The Long Resignation Pt. 02

But there was nothing to find.

With miraculous co-ordination and grace, Nigel and Erica had lurched themselves up onto the one inch ledge beside them that remained after an earlier renovation had bricked over a window that had once looked out from the wall. The curtains had actually been laid out strategically to cover the brickwork, as the ledges were deemed too expensive to remove. The pain of balancing their combined heft on that ledge, which dug into their hips, was worth the humiliation they'd narrowly avoided, even if the tilt and lunge manoeuvre they'd executed had bent Nigel's penis in a horrifying uncomfortable manner.

Erica held in a gasp as William punched at the curtain (3 inches from her buttocks) to confirm that the space was uninhabited. Though William's hand struck the concrete wall behind him, the ensuing ripple of the curtain cascaded over Erica and Nigel's bodies.

It was only moments later when Erica heard the flop of William's bulk back into his chair that she dared to breathe again.

"Spies everywhere?" Sandra joked, before renewing her discussion of short-term debt solutions.

Gingerly, they slid their bodies back off the ledge (which was quite easy given how slippery they were with sweat) until their feet touched the floor once more.

They stood for a moment in relief at their miraculous escape - catching their breaths slowly to avoid further noise and reflecting on the mistake that they'd made. The mistake they could never repeat. And then she felt it between her legs again.

She looked up at Nigel whose hair had lost it's carefully cultivated swoops and was now a wet mop upon a wet head. His eyes were still wide, but not in panic this time. They were eager.

"Is he getting off on this?" Erica wondered. "Mother-fucker, who gets off on something like that? I nearly pissed myself. What the fuck is wrong with him?" The last thing she wondered was "Why are my hips swaying?"

It was small and gentle, but Erica found that her hips were indeed swaying backward and forward once again in response to Nigel's excitement, his erection now at full strength once more. She accepted her bodily desire, too confused and tired to reproach it. She was getting off on this as well.

She thrust at him meekly and madly, desperately trying to get some distance to wind-back properly, but confined and restrained by the zip ties, and by the need for discretion and secrecy within the board meeting. The frustration of those limitations was killing her, but thrilling her at the same time, making each movement elaborate and articulate and so incredibly nuanced.

Backward and forward. Slowly and gently.

Backward and forward. Slowly and gently.

Backward and forward, feeling the rub of damp cotton against moist skin, parting her labia at the peaks and valleys of the movement, just enough to engage the clitoris which sparkled at the sensation.

Slowly and gently, holding back the screaming desire of her every muscle, saturating her body with a mounting, then surmounting tension, like a wet towel twisted and twisted to infinity.

Backward and forward. Slowly and gently. Until.

She felt the familiar surging of Nigel's penis beneath her. She feared that it was too soon at first, but as the full pulsing ejaculations began, she felt her own orgasm cresting, and the wet towel spun loose in an instant as the world around her politely went away for a few moments, releasing all the fear, and shame, and apprehension that had defined her day thus far.

She would come to look back on it as the most intense orgasm of her life, the circumstances leading to it impossible, and certainly irreplicable.

As the world returned to her, she laughed and kissed Nigel once again, even as she became suddenly aware of the glob of semen attached to the fabric of her underwear that was slowly dripping and then oozing down her leg, before dribbling at her feet.

They were left to stew in that state of post-coital bliss for another hour, held together more by an intimate bond between them than by the plastic ties themselves. It was oddly wonderful, oddly peaceful. When the meeting adjourned, they waited until they heard the sounds of everyone filing out, followed by the clank and clatter of the catering staff tidying up the coffee mugs and salad plates. They emerged from behind the curtain.

The shock of the cool air on their sweat-soaked bodies was enough to send them into chills. The shocked stares of the staff didn't help with that any. Nigel explained in half-truths while Erica kept her eyes closed in shame until someone unclipped the zip ties. The sudden disembarking from Nigel's body left her feeling even colder. She immediately pulled up her underwear, pretending not to notice the now crusted on semen stain all over it, and crawled under the table - much to the confusion of the catering crew - to retrieve her pants. She could feel their eyes upon her and quickly paced to the door, stopping only for a second to look back at Nigel who was fashioning an apron one of the staff had given him around his naked body. Erica smiled at him as he looked up at her and something passed between them that left no doubt in her mind - neither of them would ever speak of this day again, and neither of them would ever forget it.

