tagGroup SexAlan in the Office Ch. 03

Alan in the Office Ch. 03


Author's note: My uncle Ron died recently. While sifting through his files, I found journal folders marked MY STORY, containing accounts of his life. I have edited these accounts and will post them when I can. These stories include bisexuality, incest, interracial and mature and group sex, etc. All sexual activity depicted here involves persons at least 18 years old.

His younger friend Alan told the following tales to Ron. These stories stand alone from the RON'S JOURNAL series. You should read Alan's prior episodes before continuing here.

******************** 7: Old friends, and new friends, and fuck-me-too friends.

Andrea and Sylvie's big STUDIO S was a hell of a workplace.

Small and large rooms were set around the edges of the old warehouse space under a major airport flight path. Offices, studios, storage, workshops, a lunch room, a conference room, and some small bedrooms to accommodate sleepovers -- work here often extended into evenings and nights. The noise of arriving and departing jets added to the post-industrial ambience.

That ambience infused this evening's photo shoot.

Sylvie cried and came and convulsed and gushed on my face. A 747's subsonic rumble shook the building and bed. The basso profundo roar jellied our genitals.

Sylvie dismounted from my head; I sat up. Sylvie kissed and tongued her juices from my pale wet face. She turned her gleaming ebony back to me and settled onto my prominent pecker, sighing happily as she sheathed me to her core.

"Oh yeah Alan, I need a few more cums, fuck yeah! Signe, were the angles and lighting good? We'll reposition if you want. Call for Maggie when you're ready. Ooooh yeah..." Her moans were drowned by a helicopter flyover.

Sylvie moved more rapidly on my pale cock. I stroked her bodaceous breasts and nibbled her night-black neck. Ash-pale Signe adjusted the lights and readied her brace of Minolta cameras for the next sequence of shots.

"All set, boss. Okay Mags, hit your marks," Signe announced.

Maggie came in through the open door, wearing only sheer iridescent sashes that hid nearly nothing at any given moment. She moved erotically around the bed in the middle of the room.

Signe shot from various vantages, always keeping Mags in sharp focus. Carefully placed fans blew the evanescent sashes in cold flickering waves.

Signe started the intervalometers on two tripodded cameras and joined the scene. Her own sashes blended with Maggie's as they embraced and moved.

Maggie knelt and pushed her face into Signe's vulva. The drone cameras clicked away at half-second intervals as their 100-foot spools fed film behind the lenses.

Sylvie and I were just props, context for the modeling shoot. The title of the not-so-subtle (and not-so-public) marketing campaign was:



Andrea and Sylvie had set up shop not far from SFO airport, en route between San Francisco and Silicon Valley. Andrea's working studio was hidden somewhere near the 'official' atelier space, for her safety.

Why safety concerns? Because she was a minor target in a vicious secret war. The PLA [People's Liberation Army] wanted to control Overseas Chinese communities.

Beijing sent some tough PLA agents to San Francisco to 'organize' the tongs and businesses. There have been burnings, and tortures, and killings.

And because Andrea was too prominent in the fashion industry, she was told to vanish, or die. So, we shrouded her whereabouts in secrecy.

Andrea's design art was sent to the atelier to be anonymized and elaborated by a small team of graphic artists. The seamstress team assembled the clothes. The marketing team pushed the products. Team memberships overlapped. Everybody modeled, all twelve women, each with her own individual body.

I owned thirty percent of this. Moira owned another thirty percent. We ruled!

Did we enjoy droit seigneur? No, Moira and I did not fuck all the women. Screwing your employees usually is not a good idea even in the best of situations. Moira and I were only intimate with the select few we had known and loved before setting up this enterprise. (Visitors were fair play, though.)

Lively little Maggie was the first artist we poached.

Mike and Maggie were Welsh ex-pats who had been in the Bay Area for a decade. Lanky intellectual Mike had worked before with Moira and me. He was now based in the SF Financial District also. His short curvy walnut-haired Maggie created display art and covers for a New-Age record company until we hired her away.

Mike and Maggie were enthusiastic surfers who lived just a few miles away in a bright cottage on the Pacific coast not far from the hidden Mavericks surf mecca.

Maggie looked great in a tight wet-suit, and even better when she peeled it off, her long dark hair still dripping, her dusky silky muff glistening like dewdrops on dodder. They had joined our frenzied fuckfests quite a few times.

Tall thin ashen Signe also did graphics work, mostly on photography and layouts. Moira and I knew her well from way back in our Santa Barbara days. Spectacular Signe had published some well-received artsy-porno photo books featuring all our bodies intertwined. She normally tasted like cinnamon.

