The Downturn Ch. 01

I got laid off today. After giving seven good years of my life to this company, I got a message in my personal email from someone I'd never heard.

"We regret to inform you," it read, "that your role has been terminated. Effective immediately, you will no longer have access to your work email. Your phone number is now inactive, and your card can no longer be used to access any of our offices. We are grateful for your contributions to our company, and we acknowledge that this can be a difficult experience to go through. If your role is remote, please preserve all company equipment. You will receive further instructions on how to return it, along with information about your severance package, in a follow-up email by the end of this week."

Thank you, recession. I thought programmers were immune to economic downturns. I guess I was wrong. And fuck you, Janet S., Change Consultant, whoever the fuck you are, whatever the hell your bullshit title stands for, and however your last name's pronounced. Unlike you, I do something useful for this company... did.

DING. DING. DING. DI-DI-DI-DIIIING. My personal phone went nuts. Someone had started a group chat and everyone was adding everybody else. My boss and our entire team got laid off. Every single person I knew lost their job. Pete in Accounting, Sylvia in HR, even Anne, that nerdy intern in IT who always helps me with my computer even though it has nothing to do with her work. How would this firm survive, I wondered? And now that I wasn't employed by it, why the fuck did I even care?

I got up from the couch, walked around mindlessly in the living room, then went to the kitchen. I turned the tap on the sink -- full of dishes from the night before that I hadn't yet put in the dishwasher -- and splashed some cold water on my face. Checking my email at 9 AM on a Monday only to find out that I was out of a job felt... disorienting. I was overwhelmed with anger, confusion, sadness. Then I felt scared. What would the severance package be like? Would it be enough to allow me to keep paying my rent for at least a few months? How could I find a new, high-paying job in this fucked-up economy? Everybody's laying people off. Nobody's hiring... My thoughts kept racing in my head. The emotions tore through my body the way Covid-19 did, like a nanobot from some sci-fi movie looking for weaknesses to exploit.

I jumped back on the couch, picked up my phone from the coffee table, put the group chat on mute and tapped on the browser icon to type "xha" until the video of that hot chick online I salivated to in my bed the night before showed up in my browsing history. I tapped on the title, waited a few so I could skip the ad and pressed the play button before pulling down my shorts and yanking out my limp cock. It grew to the sight of my new love, Michel, with her long black hair, full glossy lips and giant round tits. Her pretty, French-manicured hands worked her cock -- fat, long and pointy, a little meatier in the middle, with a thick vein that ran from the base, where her big balls met the bottom of her cock, all the way to the neck of the pink, uncut head. She stroked it hard and fast, like a maniac. The foreskin concealed the glans, and the tip peaked from underneath like a prize. I thought about what it would be like to pull down on the foreskin with one hand, fondling her low-hanging sack in the other, so I could lick around the edge, then flick my tongue along the sensitive area between the hole and the ridge running from it.

Do you think she would reward me with a few sprays of precum for being a good cocksucker? I sure wish I had this chick's cock in my mouth so I could find out and tell you...

Every few minutes, she'd stop to type a message or two on the keyboard to get the lonely fucks who were watching her at the time to spend some money and make the sound-activated prostate massager in her ass buzz. Then she'd pick up the precum with the soft underside of her right hand's middle finger and smear it on her lips, leaving them tacky and shiny.

I jerked my cock watching her jerk hers, keeping myself on the edge so I could watch all twenty minutes of the recorded cam show. At minute eighteen, her gasps turned to moans, and the moans became groans as her pole grew bigger and pointed ever so upward towards the ceiling. She opened her mouth, brought her head closer to her pelvis and angled her cock to her face, bracing for a self-cumshot, as her inner thighs tightened and her toned abs twitched under the supple skin of her tummy. Six, seven, then eight bursts of rich, silky cum surged from her heavy balls, the pressure building up as the gloopy pearl-white liquid made its way through inch after inch of the tight and endless urethral tube inside the shaft, then flew out as if it had come out of a water gun, splattering against the inside of her mouth.

A lot of it hit the bullseye and went right in her throat. Some landed on her chin, cheeks, and the tip of her chiseled nose. I couldn't take it. My dick is admittedly smaller than hers, but I could feel I was about to burst as hard as she did, maybe even harder. I took the half-empty cup of coffee from the table and my semen spurt inside it so hard, I heard splashes. My cum mixed with the cream and the milk in the coffee, my favorite form of coffee art. For the remaining two minutes, I sipped on my cum-ffee, which tasted so much better than just coffee and cream, as my dream girl collected the jizz from her face and devoured it from her fingers with loud, sopping slurps. I wished I could sit on her dick right there and kiss her, her cum loosening up my hole like lube and its bitter, chlorine-like numbing my tongue.

At last, I felt empty.

Null.

For a few short seconds, I forgot all about the fact that I was out of a job... and fresh out of a toxic relationship with my hung and godlike but emotionally crippled and sadistically abusive prick of an ex-boyfriend, who almost turned me into his slave (and to which I almost agreed). I slipped out of my shorts, then my thongs, then took off the white t-shirt and threw it on the floor. Now that I had nothing better to do with the rest of my morning, it was time to whip out the sheeny stainless-steel enema shower head from the bathroom vanity drawer, clean up inside and out and ride my big black dildo like a mo-fo until lunch. "You've gotta work on yourself in your free time," my boss -- whoops, ex-boss -- always said. "Stretch your limits, sharpen your skills, practice your craft." Bless your heart, boss. My toys are just as programmable as the elevator doors I used to program at work. And testing them's a whole lot funner.