**********

Nicole was so lost in the moment of the scene that she was creating that she barely processed what was happening with her knee. Reflexively, she looked down to find, in horror that Garrett's hand was on it, massaging rhythmically.

Her eyes traced along the path of his arm, still confused, until they landed on the rather large erection pressing up against his fine cotton dress pants, and she didn't feel confused anymore. She felt angry.

Without the slightest calculation of consequence, her whole body leaned in toward his, rushing downward at his erect phallus in one debiliting, full knuckle blow to the tip of her bosses unconscionably erected member.

And then she realized what she had done.

Chapter 8 - The Fundamental Indignity

Nicole walked fast, staring down and letting her long blonde hair cover her face as much as was possible without looking like she was trying to hide her face. She walked straight past the nearest bathroom and continued down the long office corridor to the far one - the one that was reserved for the marketing team. That team was off on conference; their entire office space was empty, and so too their bathrooms.

Nicole punched more than pushed the swinging door to the ladies room open and, despite knowing that she was in the office equivalent of a ghost-town, she still rushed into a stall and slid the clasp into the lock behind her. If there were a stall within the stall itself, she'd have hid even further.

She slumped onto the toilet, her entire body deflated of the airs she'd so courageously maintained. As she did, she felt the boxers ride up uncomfortably; she couldn't bring herself to laugh. She was alone in a bathroom stall, facing a future she had fought so hard to avoid. There was nothing left to say to herself - no words or perceptions or delusions that could carry her beyond the fundamental indignity and finality of the situation that she now found herself in. She had punched her boss. She had punched him in the dick. And though she was fundamentally proud of herself for doing so, she knew that she would now have to pay the price.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called her husband.

"Hey," he answered. "Aren't you in the meeting."

Nicole rubbed her cheek with her open hand.

"Hello?" Caleb called. "You there?"

Nicole struggled for the words - they came out fast, and slurred, and at a higher pitch than normal. "I fucked up."

"What happened?"

"Punched Mr. Shimizu in the dick."

There was a long silence before Caleb responded. "Did he try something?"

"Kind of. He touched my leg."

"Piece of shit."

"I was writing porn for him."

Another long silence. "What?"

"It's a long story."

"Did he ask you to write porn for him?"

"No."

"You just started writing porn for him."

"Kind of."

"And then he touched your leg?"

"Yes."

"And then you punched him."

"Yes."

"In the dick?"

"Uh-huh."

"Was this before or after the meeting?"

"During the meeting."

"You were writing porn for your boss during the meeting?"

"Yes."

"And then he touched your leg. And then you punched him in the dick. In the meeting?"

"Yes."

"And then what happened?"

"I ran to the bathroom and called you."

"OK."

Another silence emanated from the phone. Nicole's mind filled it instantly with visions of divorce and angry words and condemnations. Even as she felt she was in the lowest moment of her life, her imagination ran wild, digging through rock bottom to find newer, more terrible scenarios by which her life might decline, utterly. Through force of will alone, she brought herself back around long enough to ask.

"Are you mad at me?"

There was a bit of silence at first, before Caleb's voice returned. "I'm a little confused, but I trust you."

Nicole started sobbing.

"Come home," Caleb replied. "We'll handle it."

"OK" she cried.

"I love you," he added.

"I love you too," and she hung up.

The worst of it was over. Nicole forced herself to turn away from the long-term future in all it's bleakness, and focus instead on the immediate future. She was going home. The knowledge of this alone was enough to give her hope, and courage.

It was at this moment that she realized she had left her purse in the board room.

Chapter 9 - A Moment's Indulgence

"How important," Nicole wondered "is a purse, in the grand scheme of things? Sure, it has my wallet, my car keys, precious photos, my favorite makeup, my best miniature vibrator (which would be humiliating to have another person find) and pretty much every dollar that I have to my name, with the exception of the $10.25 currently in my bank account, because my bank account has a $10 minimum savings requirement."

