Wrong Turn, Right Hallway Pt. 02

A Wade Wilson Story

by The Preve

Based on the character and story created by Wade Wilson, and illustration by Lechono

The Author wishes to thank Wade Wilson for his permission in writing this story (and no, it's not that Wade Wilson :D).

Part Two

The Executive Suite

He stood outside her office door, naked, blushing, and looking all like a lost puppy. When he saw her, his eyes moved away, and he shuffled his feet, nervously.

Anne cocked an eyebrow. "Well, this is interesting. When I told you to come to the office later, I'm sure you understood that meant clothed?"

Wade shuffled some more, looking at the floor.

"My . . . um . . . clothes are gone," he muttered.

"Your what?" Anne heard clearly. She just liked seeing him embarrassed.

"My clothes are gone," he said, a little louder.

"I would think the locker you put them in would have a lock? You did put them in a locker, didn't you?"

"Um . . . no."

"Hmmm, so where did you put them?"

" . . . In the lobby men's restroom . . ."

"The men's restroom. You put your clothes in the men's restroom, in the lobby. If I may ask, why would you do something so stupid?"

Wade's head couldn't hang any lower. "The . . . um . . . lockers were too close to Security. The . . . restroom was out of sight of the front desk. I thought they'd be safe."

Humph! Actually does make sense.

The layout of the building put the in-house gym and locker rooms close to Security. If Wade were to pull a stunt like this, the lobby restrooms were a better choice. Especially on a low maintenance day, other than the cameras, with less sweeps by the janitorial staff. Still, the question of who stole Wade's clothes was at the forefront. Plus, why he was naked in the hallway.

"Sigh! Well, I'm not going to leave you naked outside my office, much as I'm enjoying the view. Let's go inside and you can explain what this is all about."

Wade's face was three levels past glum entering Ms. Parilla's office. The day couldn't get any worse. Not only finding his clothes missing, now he was in his boss' office, about to be seriously fired, and probably arrested.

Under other circumstances, being naked before Ms. Parilla would be a fulfillment of his wildest erotic fantasies.

His crush on Ms. Parilla extended back to the moment HR showed him to her office.

She was talking with Mr. (Douglas) Whitaker, the senior vice president. Wade couldn't remember what they were talking about. He did remember Ms. Parilla wore a dark blue power suit with a light blue blouse.

He remembered how the suit managed to be conservative and provocative at the same time. How it fitted her body almost like a skin suit, and showed off her abundant curves, toned, sculpted legs, and formidable cleavage.

How her wavy, glossy, dark brown hair shone in the office light. Finally, how her steel gray eyes lit upon him just briefly, and dismissed him a second later.

She didn't ask who he was. HR simply said, "The new office boy. He'll fetch and carry, and he's flexible. Wade, this is Anne Parilla, the senior investment associate, and Douglas Whitaker, the senior vice president. You will refer to them as Ms. Parilla and Mr. Whitaker. You will not speak to them unless spoken to. When they say jump, you will ask how high, and then wait for their permission to come down. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Ma'am, gulp!"

Mr. Whitaker looked at him with slight amusement. He was big, tall, very black with close cropped hair. Wade found, later, Mr. Whitaker was a decorated former Marine colonel, and a reservist.

Douglas Whitaker viewed this slight young man. The poor kid looks terrified, he chuckled. He had the same look when he'd entered boot camp. Let's see if this place man's him up a bit.

Wade rarely saw Mr. Whitaker after that day. The senior vice president usually stayed on the upper floors, coming down occasionally to speak with Ms. Parilla on some issue or other.

Ms. Parilla herself rarely spoke, or interacted with Wade, except to set him on some errand or other task. The other analysts on the floor kept him busy, especially Ms. Wallace. Robert Wentworth worked on the upper floors but came down frequently on errands of his own. He'd boss and bully Wade every chance he got.

Ms. Parilla stayed in Wade's mind, in spite the infrequent interactions. Make no mistake, Wade knew his place. Ms. Parilla was almost twice his age. She was taller than Wade by five inches. Obviously heavier too, in all the right places. A complete and total milf. Wade could fantasize though; in private, of course.

Not today. Today his fantasy turned into a nightmare. He was naked, in Ms. Parilla's office, with the senior associate towering over him, hands on her hips, waiting for him to begin.

"Well, get to it," she commanded.

