

I sat there, considering for a long time. I looked at Sally and I looked around the office. I nodded.

"I want to do it", I said.

Writing the letter of resignation wasn't hard: I'd done it before after all. Printing the letter, though, putting it in an envelope and into the internal post: that was hard. Sally gently encouraged me through the whole process. I was scared, but with Sally's help I overcame just enough of the fear to go through with it. After that, sending the parallel email was relatively easy: I was after all already committed to this course of action.

I managed to get the rest of the report finished that day. Despite resigning I still had 30 days notice to work and I wasn't going to be unprofessional - there was enough of that coming from Mr A's side. Sally's help was invaluable: she gave up on the blowjobs, got dressed properly and helped me collate some of the facts and figures, a task at which she was impressively skilled.

On Monday the shit hit the fan. Not until a bit after ten though: it's around then that Mr A gets round to reading his email. I was expecting something to happen, of course, but the sheer ferocity of it I didn't anticipate.

"David! You little shit!", was the first thing I heard.

I looked up from my screen to see Mr A storming towards my cubicle, a furious look on his face. Behind him a trail of cubicle meerkats were popping their heads up above their burrows to see what was going on.

"You can't quit: you have to write my report!", he blurted, not seeming to care who heard.

Evidently he had stopped reading his email directly after my resignation. I struggled to keep my nerves down, to stay calm: confrontation was not my strong point.

"It's finished", I said. "I emailed you the report on Saturday."

That flummoxed him for a moment: he obviously hadn't considered the possibility that I would quit and still finish the report.

"You still can't quit", he said, "you make it all work!"

I don't think he was thinking properly about what he was saying: I'm pretty sure he didn't really want everyone to know that.

"Nice to know I'm appreciated", I said: possibly a tactical error since I could see in his eyes that he now realised the mistake he had just made. Now he would be more careful.

"But I really have resigned", I continued, with as much calm as I could muster. "I'm now officially working my month's notice."

"You scheming, conniving, backstabbing sonofabitch", Mr A accused. "You're doing this to make me look bad, aren't you? You've sabotaged the report, haven't you?"

"Look", I tried to mollify, "the report's fine. I just want to get on with my life."

There was no backing down for Mr A though - if anything my comment seemed to rile him up further.

"You're fired", he shouted, "You can't quit because you're fired."

It was more than a little childish and I reckoned he wouldn't be able to make it stick with HR, so I ignored that particular outburst. The next one cut to the heart of my fears though.

"I'll give you a reference so shocking no one will ever hire you again!"

Shit. Azerbaijan here we come. The only thing that saved me from meltdown was the fact that I was so far down this path I couldn't turn back: Mr A would never leave me alone if I came back after this. Inside I was quaking, and I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said nothing.

Mr A must have interpreted this as remaining cool in the face of his latest threat because he got even angrier. He moved a few steps towards me, his face purple and contorted with rage. For a moment I thought he was going to resort to physical violence. Instinctively I scrambled to get out of my chair. Whether I was doing this for fight or for flight we'll never know, because I did it without thought, and because seeing this caused Mr A to come to his senses and stop moving.

"Get out!", he shouted, "Take your stuff and get out! And don't think you're going to get your last month's pay either: I'll stop that."

He turned to walk away as I started to gather the few bits and bobs that belonged to me. It was childish of me, I know, but I couldn't resist a parting remark:

"Mr Anderson: you're an arse", I said. "Always have been, and as far as I can tell: always will be."

There were more than a few titters from the meerkats - even from Jonathan, though he immediately covered with a disapproving look.

Mr A walked in to his office, slamming the door. I packed up and walked out. Tim and Babs (of all people) high-fived me on the way out, which was momentarily uplifting, but the whole process had left me drained and, above all, frightened.

I tried to look on the bright side: it now looked like I'd have the coming month free to look for work. I was pretty sure I'd still get paid too: I didn't think Mr A could swing it with HR to stop them from paying me. He'd have to argue that he'd fired me for some breach of contract or unreasonable behaviour or something. There'd be no evidence of the former and enough witnesses to our encounter to make the latter a dangerous course to argue lest his own behaviour come into question.

I called Sally and told her what had happened. She was at work that day, but she took a little time to utter some calming words before obviously being hustled back to work by her boss. I got on the bus home: No. 42 Portobello to Davidson's Mains. I was on automatic, staring out of the window and thinking of the morning's events. I was still staring into nothingness when I felt someone sit beside me.

"Not saying hello?" came Sally's voice.

I started out of my reverie to see that Sally was indeed sitting beside me. I hadn't noticed her get on.

"I thought you were at work", I said.