"Shit!" she said aloud.

As if in response, she heard footsteps in the corridor outside the bathroom.

"Oh, sorry," she stated in a half whisper before realizing how ludicrous it was to think the swear police were coming for her in the bathroom. Why was someone coming, though? Did the marketing conference get cancelled? Was custodial on cleaning detail early?

The thudding of the door was accompanied by a surge of air pressure as it burst open, combining to terrify Nicole very nearly to the point where she might have been glad to be on a toilet. Reflexively, she sucked her feet up to the fetal position in the interest of evading the obvious axe murderer that had just found her out in her secret hiding spot. She thought of her purse and the small spray canister of mace it contained, upon her keychain.

The sounds weren't right. The shuffle of the footsteps was too many, taking steps that were too light, steps that faltered and squeeked upon the cold white tiles of the floor as if a basketball game had accidentally been rerouted through the women's lavatory.

There were other sounds as well - gasping, and sighing, and...was that moaning?

The heavy breathing paused for a second and there was a thoroughly awkward silence in which Nicole discovered that the fetal position had done absolutely nothing wonderful for the boxers riding up her backside.

"All clear," a man's voice said.

"Are you sure?" came the other, familiar, voice.

"No one's here," the man's voice assured.

In her mind, Nicole screamed back, "I'm here!" but she was still suffering through the kind of cognitive confusion that can only come with the rather unique day's events that she alone had experienced. She felt as though she were in utter shock. She felt as though having to explain herself to another person could only possibly result in a further emotional breakdown, and thus her feet stayed atop the toilet and instead of speaking, she held herself as still and quiet as she could, wishing them to hurry up and leave so she could leave as well, grab her purse and never return again.

Then, she saw a pair of jeans flop to the floor in front of her stall door.

"Eww," she thought. Though not frequently used, and fairly well-maintained, the idea of letting your clothes smear all over the floor of a public bathroom was hard to accept.

Nicole gently shifted her weight enough to help her see through the small sliver of distance between the stall door and its nearest post, granting her a view of what was happening.

It was a strange sight to see Heather aggressively kissing a handsome young man, whose pants happened to be on the floor, while she, equally aggressively, rubbed his penis through the fabric of his tight white briefs, briefs that were growing tighter by the second in response to her advances.

"Shuh we go in ah stall?" he managed to mumble aloud?

Heather stopped and pulled her head away from him, pausing a moment to gather her breath and senses. "I have something specific in mind."

The young man looked perplexed, but that was kind of the impression he'd given from the start so it did not seem like much had been lost. "Uh, ok."

Heather gave a Cheshire-cat-like smile at this, her eyes practically glowing.

"Take your clothes off," she commanded.

The young man - "was this the assistant she'd left in the lobby?" Nicole wondered - still looked confused, but was obviously no longer receiving any blood to his intellect. He complied.

As he shucked his tightie-whities down to his ankles, the last of his garments of clothing, Heather reached down and grabbed his member so firmly that he shuddered before melting into the pleasure of it, as she stroked the shaft of his penis up and down and up and down with a rhythmic confidence. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. And then she stopped.

The young man tilted his head back to see her standing there staring at him.

"Now take mine off," she ordered. "Slowly."

Again, the young man's eagerness drove him forward. Clumsily, he unbuttoned her blouse. She smirked at him condescendingly as he slid it off her shoulders. He faltered with the clasp of her bra, and paused, involuntarily, when it slid to the floor exposing her breasts before him. She smirked again and he resumed his mission. He did better with the skirt, efficiently locating the hidden zipper to relieve the tension around her waist, before sliding it down the length of her hips and thighs and calves with an elegant, two-handed pull. He was hypnotized again, however, when he saw her underwear in front of him, a turquoise lace thong that looked both very intricate and very expensive.

"Go on then," Heather urged, and he reached back up to slide his fingers under the thin, delicate waistbands, easing them off of her hips before pulling them down hard to her ankles. Gracefully, Heather stepped out of them and then kicked them aside.

