This story is a standalone, temporally after Mr. Marcus has severed his relationship with Zenellis Industries. There are minor references to Arcuda Zenellis and his daughter Saroya. Oh yes, and Lillian Mutzman, teenage scientist.
I was on errand from my wife Harriett to the self-storage facility in town where we rented space for the miscellaneous junk that had accumulated in our basement. Funny, but after we filled the rented storage, the basement filled up again. Anyway, I was sent to fetch a hardhat, her college folder on project management, and half a dozen vinyl three-ring binders. Harriett was scheduled for a trip to a manufacturing plant as part of her new account executive role. Harriett owed it all to me and didn't know it. I had coerced Rianne, Harriett's horny bisexual boss, into retaining Harriett with a full bonus. And I did it while Rianne's daughter Olivia and I were fucking, no less. Rianne had exceeded our expectations, promoting Harriett and giving her a substantial raise. Power to the penis!
I hated trips to the storage shed. In the dead of winter, I'd freeze my ass off, and on the hottest day of summer, the enclosure would be an oven. The facility did have conditioned space, but it was much more expensive. I opted for a cheaper metal room that suffered the vagaries of Mother Nature. That's why Zenellis's disk drives were in my crawl space, not in the storage shed. One day, I'd reassemble the RAID array and watch Saroya, Zenellis's daughter and myself. Too bad I didn't have our escapade in her office on video. Maybe she did.
Today was the latter of the two temperature extremes, a scorcher. I had to empty a third of the cubby to get to anything, since we never took the time to organize its contents. Boxes and bins and bags were piled at random inside. Our stuff littered the hallway temporarily, while I rummaged through unlabeled boxes and twist-tied bags,
This trip afforded me the opportunity to pick up some old financial records. The IRS had sent a letter asking for documentation regarding the money I got from Zenellis Enterprises. My large one-time payment as income threw up a red flag on our joint return. The IRS said they just wanted the details of what services I'd provided in exchange for the payment. A line-item invoice. I planned on providing a general statement about consulting regarding products and marketing. It was none of their business that fucking Saroya Zenellis, the Chairman's daughter, sealed my fate to a lump sum payoff, instead of stock or an ongoing annuity. The thought of her voluptuous body and the warm atmosphere got me excited.
While I was deep in the eight by ten space, I heard shouting. One voice was male, the other female. The metal walls distorted most of the sound, so I heard muffled anger but no details. When the shouting stopped, I peeked through the door.
A tall woman with dyed blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, bent at the waist, fussed with a padlock on her shed. And what a waist! Too slim for her chest and hips. She was right out of Vogue or more likely Penthouse. Her wrinkle-free tanned skin looked like it was shrink-wrapped around her body. Her white sleeveless blouse, shirttails tied, strained to constrain her big tits. If the shirt had buttons, none of them were fastened. Below her exposed flat stomach, white short shorts exposed shapely legs, ending in white spiked heels with straps that climbed her ankles and calves, Roman style. The sunglasses she wore didn't help her read the combination as she spun the dial. When she twitched her head, the ponytail whipped from one side to the other.
When I stepped out of my storage area into the common corridor, she tilted the glasses down and peered at me over them. I got a half smile as she fumbled with and then successfully opened her padlock. Mine used a key. She threw the door to her room open with a sweep of her arm, and then stood looking at the contents, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread, head erect. So was I, half from memories of Saroya and half from the perfect body in the hall. It was only in my fantasies that I'd be this close to a woman so perfect. At computer trade shows, I'd look at the technology so I could write a trip report but my primary goal was schmoozing with the booth babes, the real or rented women with which companies would populate their booths to draw a predominantly male audience. Often, there would be one knockout; so gorgeous you knew she was a model and only appearing for a fat cash payment. Only once did such a woman turn out to be an actual employee.
"Something missing?" I asked.
"No, but thanks." Her eyes were burning a hole into the metal room. Something was of great interest. She would have caught me staring if she'd looked.
I moved closer to share the view. She smelled wonderful. I took a quick peek down the center of her cleavage before looking into the storage area. Boxes had been stacked neatly in rows away from the walls, leaving empty space on all sides. "The name's Marcus. Harvey Marcus."
