Alan in the Office 02

"Fanon, shove your fat dick back in there! Twyla, get under me! Alan, c'mere and fuck this girl! Move!"

And that's what we did. Twyla stuck her butt atop the other sofa arm and assumed a 69 under Suzanne, licking Suzanne's clit while Fanon pounded away, sometimes swallowing Fanon's cock. Suzanne alternated my cock between her own mouth and Twyla's cunt. I could have used a little more foreplay, but I didn't complain.

I felt my impending blast, my balls bloating. Suzanne squeezed my scrotum and swallowed my climax. I guess she found that stimulating, because she went rigid. And I guess her grasping cunt squeezed Fanon's cock sufficiently to trigger his own volcanic release, and then Suzanne's full-body contortions. Whatever the exact sequence, Suzanne received buckets of semen from both ends.

Twyla's mouth was under Suzanne's pussy, and received Fanon's and her drippings. Fanon slowly pulled out of Suzanne. Twyla inhaled and slurped and cleaned his cock.

We all lay back and rested. The next round would probably require lubricants. Too bad Moira had to work.

Then Xenia pushed the door open. Wow, fresh meat! Where's the Vaseline?

___

The Gnosis Financial development office occupied most of an anonymous building near the eerie BankAmerica monolith. DECsystem hardware hosted our local terminals, linked to the corporate mainframes in Sunnyvale, with some PDP minis for standalone projects. A pretty small shop, for all that we accomplished.

The core San Francisco staffers were programmer-analysts and liaisons who could communicate with the banking pukes down the street, to translate financial jargon into computer code. We weren't wild beasts like systems programmers, who are best left locked in a dark basement and thrown raw meat every couple days. But we weren't broom-up-the-butt suits either. And yes, we knew how to have fun.

Tuesday was just another day in the office. Scan the overnight printouts and interoffice memos. Brief team meetings on status updates. Write some CYA memos. Quickly screw Ana, bent over a credenza in her office. Work through the morning coffee break. Run regression tests on some troublesome modules. Break for lunch. Go home with Moira, Ana and Denny for dim sum and sex. Back to the office. Do a structured walk-thru of some proposed functions. Keep Veronica awake during another boring meeting by fingering her to a quiet orgasm. Work through the afternoon coffee break. Handle a last-minute crisis. Get home way after dark.

Wednesday was similar, except that Andrea called.

"Morning, Alan. I know this is short notice, but are you free for lunch today?"

"Just me, or would you like to come to the condo for company?"

"I think I'd like to see what other bodies look like in your mirror room."

"No problem. Ring the bell at noon, we'll be there. See ya."

Moira and I had gathered Sylvie and Veronica for lunch. Veronica was a tall blonde bombshell wearing a retro op-art classic. Sylvie was a dragon lady today. Her contacts were green and reptilian. Her ears dripped jade. Her green silk sheath dress, deeply scooped in front and back and slit high on the sides, bore subtly embroidered dragon patterns. Her high-spike shoes looked venomous.

Sylvie and Andrea instantly formed a mutual admiration society.

"So you're Sylvie? I love your style, much better than I expected with that dress. I designed the dress. I usually see my dresses hanging on anorexic burnouts and self-deluded grandmothers. You look spectacular!"

"What, you're THAT Andrea? No shit? I *love* your designs. It's really you? You're my hero! Let's fuck!"

Sylvie and Andrea stayed in 69's and scissors and finger-fests for most of the lunch break, leaving me and Moira to molest Veronica on our own. We moved through most of the three-way combinations. Our mirrored images were indeed interesting, when anyone bothered to look. Then the timer beeped. Back to work, ho hum.

Wednesday afternoon inflicted another boring meeting, this one featuring some wanker from Wells Fargo who told us, in a cadaverous monotone, everything we already knew about transaction interfaces. Yawn.

Veronica sat next to me at the conference table, wearing a black blouse and miniskirt. She was nodding off. My cure was simple: I ran a finger along her slit. This woke her up. I circled and spread her labia. This put her on edge. I probed her vagina. She sat up straight. I started diddling her clit. She looked like she was actually interested in something. The boring wanker thought he was making points. Feh.

Thursday and Friday were nothing to write home about. The weekend was fun, but I am sworn to secrecy.

The next Monday was warmer. After munching a fajita wrap, I was perched at the corner of Portsmouth Square again, watching and sketching. Sparkles caught my eye. I looked up the hill toward Grant Avenue and saw two precious-metal apparitions. The glowing bodies approached, scintillating in the sunlight. I recognized Andrea and Sylvie, dressed contrastingly. They walked hand-in hand.