Nicole wasn't really sure what to make of any of this. It was new component to the myriad of emotions she'd been running through for the past half hour. In that sense, it was unwelcome. She was already confused and probably not making the best of decisions. She wasn't even sure what she was feeling. There was a sense of shame for writing what she'd been writing and the consequences it created - consequences that she knew she still had to answer for. At the same time, though, there was a strange sense of pride in watching Heather seemingly jump a handsome young man in response to reading Nicole's work. Nicole felt complicit in what she was watching, maybe even responsible. She wondered if that made it OK for her to watch, but she also wondered if that was just a lie that she was telling herself. Maybe she just wanted to watch. She was stuck there, after-all, until they were done, and everything that waited for her on the other side of the bathroom door was going to suck. A moment's indulgence seemed almost called for. She wanted to feel good, and so, she didn't turn away.

"Are you ready?" Heather asked, coyly.

The young man nodded, guessing at what she meant, but he was very much wrong. In fact, the simplicity of his guess was immediately undermined by the handstand that Heather performed against the back wall of the bathroom.

Though neither was aware of it, the young man and Nicole, in that instant, shared the exact same thought: "What the fuck?"

And then the jet blast whirring noise kicked in, and both of their minds repeated in sync "what the fuck?"

Heather's upside down legs came to rest against the wall on either side of the very loud, very powerful hand dryer. Sensing motion, and with no ability to distinguish someone's hands from someone's upside down vagina, the motor kicked in blasting between Heather's legs with a current of warm, forceful air. Her face looked tentative at first, bordering on alarmed, but she closed her eyes to interrogate the sensation a little bit more, and concluded that she liked it. She opened her eyes and stared up at the young man. "Get over here."

"Uh," he replied. "Are you sure..."

"Get over here," she interrupted, "and suck me."

"I mean..." he paused. She locked eyes with him and that was enough to convince him.

He crouched to face her, and hesitantly pressed his nose into the stream of warm air. From the crack through the stall door, Nicole could only see the back of his head, but the sudden shudder of Heather's body communicated the young man's actions. Heather's eyes rolled closed just as her toes, the closest part of her to the ceiling, curled and flexed.

It was a strange perspective for Nicole. She could see the young man's strong back and his round, taught buttocks, all the tighter for the crouching position he was in. She could see his testicles hanging low and his erection bobbing in the open, at first, and below it she could see Heather's upside down head, her face a dark shade of red from the pooling of blood beneath her skin. She saw the young man's penis disappear into Heather's mouth and his own shudder of joy in response. For ten minutes they were at it sucking, and flexing and sweating under the heat and the strain and the sheer invigoration, all while the hand dryer blasted so loudly that not a single noise could be heard beyond the whirr of its' engine.

The young man went first. In a near-panic, he withdrew from her mouth and Nicole watched his testicles surge and bounce, then saw the ejaculate running down Heather's joyous face and dribble to the white floor tiles beneath her. To his credit, the young man persisted, and Heather's toes positively convulsed after a minute more before both of them slid to the cool floor, naked and exhausted. Heather made no reaction to the puddle of cum that she lay in, her shoulder practically sticking to the ceramic. The blasting of the dryer ceased.

She looked content. Nicole watched her and felt a sense of envy mixing in with the pride and the shame. Heather looked unperturbed, catching her breath and spinning her wrists in the air to shake off the numbness that the extended hand-stand had created. Nicole felt a strange sense of detachment pass over her, as if she wasn't in the stall at all, but living that undisturbed life for just a moment. It was all so captivating that she barely even realized when the two of them had cleaned up, dressed and left the room, arm in arm. The only thing left were the expensive panties that had had been tossed aside earlier and that Heather, though unregretful of her choice in the moment of passion, had decided not to wear after they'd been on the bathroom floor.

Nicole waited another moment to be sure they were gone, then eased herself off the toilet and out of the stall. For reasons that she did not fully understand, she grabbed Heather's panties, after staring at them a moment, and then pocketed them.