He sat in his little nook of an office. On the table with his computer was an open bag of chips. The detritus of prior bags littered the desktop’s glossy surface, while rings from countless glasses of cola marked the right hand corner above his keyboard. Stringy hair escaped from the elastic holding back his New Age ponytale. His glasses had a standing smudge-mark from being pushed up at the same place with the same finger.
He was the prototypical geek.
There was dim light coming from the small desk lamp on the table behind his desk, but most of the illumination came from the screen in front of him. A crooked smile seemed permanently glued to his face, as his eyes moved greedily over the monitor. All the while, his fingers busily (and surreptitiously) rubbed his hardened cock. OH, she was at it again, the little vixen. He loved reading her words, watching her strip and dance for her dom on cam. He loved that he could partake without either of them knowing, watching her tits sway, watching the alternating views of her pussy-crack and her butt-crack as she moved around the room at his direction.
He especially loved when the unseen guy on the other side of the county made her snap clamps on her nipples, then take out the big red rubber dick from the drawer beside her bed, and ride it. He’d make her stop, sometimes when she was just that close to coming, sweat gleaming on her chest, her mouth open and gasping, her nipples ruddy and swollen, tormented by the heavy silver clamps.
Oh he loved that part.
He rubbed harder as she knelt on the bed, face down, ass up. He knew he would cum in the plastic bag leftover from his lunch when her ruby-tipped fingers would reach around behind and spread those big cheeks and expose that dark little cherry-hole. Maybe the dom would tell her to push one of those bright fingernails into that tight little hole, sliding the shiny glazed tip in, and in, up to her palm.
Even better, maybe he’d make her put that fucking giant dildo up her ass.
His eyes closed as his cock jerked once, twice, the spurts so intense he nearly gasped aloud.
The overhead light switch clicked on, and Jonas, stunned by the intense orgasm, could only stare slack-jawed at his boss.
“Jonas–I told you to scan. Not diddle your wank-shaft. For fucks sake. If you weren’t the most talented ‘net scanner I have, I’d kick your ass right through that window. Put that little pot sticker away and get back to work.”
Nicolas turned away to hide his smile. Being a profile-watcher was a lucrative business, but the employees who served him were a wacky bunch. It was more than a little common for him to find one of them beating off when one of their clients did this sort of thing. People who were into BDSM sought privacy, and his company was there to provide that service, scanning their files, checking cam-links, making certain that no outside agencies or hackers would get in, scoop their files–either financial or sexual–and run off with them.
In all his years in IT, this little sidebar to the industry had become more than a little profitable. He adjusted his tie, and moved around the office. It was a small place, just the 5 employees and himself, but between them they serviced and protected close to one hundred clients. It was a crazy little business, and one that had come to him after a friend had taken him to a bondage club. He’d chatted up a few people there, and discovered that, while they all might cut loose in the privacy of a club or a private home, most of them didn’t want to be ‘outed’ to the community at large.
The man he’d spoken to last had made the most impression on him. He’d sat next to Nic, his cock snugged tightly in a silver ‘cage’ while his balls had a tight ring around them. While he would never have said anything about it, the man was more than happy to share the details of his Domme-wife and their intriguing sex life. All through the conversation, Nicolas knew the guys face was familiar. And then it came to him. He did the sports news on the local news outlet. He’d seen the brief flash of fear in the man’s eyes when he’d blurted “You’re Doug the Dog Macnamara!” Immediately he understood the potential here, not for blackmailing the man, but for protection.
That was the genesis of Secure IT.
“Okay you bloody bastards, I’m heading out. Keep your fingers on the keyboards and off of your dicks, got it?”
From four cubicles in the small space came four different voices.
“JONAS! That meant you, too!”
“Right boss…no fuckin’ around on the job.”
Shaking his head, Nic walked to the door, and quietly let himself out.
Across the city, every light in the apartment blazed. She stalked from room to room, shaking with anger and no small amount of nerves. A paper was held tightly in her fist, while she listened to the voice in her cell.
“Take a breath, Lin.”
“Lin–I can’t hear you breathing at all. Should I come by and do CPR?”
That drew a faint chuckle.
“I’m…okay. No. No… I’m NOT okay. That fucking bastard is trying to blackmail me. Like…when does no mean NO with him?”
“Lin…do you trust me?”
“Well-duh. You’ve only been my best friend for 100 years.”
“Okay, so call him back and tell him you can’t make it tonight, that you have to take your best friend to the hospital AND you have to work so the best time you could hook up would be this weekend. If he argues, remind him that you’re not ignoring him like you usually do, but you really have to go, and NOW.”
“But…what if he knows that you work in a hospital?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a lie then, would it? So get your pretty ass over here, pronto. Like–immediately after you call him, okay? Immediately.”
There was a click and the phone went dead. Girding herself, she dialed his number.
Pia hung up the phone and allowed herself one short, loud growl. She moved around her studio, alone for the moment, and gave vent to terms that would make a sailor weep with admiration. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she dialed her cell.
“Hello. Is this Nic Turner?”
Her sigh of relief was audible when he answered yes.