I saw details as they neared me. Sylvie wore gold cats-eye contracts, gold hoop earrings, plain gold wrist and ankle bracelets, gold pumps. Her dress was tight, reached from high neck to mid-thigh, and looked more like tight chain-mail than woven metal -- shimmering, flowing, highlighting her ebony facade. Andrea wore the same, but in burnished silver, showcasing her Eurasian splendor. My eyes burned in their sockets.

"Hey there, kinko," Andrea said. "Is that a ferret in your pocket or are you just glad to see us?"

"Yo Alan, have your eyeballs melted yet?" Sylvie asked. "We aimed our lasers right at you."

"You fuckers are just about impossible to sketch, dammit. You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"Think of it as evolution in action," Andrea said. "Adapt or be devoured. Grow new eyeballs."

"I surrender, I'm yours," I said. "Whip me, beat me, make me write bad checks and malicious code."

Sylvie eyed me. "Whips and chains are trivial for you. We'll just make you eat McFood till you rot."

"No, he's already rotten," Andrea said. "But at least he can fuck." She inspected me. "Well, somewhat."

They were attracting attention. I think that was their intent. Heads swiveled. Tai Chi'ers froze. Games of go and chess and cards all stopped. Hardons popped. Birds fell dead from the sky. Et fucking cetera.

___

Sylvie and Andrea showed up at the condo for lunchtime sessions about every other day for the next few weeks. They always appeared in matching or contrasting over-the-top outfits. They had been almost inseparable since they met, and had moved in together. Their style sense would keep them together.

One lunchtime, they dressed in star-studded denim suits, Sylvie in white, Andrea in black. This was pretty subdued for them. And they didn't look happy, nor horny.

Moira and I saw their raw expressions. I immediately brewed a pot of chamomile tea, with a touch of opium.

"OK, spill it. What's wrong?" Moira asked. Sylvie grimaced. Andrea gulped.

"I have a problem, guys, a really big problem. You know the tongs have the turf here pretty well staked out, and they don't mess with each other much, not in the community here. Mostly they tussle about how to divide and share in outlying areas. San Francisco has been pretty stable.

"But now there's a new player. The PLA [People's Liberation Army] has decided they want control of as many Overseas Chinese communities as possible. Beijing sent a few tough PLA guys here to 'organize' the tongs and businesses. They've kept this quiet from the media, but there's already been a lot of killing, with tong guys just disappearing, maybe with their fingertips sent home. There's a major hidden war going on.

"And I'm collateral damage. My atelier has been shut down. My boss thought she was targeted because of her links to tong leadership, and she just split, maybe to Brazil. And I got word that I'm too high-profile, too well-known for my designs, so I'm on a shitlist too. I can't work in couture any more. I can't even sell scarves in a tourist shop. They'll kill me."

Sylvie spoke up. "We have an idea. Andrea has to disappear, but I don't. We could start our own atelier, with my name on it and Andrea hidden away doing the designs. She has a zillion ideas for designs that are nothing like what she's done before, so they won't be identifiable as hers.

"The problem is, we don't have the startup capital. We've found the right studio and shop space down the peninsula, and we have graphics shops and fabricators lined up, ones who never dealt with Andrea's old atelier, so they can't be linked back to her. But we still need up-front money to get this rolling.

"That's why we've come to you. You're good friends, you've been great with me for a long time."

Moira interrupted. "Yeah, ever since Alan was screwing you in the supply rooms over at Green Hell." Sylvie and I had a lot of fun at Green Hell, our former employer's East Bay computer center.

"You think I didn't know about that? I just wish you both had invited me in a bit sooner." Moira glared, but the corners of her mouth were smiling slightly.

Sylvie hesitated, then drove on. "Er, ah, well... Anyway, we know that this will be a moneymaker. You know how well Andrea's designs have sold. Her work is just great. And I've handled design business before.

"So here's our offer. How would you guys together like to own fifty percent of our firm? The four of us would be general partners, each with a twenty-five percent share. I run the business. Andrea does the designs. You guys put up the seed money and are richly rewarded." She named a large six-figure amount.

I looked at Moira and said, "Let's talk." We whispered in the kitchen for a minute, then returned.

"The money is OK," I said, "although we'll have to cash in some Gnosis stock options. But we want a slightly different share allotment. For our cash, we get thirty percent each, and you two divide the remaining forty percent as you wish. If things go well after two years, you'll have the option of buying-back some of our shares. We need this so we can be in control until you show success."

Sylvie took Andrea's hand. They communicated silently with their eyes and muscles. They nodded and turned to us.

"Deal!"

We all stood and hugged and kissed.

"I'm glad that's settled," Andrea laughed. "Can we all fuck now?"

We sealed our new partnership wetly, loudly. Then the timer beeped. Back to work, ho hum.

___

NEXT: Alan gets to have fun in other offices, too.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:: I have yet to finish editing Ron's notes about Alan's adventures, and stories told by others of his friends. Your feedback is more than welcome.