Anne listened, amused, as Wade stuttered and stammered his story. More than amused.

Trying not to laugh at this one. Robert Wentworth may be a spoiled, entitled shit, but he got this boy good.

The story of Wade's cousin's ("Second cousin, once removed,") collusion caused a smile. She knew of young Martha's family, the Vandergriffs, fairly prominent in the area.

Didn't know the Wade boy was related to them. Surprise, surprise.

"And then I went back to the restroom and my clothes were gone," Wade didn't exactly sniff, but Anne could see some wet in his eyes.

Poor kid. Anne did feel some sympathy.

Several taps on the door.

"Come in," Anne said.

"Okay Anne, I'm he . . . holy fuck!"

Nicki Wallace had walked into Anne's office and seen the young Wade standing, naked, before the senior associate. Her, "Holy fuck," came not so much from surprise at Wade's nudity (she'd assumed he'd be dressed) but from confirmation of Anne's text about his ass.

Wade glanced behind him, despair etched on his red face.

"Eyes front, Wade," Anne commanded, smiling, "And stand at attention. Well Nicki, here's the culprit."

"Yes, I see. Well, you were right about that ass. I haven't seen something that good on a man in ages."

They're talking about me?! Holy fuck! They are! Ms. Parilla and Ms. Wallace are talking about my ass! It's . . . I . . . what the fuck do I say?!

No one ever had talked about Wade in that way. He'd never given much thought to his looks, certainly not his ass. Two women, two hot milf women, who just happened to be his bosses, were discussing him in ways beyond any experience in his young life. He had absolutely no idea how to feel, embarrassed or flattered. Whether one or the other, his face glowed red hot. Then he heard Ms. Parilla speak to him.

"Uh . . . what?"

"I said turn around. Nicki needs to see your front."

"Um . . . uh . . ." Wade, beyond embarrassed, turned.

"Holee . . . fuck!" Nicki looked at Anne, "This is what we had working for us these past two years?"

"Uh huh," Anne smiled, "You never know what's under you until opportunity arrives."

"Wow! So how'd you get him to take off his clothes again? Aren't you supposed to be wearing them in the office, kid?"

"He stowed his clothes in the lobby restroom," smiled Anne, "Somebody stole them."

"Somebody stole his . . .? Wait . . . fuck! That weaselly, sneaky bastard piece of shit," Nicki's face showed equal parts anger and amusement.

"Something you have?" Anne grinned.

"I bumped into Robert Wentworth in the lobby," Nicki looked at Wade, "He was carrying a duffel bag. Gym clothes, he said. I don't think they were his."

If Wade's day could ever get worse, he had no idea how. The utter humiliation of the moment was joined by new companions; something normally refused by the mild-mannered young man: frustration and anger. The following tears came as a result of both intruders.

"That . . . that . . . motherfu . . . 'sniff!' That worthless . . . piece of . . . 'sniff!' Gets me into this . . . steals my clothes . . . 'sniff!' Now I'm fucking fired . . . and probably arrested . . . effing worthless rich fuck fucked me . . ."

Wade rarely used the levels of profanity displayed in his quiet, muttered rant. He didn't notice Ms. Parilla place her hands on his shoulders.

Anne wasn't too sympathetic to Wade. Neither was Nicki. They were hard women, both; a necessity in their profession. It's not to say they were completely without it, though. They disliked Robert's bullying of this young man, and felt no schadenfreude here.

Anne still felt she needed to calm this young man. Yes, his actions were grounds for dismissal, and sure, they had every right to call the police for indecent exposure, but J&B contained certain secrets within its walls, about which young Wade knew nothing.

"There, there young Wade," Anne said, "It's not as bad as all that. You're not exactly fired."

"Maybe," said Ms. Wallace.

"Nicki," Anne admonished, then reached back and took a box of Kleenex from her desk. "Wipe your face, and then let's look into scrounging you some clothes."

Wade wiped his face and blew his nose, watching the two women. He'd calmed somewhat. There was a difference between a definite firing and a possible one.

Ms. Parilla and Ms. Wallace were whispering together, one or the other flashing glances at him. What are they talking about, was the standard question in this case. He'd be interested in the conversation . . . and not a little frightened.

"So what are we going to do with him?" asked Nicki.

"Rules say fire him and call the police, but do you want to waste something that yummy?"

"You kidding? That's the best ass and cock set I've seen on a man this side of Abercrombie and Fitch. I still can't believe we've had this under our eye this long."

