Stranger Tales: Techie Triumph

“We don’t see you here often.” The R&D Lead wasn’t implying anything, just stating a fact. He didn’t believe in implications, only mathematics.

That, Amanda thought, is what makes him so easy to manipulate.

“It isn’t my natural environment” she demurred, as she stepped off the bottom step and onto the concrete floor of the basement, the heavy door swinging shut behind her. Her heels clicked on the cement, and she instinctively smoothed her black suit-skirt flat against her stockinged thighs, as if pressing the fabric flat to her to better protect her. She actually disliked the basement – with its shirt-sleeves optimism and litter of half-baked gadgets. Her natural environment was the wine bar, the board-room, or the limo, and her tools were so much less crass: the smile, the lie, the contract. “But I wanted to see what you were working on here. You’re the heart of this company.” The lie was certainly her favoured tool.

The Lead was flustered, but with the help of a slender kid he incoherently showed off his various prototypes. She knew the Lead well, if not well enough to remember his name. The kid she barely recalled, though she remembered seeing from his CV that his hobbies revolved around the Linux server in his bedroom and his life’s ambition was to win Robot Wars.

The Lead almost spoke English, except that most of the words were replaced by jargon.

Amanda filtered out the techno-babble. “So what we have,” she mused, “is quite a good little security system?”

“How so?”

“Well, those things let us lock and unlock doors remotely, while those pinpoint movement, and the mini-camera can track visually. And we can control all of it through the internet.”

“Well, yes, the beta version of the next software version allows remote….”

“Yes,” she cut him off, “through the internet. Good. Now, this afternoon I want you to set up this room for a demonstration. Hide a camera up in that corner, rig motion detectors outside and inside, and put a remote lock on the door at the foot of the stairs. Then if we have people in we can take them here, and demonstrate some of the prototypes in situ.”

“Rig this room? Oh alright, I’ll add it to the task list for next week, so that it doesn’t throw us off schedule.”

“No!” She was unimpressed by the subterfuge. “You’re R&D: I know your schedules are fictions, and if you defer it to next week it’ll never be done. Do it now. Before five. Let me know when it’s finished, and give me the password you set for it.”

“Humph. Alright.”

She left them to their gadgets, and returned, satisfied, to the air-conditioned offices above with their plush carpets and leather chairs.

Until five she was in a long meeting with Accounts, and when she returned there was no message from the Lead. But at five past five (R&D could never be on time, after all, she frowned) he informed her that the work was done – notification by email, of course. He included the password – a random assortment of characters that no-one would memorise or guess – and she logged in through her desktop PC, turning the mini-camera on and guiding its view around the room with the mouse: it was a nice piece of tech, with a smooth glide, precise auto-focus and great resolution; in a few months it would start making the company serious money, and tonight it would make a fortune for her.

At seven she made as if to leave, and donned her long black coat and slender silk scarf, before making a point of bidding good-night to her partner, Ryan, and heading out to the carpark. The only people left in the building were Ryan and Sandy, his oh-so-obedient secretary.

She got into her Merc, and drove it out of the lot, round the corner, and pulled up in the next street. Then she returned on foot, let herself in the side door, and took the side stairs to her office. There she booted up the PC, checking her new pay-as-you-go mobile while the machine whirred into life, and then opened IE to log into the new Yahoo account she’d set up that afternoon.

Username: onlyicanletyouout Password: poorryan

Then she fired up the company’s own beta software, and entered the password to gain control of the new gadgets set up in the basement. Immediately the software showed that there was movement in the room, and she checked the camera: she grinned when she saw the image, and murmured to herself: “Why, Ryan, you always did lack ambition! Down in the basement with all the dirty tech! Still, good big work-table….”

In the centre of the screen was Sandy, Ryan’s pretty blond secretary, perched on the edge of the big work-bench. She looked to her right, a wry smile on her red lips, her gaze fixed on Ryan. He stood to the left of the image, still in his suit, his hands on his hips, talking slowly, firmly. Amanda wished that there were a microphone: she’d love to hear what he was saying. But whatever it was, Sandy seemed impressed, and she wriggled her hips slightly as she slid off the front of the worktable, letting her short skirt catch on the edge and ride up to reveal the lace tops of her tan hold-ups and an inch or two of slender naked thigh above. Ryan’s gaze wandered over her blouse to her hips, and then back up to catch her stare. He issued a soft command and Sandy smiled and giggled. She raised one hand to her neck and let her finger trace a line down the front of her blouse, undoing each button as she reached it. Then she slipped her hand beneath the fabric, and squeezed her own breast, holding Ryan’s gaze as she massaged herself.