Mags, Mike and Signe were old well-trusted friends. Only they, and we two, and Andrea's lover Sylvie, knew the secret of Andrea's involvement with STUDIO S.

The other team members... well, we had hired them. They could thus be bought, so we kept them uninformed. Security was paramount. Only Andrea's anonymity kept her out of the line-of-fire of the silent deadly war raging in her community.


Moira and I had been promoted within the Gnosis Software hierarchy. Now we both had to make the weekly pilgrimage to Gnosis HQ in Sunnyvale.

This drive to Silicon Valley fitted well with our investment. We were at STUDIO S every Monday night, to check the books, view the designs, participate in some photo shoots, and fuck our friends. This was just a usual Monday.

Mike and Moira, and thinly disguised Andrea, watched the shoot mentioned above from a couch in the photo studio. They were all naked and gently stroking each other as the scene unfolded before their eyes.

The building was otherwise deserted, so the staff would not be embarrassed or stimulated by our activities, and to avoid revealing Andrea's presence.

The cameras stopped clicking. "It's a wrap," Signe called as she lifted her face from Maggie's moist muff. Maggie leaned back and laid her head on my outstretched legs. Sylvie slowly disengaged from my now-limp cock, sighing and glowing.

Signe rose from beside the bed, walked to the control panel, switched off the studio lights and fan. We all adjourned to another room with bigger beds.

"You were great, Mags," Mike told his wife.

Maggie groaned Mike her acknowledgement but was otherwise occupied. Sylvie, our friend and fuckmate for so long, was positioned on her sturdy elbows and knees. Mike was behind Sylvie, pounding politely into her bouncing black butt. Sylvie buried her mouth in Maggie's merry pussy.

"You were damn hot too, Signe," I said, similarly pistoning into marvelous Moira as she steadily slurped Signe's spicy slit and clit. Signe's ravenous response and subsequent screams were muffled by Andrea's pussy perched atop her mouth.

Vidi vici vene; we saw, we conquered, we came; something like that. We yelled. We fell apart. Andrea crawled off Signe's face. Moira fell over, flopping into Sylvie's shoulder as she collapsed. We all gasped. Somebody giggled.

Mike and I were no longer teenagers. Recovery would take some minutes. Sylvie worked at blowing me back into operation, while Moira attempted to re-inflate Mike. To pass the time till we were functional again, the others daisychained, Maggie eating Andrea eating Signe -- and then they reversed. Continuous groans!

We ran through many of the possible loving combinations of seven adult humans: two males, five females, all with hot libidos. The night was not long enough for a complete set of permutations. Ah well, there's always next week.


The next Monday was business-as-usual at Gnosis HQ in Sunnyvale. Moira was busily ensconced with Larry and other corporate mandarins for most of the day.

I met with financial and operations people, briefing them on project status and getting the latest requirement changes. I ran these meetings and I kept them tight and brief. I gave myself time for intimate encounters with some playful staff.

Gnosis had recruited Xenia and Sheila from my old team at the East Bay "Green Hell" data center. We took time to play, but not all together. Sheila was a bit too inhibited for girl-on-girl or other group play. But she sure liked me.

Sheila was a mid-forties MILF, a sweet earnest English gal with shimmering natural silver hair in a long swirling bob. Her generous bosom, fabulous thighs, and bubbly butt, were usually showcased in tight grey skirt suits that drove me nuts.

Xenia was a taut lean Greek girl in her late twenties with curly jet-black hair, sharp features, and sensuous, nervous, nearly prehensile, feet, often protruding naked from her bright, embroidered jeans.

Xenia knew how to capture me. She snagged me after the first morning meeting and led me to her office. Little red-headed Tim from DB Security lounged in the cushy executive swivel chair behind Xenia's cleared-off desk, waiting for her to lock her door. We all knew what his presence here meant.

"Hey Timmy, good to see ya! I suppose you brought the whipped cream?"

"Sure thing, Alan." Tim waved the spray can at us. "Locked and loaded."

Xenia and I quickly pulled off our pants and skivvies. Xenia bent over in front of her credenza, proudly displaying her tight ass and rosy starburst and dark bush.

She pulled a blanket from the bottom drawer and threw it over her desk. She shoved me back onto the blanket and gave my quickly stiffening cock a nice deep wet soul kiss. She walked behind her desk and stood spread-legged beside Tim in her chair.

"Cream me up, Timmy, I'm ready already!"