"The way he carries himself, I don't think he does either," replied Anne, "I see tons of untapped potential here."

"So what do you think? The Executive Suite?"

"The Executive Suite," Anne nodded, "At least for a day or two, until we 'figure' his clothes situation, I mean."

"You know, we could scrounge something from the janitors or sec . . . oh! Uh, yeah, right, what was I thinking?" Nicki caught herself at a glare from Anne.

The two women turned toward Wade, who stared back, a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, making him all the more cute.

"Yes, all the girls need to know about this," Anne thought.

She walked up, crossed her arms, and scowled down at him, not sneering, but imperious just the same.

"I'm not going to lie to you Wade," she said, "You're in big trouble here."

Wade gulped and nodded.

"I'm somewhat sympathetic to your situation. I don't like Robert either, nor any bullies for that matter but there are rules here, and you broke them."

Wade gnawed his lower lip.

"Streaking in the hallway is a fireable offense. Plus, we can report you for indecent exposure. That means the sex offender registry and probable expulsion from Dartmouth."

Wade moaned. I'm royally fucked!

"We could scrounge you some janitor's clothes, or something from Security, and send you on your way, and not mention this again but, unfortunately, all extra clothing is at the laundry (not quite true, but Wade didn't have to know that) so you're stuck here for the moment."

"Great, so now what?" was more an expression on Wade's face than voiced. Anne answered.

"There is a proposition. I won't say if it will allow you to keep your job. It's not related to that, but a huge reward is involved. If you're not fired, it means a huge bonus. If you are, it a big severance. It all depends on HR."

Wade wasn't too naive about the word "proposition." The subtle implications crept around the edges of his thoughts, and the way Ms. Parilla and Ms. Wallace looked at him brought out another blush.

It could have been, for Wade, a case of, "I don't know if I want to . . ." but he was fully conscious of his position. Naive he may be, but even Wade practiced some pragmatism occasionally.

"Uh . . . gulp! Okay . . . um . . . What do you want me to . . . Geep!"

Ms. Parilla grabbed his cock. Ms. Parilla, his hot milf boss, had grabbed his cock. She leaned close and whispered in his ear, "Simple, just do everything we say."

Wade had bare enough time to process Ms. Parilla's bold act. She ran her thumb along his length, savoring the feel of its veins under her print. His cock went perpendicular within seconds.

"M-M-Ms. Parilla?" he gasped.

"First rule. Shut up and don't speak unless we say. Now, come along."

Nicki's eyes were wide and intense. She'd been impressed with the young man, flaccid. Now stroked to full mast, he stunned her silent. A major accomplishment on his part, albeit he didn't know it.

Fuck! Am I getting wet! That hasn't happened lately. I am going to have that cock before the day is done, I promise myself that.

The trio left the office; Anne leading the naked, red-faced Wade by his cock, to the elevator.

Wade's brain held no other thought than, Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Ms. Parilla has my cock, scrolling through it like a stock ticker.

His entire awareness too focused on Anne's fingers, stroking his steel hard rod, to notice her whisper to Ms. Wallace.

"Text the others, including the Old Lady. She's going to want to see this."

Nicki nodded, took out her iPhone, and started texting. "I have some things to do first. Meet you in the suite?"

"Don't be too long."

Nicki left down the hallway. Anne and Wade entered the elevator.

Wade had heard of the Executive Suite. A place on the top floor where elite, upper echelon, executives could rest, relax, and even sleep during lengthy negotiations and business maneuvers. Some of these events could last for days, or weeks, so the rumors went.

Ms. Parilla pressed the top floor button. The Executive Suite was located above the main boardroom, like a penthouse.

The elevator went directly to the suite. When the doors opened, Wade gasped. Half of the gasp came from Ms. Parilla's strokes (Wade was really close to blowing at this point). The other was drawn out by his first view of the suite.

The luxury near stunned. This wasn't some rest area where an exec could rest between negotiations, discussions of contracts, deals, acquisitions, and obscure financial mumbo jumbos. This "room" was a penthouse. A person, an extremely rich one more likely, could live here.

"What the fuck is this place?" Wade wondered, not daring to speak.

Large picture windows, with black frames offering brilliant views of the park and city, took up much of one side.

A long, large, plush sectional sofa, of black leather, was placed near the windows. Its curved "C" shape enclosed a long wide chrome and glass table, with plump pillows of black, gray, and white placed on the surface.