Watching from her desktop, Amanda smiled, and clicked the mouse to save a still-image of the scene.

Ryan stepped forward, standing close to Sandy, and issued her a new instruction. She raised her eyebrows and then grinned, sliding slowly to her knees as her hand emerged from under her blouse to stroke the front of her boss’s trousers. He was already hard, straining against the wool, and Sandy leaned forward to kiss the bulge, opening her lips wide, as if she were trying to suck him through the fabric. He gave another order and she grinned as she pulled back, and with two hands she unzipped him and guided his fat shaft out into the open. She smiled up at him and stroked him as he hardened – and back in her office, Amanda reached for the mouse-button again.

Ryan reached down, and put his hand to Sandy’s head, guiding her gently forward, and she parted her lips wide to take his thick cock into her mouth, fastening her lips around him as she gently started to suck. He closed his eyes to savour the sensation, and she began to move slowly along his cock, her eyes also closed, as one hand dropped again to her breast, moving the blouse aside and squeezing herself through her white bra.

Again, another click on the mouse. Amanda chuckled at the idea that Ryan had no idea that he was being watched – let alone recorded. She smiled to herself as she savoured the sense of power, and then she waited to see what would happen next. But nothing happened next –or nothing new. Ryan continued to let Sandy suck at him, and she became engrossed in his cock, sucking harder and deeper, as her hand dropped from her breast and moved to disappear under her skirt. Amanda watched the expressions on their faces, the hard cock stretching the blonde’s willing lips, and the increasingly fervent movements of Sandy’s hand under her skirt… and she squirmed slightly in her chair.

Amanda clicked again on the mouse, saving another image, and then leaned back. She pulled her own skirt up and reached down to her black panties, touching herself gently through the slightly damp fabric. She chuckled again, and let her finger slip inside the gusset and stroke her clit as she watched the figures on the screen.

Ryan opened his eyes at last and looked down to watch Sandy’s head bobbing along his shaft, and he leaned forward to push her blouse back from her shoulders. She took her fingers from under her skirt and her other hand from his cock and reached behind herself, unclasping the bra and letting it fall forward to reveal rounded breasts and erect nipples. Then she stood and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, and Ryan pushed her gently back to sit her on the edge of the table again, and then sank down to kneel between her thighs.

Holding her thighs spread, Ryan’s head dipped forwards and Sandy threw her head back to laugh in delight, and then slowly he began to work at her with his tongue, building the sensation around her clit for long minutes before suddenly sucking her into his mouth. She bucked and buckled on the table, her hands grasping hopelessly for something to hold onto as the sudden climax tore through her.

Back in her office Amanda, now panting, pulled her own panties off and plunged two fingers into her sopping pussy, fingering herself eagerly with one hand while the other reached for the mouse again.

When Sandy lay still again on the table, Ryan stood and took the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs and casting them aside. Then, though still fully dressed in his suit, eased himself forward, into his secretary’s wet pussy. She grinned as he began to ease back and forth, and she reached down between her thighs to finger her clit again as he began to slide slightly faster and then slightly faster again into her.

Clearly he was building to his own climax, but Sandy had other ideas. She raised herself on her elbows and pulled away from him, then knelt on the table and pulled him gently forward, laying him down on the table before she swung a leg over his hips to straddle him.

From Amanda’s perspective it was a perfect view: Sandy was now naked but for her hold-ups and high-heeled shoes, and she faced the camera as she bobbed on Ryan’s thick shaft, it’s entry into her wet pussy on view to the camera and Ryan’s face visible over her shoulder; Amanda clicked the mouse repeatedly as she fingered herself. But for Ryan it was too much, and he pulled her back and off him, scrambled off the table and pulled her after him. He stood her on the floor and then bent her over the table, thrusting into her from behind as she slumped forward with a broad grin on her face.