Tim inserted the can's nozzle a little ways into Xenia's pussy and gave her a good squirt. White creamy foam dripped from her cute cunt. Tim rocked her desk chair forward and stirred the whipped cream with his long tongue. Xenia twitched and giggled a little.

"Oooh, nice job, Timmy. Okay Alan, scootch yourself around here."

Tim pushed the chair back a bit. I rolled and spun on the blanket-covered desk till my legs hung over the edge, my feet aimed at Tim. Xenia leaned down and gave my cock another good suck, then turned around and settled her butt into my lap.

I held my cock in position. Xenia deliberately slid down on me.

"Ah," she said as my head nestled her nether lips. She wriggled back and forth, then slid down.

"Ooh," she sighed at the halfway point. She raised herself a bit, and then pushed down onto me again.

"Oh, yeah," she moaned as she sheathed me completely. Her body twitched. Her feet twitchily pattycaked.

"Uh, you mind if I just sit here for a little bit? I just want to enjoy this," she murmured. Damn, I loved this!

We held still for a long moment, my arms wrapped around her flat belly, my lips brushing her neck. Then she twitched. I held her thighs down and pushed my groin up. We felt my dickhead brushing her cervix. Xenia groaned.

"Oh fuck yeah," she murmured, and leaned further back into me, riding me in slo-mo reverse-cowgirl mode, unhurried, gentle, and sensuous.

My hands moved up to cup Xenia's more-than-a-big-handful breasts. I held each from below, while my fingers twirled and tweaked her long thick nipples. Her pale skin was warmly flushed with a ripe rosy glow.

Tim rolled her desk chair forward, leaned down, grasped Xenia's ankles, and pulled them into his lap. He started massaging those long narrow writhing feet and all her twiddling toes. Xenia groaned even louder.

Tim released one foot. He reached for the can of whipped cream and laid a line of foam across her captive toes. He put the can down, held her foot with both hands, and methodically sucked her toes, one by one. Xenia announced her first orgasm with a long groan that rose to a soft squeal. She bounced faster on my cock.

Tim repeated the process on her other foot. Her next two orgasms were a bit louder, but not enough to pierce the office walls. She bounced even faster on me. Wasn't her cervix bruised by now?

Tim stood, pushed her chair back, and dropped his trousers and boxers. He held both of Xenia's feet together, brushing her soles against his engorged dick. Xenia came again, and again.

"Oh god Timmy, oh fuck, tickle me some more, oh fuck, oh god..."

Tim's stiff cock and wriggling fingers brought Xenia to further ecstasy. Her moaning was continuous now.

I reached across Xenia's chest with my left arm and abused her right breast while pressing the left. My right hand moved upwards. I caressed the side of her head, her jaw, her throat. I held her neck, rubbing my hand on her smooth flesh and taught muscles and tendons. I squeezed her throat, just a little. She came again.

Tim leaned forward and kissed her mouth. Then he touched our knees. Time for the next phase.

I slid forward on the desk surface, with Xenia still impaled on me. Our feet touched the floor. I stood upright. Xenia bent over and opened her mouth. Tim slid his dick between her lips and teeth. She sucked him like a fat candy-cane.

I held Xenia's hips to steady her in place as I fucked her pussy from behind. My groin pounded her ass. My balls slapped her mound. Tim fucked her face at the same steady speed, his hands on her shoulders, her lips bouncing off his pubes.

Tim and I worked out our usual rhythm, rocking Xenia's body back and forth like slow-motion ping-pong volleys. Ah, but in this game, everybody wins!

We picked up the pace. Xenia bounced faster between us. Then Tim steadied her, held her still, and erupted down her throat. "Oh fuck me," Tim said in a calm conversational tone. His knees bent; his dick pulled from her mouth with an audible 'pop'; and he collapsed back into her chair. Xenia swallowed and hummed.

Tim's finish threw me a bit off my rhythm, but I quickly resumed, even faster. Xenia leaned forward and rested her forearms on her chair's arms. She kissed Tim deeply. She gifted him with his own sperm mixed with her mouth juices. I bent over her, held her soft dangling breasts, and pounded even faster.

I came like a high-plains summer thunderstorm, in buckets and torrents and muddy clots. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, whirlwinds twirled me around in dizzy ellipses. I collapsed onto Xenia's desk. I sat on the edge, with Xenia still stuck on my softening cock, her ass still wedged into my crotch. We fell back together.

Tim rolled her desk chair forward again and picked up her feet. He massaged her appendages again. She kept groaning. He licked and sucked her toes some more. She came again. Damn, she just never stops!