An open kitchen and dining area was set beyond the sofa set. The dining table was black obsidian, the chairs black walnut; the legs on the dining set were polished chrome.

The kitchen counter was made of black marble, with a stainless steel sink, and a state of the art dishwasher on one end. The other end contained an electric stove, also state of the art.

Expensive, cutting edge, kitchen appliances filled the gaps, and the cabinets contained high end china and silverware.

Stairs led up to a second level. A mezzanine above the dining area, containing a library, and table, with a desktop, was to the right.

The left led down a hall, with a bedroom, and sizable bathroom, Wade guessed from the look, further down.

Double french doors took up the other side of the first level, leading to a bright patio, and open to more spectacular views of the city.

The floors were a combination of gray marble and dark gray walnut.

Wade took all this in as Ms. Parilla led him (actually his cock; he had no choice but to follow) to the windows.

Ms. Parilla let his cock go and turned to face him. Wade stood, hard and throbbing, in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Anne thought the sunlight leant his pale skin an attractive glow. The sensual effect pleased her, greatly.

"It's always about the look, not just the fuck. So, welcome to the Executive Suite. The restroom, shower, and bedroom are upstairs. The opening to the patio is to the left, and there's a swimming pool and deck up the stairs outside. Any questions? Oh, you have my permission to speak."

Wade took a second. He was still hard, and naked, in a luxury penthouse, with his hot milf boss looking down at him like something to eat.

"Er . . . um . . . I . . . don't know . . . Uh, what do you want me to do again? 'Gulp!'"

"Wade, I just dragged you up here by your cock. What do you expect?"

Wade would agree, Uh, yeah, that was a pretty stupid question. It was just, "I've never done . . . um . . ."

"Ohhh! You mean to tell me with all that you got, you never used it?"

"Well . . . er . . . I never let anyone see me naked . . . except this guy at the spa. He . . . kind of . . . said the same things you're saying."

"At all?"

"Well, there's the doctor, yes."

"That doesn't really count. Unless the doctor . . ."

"No, no, he was always professional."

"So not even in high school after gym?"

"No."

"So why go streaking in the building?"

"Um . . . I wasn't expecting anyone really and . . . uh . . . I wanted to see what it was like."

The last statement was muttered, with a rose red blush.

"So, now you do. To our benefit," Ms. Parilla smiled.

Wade swallowed again. There were so many things sideways about the situation, and running for the elevator, and out the building, into public humiliation, and probable arrest, seemed like a genuine option.

The other option was to spend the time with a hot milf, in a luxury penthouse, who looked about to do things to him beyond his wildest sex fantasies.

Both terrified him in far different ways. Only one looked to be the reason his cock pointed hard in front of him.

"Y-Y-Y-You told me I had to do everything you said."

"Uh huh. You'll stay here until Monday, and at the end, we'll see about Robert giving back your clothes . . . and about your bonus. Meanwhile, you'll keep us entertained."

It took a moment for Wade to realize what she said.

"Us?!" he squeaked.

Ms. Parilla stepped close. "Of course. What made you think it was just me?"

On those words, she grabbed his cock, and went down on her knees.

Wade, whenever he imagined his first time, always assumed it would be with someone he knew. Someone he'd probably met and dated for a few months before taking the big step.

It would be someone within the scope of possibility, in spite his (perceived) poor luck with girls.

Oral sex, the blowjob, was an even more remote possibility. The hypothetical girl would, conceivably, be reluctant.

Certainly such an act would not come from an unattainable milf almost twice his age. Nor would it be so direct and to the point.

It wouldn't see Ms. Parilla on her knees, running her hands along his thick, warm shaft, the fingers on one hand stroking its tip, the other caressing his rod up to his plum-shaped balls. Nor her tongue licking, starting at that tip, and gliding along his flesh to his bare groin. Nor see her take his near painfully hard cock and swallow it into her wide open mouth.

Wade's reaction to this candid act was to gape down, wide-eyed, and then roll those eyes back ecstatically, as Ms. Parilla's lips, mouth, and tongue went to work.

Anne knew her throat was in for a work out. She'd swallowed long and thick before, but rarely this long, or this thick. Her gag reflex not only had to be suppressed but rendered comatose. Such technique made necessary, in order to handle an object whose taste she desired since the hallway.