He held her hips firm, and slapped hard into her, picking up the pace as the cum swelled inside him, and then with one final thrust he threw his head back and held still while his cum flooded into her pussy.

Then, as Amanda reached for her keyboard, Ryan’s rapture was disturbed by a click from the door, as, with a keystroke from Amanda’s office, it suddenly locked fast.

Ryan adjusted his clothing, and went to investigate the door.

Amanda could see him on camera as he fumbled with the handle, and she quickly typed in a text message on her new pay-as-you-go, sending it to Ryan’s mobile.

On the screen she saw him, as Sandy climbed back into her clothes, checking his phone, and reading the message: “You’ve got mail.”

Amanda quickly selected two JPGs – one of Sandy grasping her breast while sucking Ryan, and one of her riding him – and attached them to an email in Yahoo. Glancing back at the camera image she saw that Ryan had ignored the text and was still struggling at the door, while his bemused secretary looked on. She sent another text: “Only I can let you out. Log on and check email.”

Anxious now, Ryan turned from receiving the message to the nearby PC and logged on just as Amanda filled in the subject line and hit Send. The subject simply read: “What Would Your Wife Say?”

She watched with delight as Ryan opened the email client and as an expression of horror crept across his face. Amanda had enjoyed taking the photos. Ryan did not enjoy receiving them.

Immediately he returned to his phone, and tried to ring the unfamiliar number from which the texts had come. Amanda let her pay-as-you-go warble to itself, and smiled. In desperation, then, Ryan turned back to the PC and sent a swift mail. Amanda checked the Yahoo Inbox and found his reply: “What do you want?!” She replied, “You should ask ‘What should I do’?”

She watched Ryan’s face on camera as he received her reply, and was gratified by his reply: “OK, what do I do, then?!?”

She reached for her company phone – not the cheap pay-as-you-go, but the G3 gadget that the company provided – and called Ryan.

“Errr, Amanda, it’s not a good time….” He was so flustered she almost laughed.

“Oh I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to discuss the buy-out.”

“Look, umm, I’ve already said no, and I don’t see that there’s anything new to say.”

“Oh but there is!”

“What?”

She could see him squirming on the camera, and hear the confusion in his voice as he tried to deduce whether or not the call and his predicament were linked. She decided to put him out of his misery: “You see, Ryan…. Only I can let you out.”

“What did you say!”

“I said: only I can let you out.” There was as note of triumph in her voice.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, Ryan, that have some stunning photos of you fucking your secretary, that I have you wife’s email address, and that I have a very, very good lawyer. So, lets talk about who gets the company, shall we?”

“Gets it? It’s mine!”

“At the moment, sixty percent of it, yes. And I have the other forty. Now, you choose Ryan, do I buy half your stake, or does your wife take it in the divorce court?”

“I’ve already rejected your offer, you bitch!”

“Oh yes, but that was the old offer. The new one’s quite different.”

“Different?”

“Yes, I’ll only pay half what I offered before, and if you don’t agree I’ll ruin your marriage.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“What do you think, Ryan, do I email the photos now, or do I leave you locked in there til morning – let the staff find you and only then send the email when the rumours are all round the office?”

“OK, OK,” she could see him pacing desperately. “I’ll take your original offer.”

“No, Ryan. You’re not the negotiator, you’re the nerd, so don’t try it. My price has halved. You will accept.”

“I… alright, I accept, you bitch!”

“Right then, send an email to my address and to my lawyer – you’ve got his email – stating the terms. When I receive it, I let you out.” And with that she hung up.

She watched him on the camera, wrestling with his angst, as Sandy, glancing over his shoulder, tried to ask what the matter was. He brushed her away. Then painfully, slowly, he typed an email. It appeared immediately in Amanda’s inbox: he had agreed.

She phoned him back immediately. “You understand,” she lied slightly, or rather, simplified the point, “that that email’s binding – but before I delete these files you’re going to go straight to my lawyer’s. He’s waiting for you at his office, with the agreement for you to sign. If I don’t hear inside an hour that you’ve signed it, I email the photos to your wife, understood?”

“Y… yes.” His voice faltered.

“Now, go there now, don’t tell Sandy anything, don’t phone anyone. Just go.” And as she hung up she hit the key to unlock the door.