"Ella Ferguson." She lifted the glasses and perched them on top of her head. "Maybe you can help." She took a slow deep breath, raising the mounds of flesh attempting escape from her blouse.
I like being the gentleman, even if I end up between the thighs of the lady in distress. Or maybe because it ends that way. And for this woman, I'd do almost anything. "Sure. What's up?"
"I need to get some papers from that box." She pointed to a neatly marked box labeled "WEDDING" at the bottom of a floor-to-ceiling stack. And if the boxes were filled with paper and not foam rubber, they'd be heavy. "You can stack the others behind. There's room."
Sure enough, there was an empty space between the stack and the rear wall, wide enough for me to stand behind the boxes and relocate them inside the shed. That would let me touch each box only once. "Harvey to the rescue."
I walked behind the stack, Ella's heels clicking behind me. As I bent to put the first box down, the room went dark and the sliding metal door clanked shut.
"Maxie?" Ella shouted.
Someone, Ella, pounded on the metal door. "Let me out!"
In the dark, I felt my way around the stack. My eyes were just acclimating. Ella was a shadow in the darkness. I knew we'd been locked in, but I asked anyway. "What happened?"
"My husband, that's what. If he can't keep me any other way, he'll do it by force. Pompous jerk!"
Her voice gave away her position, just a few feet away. "You two had an argument?"
"He's pissed that I seduced the lawn boy."
What? How do you respond when a stranger says that? "You did?" My eyes became acclimated to the darkness. She was a lot more than a shadow. Perfection like hers wasn't natural, at least in my experience. And all women had a flaw. Ella's seemed to be control.
"He's not a 'boy' boy. He's in college. When he took off his shirt, I got all swoony. Broad shoulders and flat abs. I couldn't help myself, really."
"I can understand why - Maxie? - would be upset."
"It's all his fault, come to think of it. He made me be this way. I used to be a Plain Jane. Can you tell?"
I shook my head, and then realized she probably couldn't see that movement. "No, not at all."
"Thanks. I paid enough, it should look natural. Time was, I didn't care much for sex, but Maxie demanded I give him a son."
Demanded? I hadn't asked for her 'story' but what else was there to do, locked up like we were? Sure, there was sex, but I'd only just met the woman. Even I -
She continued, "So I got pregnant. Thank God it was a boy. I don't ever want to go through that again. But after Junior was born, Maxie told me I looked all worn out. Who wouldn't, caring for an infant and running the house, plus all of the errands Maxie gave me? And when we had sex, he called me a sloppy fuck. Can you believe it? I got stretched out from the birth of his namesake, and he complains he can't feel my cunt around his cock."
I was learning way more about this woman's sex life than necessary. Still, Maxie sounded like a pushy bastard. No wonder she cheated on him. "He sounds demanding."
"Oh no! Maxie is a real sweetheart. He cheered me on when I was getting myself into shape. 'Fixed up' was what he called it. Whatever I wanted. 'Visit a spa, get your tits lifted, and maybe filled out a bit. Tan up. Spare no expense. And get your pussy tightened.' That's what he said. So I did it all. And afterwards, when I came out looking like this-" she struck a pose, chest thrust forward, hands on her hips, one knee in front of the other, " I found that men liked to stare. They'd get excited, just looking."
Me included. "Like the lawn boy?"
"Uh huh. I was in a bikini, which didn't hurt." She shook her head and her ponytail swished like a horse's tail.
Ella in a bikini would get any man excited. Just the thought had my prick poking.
"Before him was the laundry man. I let him sample our sheets." She giggled.
Wow! This woman is something else. "I didn't know they still delivered."
"He sure did. Pressed them real good." She paused. "And there was my son's third grade teacher."
She giggled. "He sent home a note saying Maxie Junior wasn't trying hard enough, but teach sure got hard when I showed up in a miniskirt and forgot to keep my knees together."
Shit! Was this a nympho I was locked in with? The question needed to be asked, but I was scared of the answer. Hell, we weren't going anywhere. "Why do you do it? I mean, get involved with other men?" I thought the answer might be educational, given my history.
.... There is more of this story ...