Alas, my limped-out cock eventually slipped out from inside Xenia, and she pulled her feet away from Tim's grasp and rolled beside me.

"Well guys, that was a really productive meeting, don't you think? Too bad you're only here Mondays, Alan."

"You're always welcome to visit me and Moira, you know that," I promised.

We had a nice group hug and grope before we pulled ourselves together and dressed. We hugged again. I headed off to my next briefing, something about reporting schedule updates. Yada yada, but important.

I was in my usual good mood. I always work better when I'm well-fucked.


Gnosis HQ had a par-course around its campus. Moira and I did our usual lunchtime munch-and-run session. She bitched about some of the new work Larry was piling on her shoulders, but she didn't bitch much about the bonuses she would get when she aced these projects. A nice pile of stock options, too.

More meetings after lunch. The usual. And surprisingly, not a total waste of time.

I ran into beautiful Sheila during afternoon break. She hugged and kissed me.

"Alan, you smell good, but I really haven't the time for anything now."

"A rain check till next week, then?" I asked as I fondled her bounteous butt.

"You know I only turn you down when I have no choice, don't you?" she smiled.

"Oh Sheila, you know I love you like my incestuous aunt Irene." (Mentioned in a prior chapter here).

Sheila punched my shoulder. "Go the hell away, you devil!"

Then she kissed me again. I bumped her buns again. What a pal!

Moira finally dragged herself away from the Gnosis honchos. She said their full meetings were like elephants mating: loud, messy, and no results for a year and a half.

We had a quiet evening at STUDIO S. No fuckfests, just pizza and planning. Sylvie was preparing for a major fashion show in Los Angeles during the week. Moira and I were readying for a big microcomputer conference in San Francisco the next weekend. We meshed our minds and came up with a workable schedule. Whew.

Sylvie's show went splendidly. Andreas's new designs were major hits. Orders poured in. We were all happy.

The MicroWorld conference and trade show in downtown SF was the usual mix of tedium and excitement and fatigue. Speakers ranged from boring to incandescent. Displayed products ranged from the sublime to the gor-blimey.

Major confab problem: staying alert. Do not drink lots of coffee, or much time will be spent in lines waiting for freed-up toilets. Solution: chocolate-coated roasted espresso beans! Almost like legal bennies, yeah?

The best thing about MicroWorld was our running into the O'Malley's again. Jim and his wife Chrissy had founded a publishing company that produced the BEST tech manuals and would soon turn a small North Bay town into one of the hubs of the computing universe.

Jim O'Malley and his sister Meg, both tall thin red Irish demons, cruised the event floor, luring authors and poaching ideas. We had not seen them for a year.

Moira and I dined with the O'Malley siblings after the conference, then went out drinking and dancing. Yes, a hot time was had by all. Yes, we all retired to their hotel suite. Yes, everybody fucked everybody else. No, I cannot reveal any more without violating our nondisclosure agreement. Some secrets MUST be kept.

Well, I *can* reveal that some Celtic folk have quite talented mouths. Sorry, I can say nothing further. Use your imagination.

Life went on nicely for several months. Then came the crunch.

******************** 8: Just when we thought everything was going smoothly...

I was at the Gnosis San Francisco office on a Wednesday afternoon, actually doing some productive work. My project was moving nicely when my desk phone rang.

(Cellphones did not exist then. Neither did Caller ID, nor Call Waiting, nor nearly anything. How primitive! Yet we somehow communicated. But I digress...)

It was Sylvie, calling from STUDIO S.

"Alan, some shit's going down. Serious shit. Can you get here, right away? Wait, don't come here, I'll meet you at the old donut shop, you know which one, OK?"

"Yeah Sylvie, I can get away. I take it you can't talk details right now?"

"That's right, we've gotta have a face-to-face. Soonest, Alan!"

"I'll be there as quick as I can, babe. Ciao!"

I put my project on hold, sent a memo to Moira, ran down the street to our condo, and spun out the Audi. Pre-rush-hour traffic was still manageable; I made it to the 101 onramp in just a few minutes, and pulled into the near-airport donut shop less than a half hour after Sylvie's call. This was a safe place to meet.

Sylvie looked distraught.

"Alan, holy shit! Andrea is, like, totally freaked! She put on a good disguise and went back to Chinatown West yesterday to see her grandmother, but she saw some PLA thugs hanging around her townhouse. She bugged back here but saw more Beijing heavies near her supposedly secret studio. She panicked! She's hiding out at Mike and Maggie's place on the coast now, afraid to come back here."

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