She stood at her window overlooking the carpark, and watched the two figures head to their cars – Ryan to the shiny Lotus, Sandy to her old Fiesta – and as the sportscar pulled away she reached for her phone again.

“Yes?” the soft voice answered.

“Very good, Sandy!” Amanda cooed. “You’ve just earned a very good bonus!”

She giggled. “A thousand, like you said?”

“Of course, in your next pay packet. Good work!”

Sandy giggled again, whispered “I enjoyed it!” and hung up.

Amanda turned back from the window, stepped back into her panties, slipped into her coat and scarf, and then turned to shut down the PC when her phone bleeped – a message alert. She flipped open the phone and found that it was a picture message. She opened it. Her jaw fell. She blinked in disbelief. She looked around the room, up at the shelf of plants to the side of her desk, and only then saw the little black box that was the camera. On the screen of her phone, low-res but recognisably her, was a photo – taken from the camera hidden beside her desk – of her leaning back in her chair, her legs spread, her finger sliding into her pussy.

She did what she always did when cornered: she launched an offensive.

She called the number from which the photo had been sent.

“Yeah?” It was not the most articulate answer.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You know that I eat better men than you for dinner, and you haven’t a hope of getting anything out of this.”

There was a pause. “Got your attention, then?” She could hear him smiling.

“And that’s all you’ll get!”

“With the photo? Yeah, I know. It’s the weblog that’ll make me rich.”

“The… what?” she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh, of course. You’re just the bread-head. You’ve no idea how anything really works. Well, I’ll explain. You see, ‘cos your company is paranoid about cyber-slackers, it logs everything anyone does on the web. So if, say, you go to a free email site, then it records your visit, and also your username – like, onlyicanletyouout. On the other hand, cos your budgets are controlled by ignorant bread-heads, you spend sod-all on security, which means that a little snot like me can hack in and steal the weblog. That’s why you won’t care about the photo. You see, there’s enough evidence in the weblog to send you to prison for blackmail, so even if I hack your website and put that photo on your index page, well, you’ll have bigger things to worry about.”

“OK you little shit, what do you want?”

“Oh no! I think you’ll find that that’s the wrong question.”

She thought for just a second and scowled. “OK you shit. What should I do?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Another pause. “Go down stairs.”

“What?”

“The basement. The scene of your crime. Go there, and don’t hang up on me.”

She steeled herself to comply, and flailed mentally to find a way out of this. She could see no counter-argument, and it galled her that she had no idea whether the bastard was telling the truth about what the logs showed or whether he was making it all up.

Down the stairs to the foyer and then down again to the basement, she stepped out again onto the concrete floor, the air crisp but heavy with the scent of electricity and a trace of sex.

“Very nice.” The voice on the phone spoke again. “You’re just coming onto camera now. Humm. Take a seat.”

“What?”

“The swivel chair facing the camera, by the desk. Take a seat.”

She moved towards it.

“But first, lose the coat. Not the scarf.”

She slid the coat off and flung it on the work-desk, and then sat down in the chair.

“Nicer still. I think I’d like to see you naked. Bet you’ve a really fuckable body.”

“What? How dare you!”

“Don’t worry! You’ll keep your clothes on.”

“So, what now?”

“Now? Now you take your scarf off.”

She pulled the strip of silk from her neck and held it up towards the camera in the corner of the room, assuming that that was how he was watching her.

“Very good. Now, blindfold yourself.”

“What! No way!”

“You think not? Humm. You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking of that photo of you fucking yourself all over all over the company website, and I’m thinking of you in prison for blackmail.”

“Blackmail! And this isn’t blackmail?”

“Oh yes, this is blackmail. So, blindfold yourself.”

Scowling, she laid down her phone on the table in front of her, took the scarf and tied it around her head, covering her eyes and knotting it at the back, but leaving a small gap at the bottom that she could peek under. Then she leaned forward and picked up the phone again, putting it to her ear. “Alright. Now what?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“What?”

“Don’t screw with me. I said blindfold yourself, not pretend to blindfold yourself.” Maybe she had been too confident; maybe she had reached too accurately for the phone; but in any case, he knew. “You’re not in control anymore. Get used to it. And blindfold yourself properly!”