0 comments/ 12035 views/ 3 favorites Alan in the Office Ch. 03 By: Hypoxia 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: STUDIO S IS JUST SO FUCKING HOT! ----- 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." Alan in the Office Ch. 03 Sylvie's "colored girl" persona flew an Electric Blue mood today. The beads in her cornrows matched her contacts, ear piercings and sandals. A shimmering bodysuit clung to her jet-black skin like an icy midnight ocean wave. She radiated anxiety. "Do you really think the crews at STUDIO S are in danger?" I asked nervously. "I hope not, but I just don't know," Sylvie sighed. "Signe and I checked the tapes from our outside surveillance cameras for the last couple weeks and we didn't see anyone suspicious, nobody who looked like the descriptions Andrea gave us. But just because we don't see them, doesn't mean they aren't there." "Yeah, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Well Sylvie, you run the show here. You have contingency plans for keeping Andrea safe, right?" "The best we can do is for her to leave the area, hopefully pretty far. You have contacts in Seattle and Santa Barbara. But they might be too near, too west coast, too vulnerable to thugs from Beijing. I have some friends back around Denver and Boulder. Andrea would probably be secure there. But damn, I'll miss her!" Sylvie and I sat side-by-side on top of her long ivory desk. I pulled her close, snuggled her shoulder, and stroked her arm. She wrung her hands as she talked. "Safety is more important than business, that's a given. But we've got to think of the business also. How would Andrea's absence affect your operations here?" "No problem, Alan. We have a pretty big backlog of Andrea's designs. We could keep going for a few months. And Andrea can always ship us designs from wherever she's working. We would just miss her direct input on almost-finished products." I massaged Sylvie's tight dark neck muscles. She almost started to relax. "Moira and I haven't sat in on all the design review sessions. We're confident you can handle those on your own. Do you see any other problems?" "I don't think her absence will impact our quality or design edge. But I'll guess we'll just have to find out. ----- Sylvie put Operation Watertight into effect. The first part was simple: Get Andrea the hell away from here! Sylvie, Andrea and I were at Mike and Maggie's hopefully safe coastal cottage on a Monday afternoon. We kept moving about, variously sitting on the couch, standing together, pacing around, and trying to stay cool and calm. "You guys know I am NOT happy about this! But I really have no choice, have I?" Andrea's exotically beautiful Eurasian features twisted into a scowl. She fidgeted in her anonymous gray pants suit. Sylvie straightened her own shimmering sapphire-blue dress. She held tight to her lover-partner. "Baby, this is so goddam hard, but we've just gotta do this. We'll get together as often as we can till this blows over and we can be permanent." "Can you keep your reunions secure?" I asked. "Yeah, we can't meet around here or in Colorado, but we can find some places for an under-the-radar rendezvous or three. Some places we can both get to and from quickly and quietly. We'll keep those our secrets, baby," she reassured Andrea. "Okay, I'll pack for Colorado. Goddam, I'll miss you all!" Andrea sniffled. "What's the next part of the plan, ladies?" Sylvie looked at me and sighed. "The best cover would be success, for the PLA guys. Let Beijing think they've killed her or that she's otherwise dead. Pressure will drop off if they think she's out of the way forever. "I can think of two ways to accomplish this. The simplest is just to fake her death." Sylvie squeezed her lover. "Bribe some dieners at downtown morgues to stay alert for unclaimed bodies that resemble hers. Then pull the old switcheroo, or better yet, bribe the diener to forge an ID. Leak a story to a friendly obit writer. Once her death is announced, the PLA thugs will turn their attention elsewhere. "That's the theory. In practice, we have problems. We can't work with local morgues, not where the PLA might hear about us. So we'll have to concentrate in places without Chinatowns. So finding the right body might be tricky and delayed. "And, will the PLA be convinced she's dead if they haven't offed her themselves? Will they bite? "The way around that is also tricky: Fake-out or turn one of the PLA guys. Can they be tricked into blowing-up her home or car, and accept that the body found afterwards is hers? Maybe we'd still need a bribed diener to forge the ID. "Or can we bribe and/or blackmail a thug to lie to his bosses? For that, we'd need some good intel on the PLA guys, on their characters and weaknesses. But we just don't have that. They've been pretty opaque. And we don't have time for research." "Okay," I said, "let's suppose you somehow get the PLA to stop looking for Andrea. What then?" Now it was Andrea's turn to sigh. "It looks like whatever happens, however this turns out, STUDIO S has to move away from the West Coast, away from any Chinatowns, away from our roots. We could relocate and still be viable. Maybe to Dallas, or Miami, or Memphis, or Atlanta. "All those Southern cities are growing into fashion centers. Nothing to match San Francisco or New York or even Los Angeles, but the PLA probably won't go South for quite a while. Not enough Overseas Chinese there." Andrea looked pensive. "But that will mean breaking up the team here. You guys," nodding at me, and meaning those of us with careers in the SF Bay Area, "aren't going to migrate, no way. We could probably persuade some of the hired team here to move, but they could be replaced with locals where we go. It just means a totally different STUDIO S." And now it was my own turn to sigh. "One thing for sure: Andrea's safety, and the safety of all of us, is paramount. No compromises there. I'll talk with Moira but I'm sure she'll agree with our course of action." (Moira and I are the majority owners, remember?) "So, I'm giving you the preliminary go-ahead. Andrea, get your ass out of town, NOW! Sylvie, start looking for dieners to bribe." Sylvie nodded. "And let's have an exit strategy. Maybe use a plan like: you've already moved STUDIO S to Miami, and Andrea's OD'd body is found in Spokane or Missoula or someplace else nowhere near here and Florida. Maybe ship the body back here for cremation. You can work out the details. "Get going on these NOW. Andrea, Sylvie, we love you! Stay safe." I hugged them. Sylvie pushed me back, held my face, and said, "Alan, we need a favor." "Yes?" Cautiously. I adjusted my black blazer. "Andrea can't safely fly out of any Bay Area airport -- the PLA could be watching. There's a morning flight from Reno to Denver. Reno is a four-hour drive from here. Could you take her to Reno?" Sylvie's ebony visage was imploring. Andrea's dark Oriental eyes pierced me. "I have enough bags packed. Sylvie can ship the rest of my stuff. I can go any time." I thought to myself, "Why me?" and then I thought, "Why not?" "Let me leave a message for Moira. Then, let's roll." I reached for the desk phone, a purple Princess. Andrea's bags were in the Audi's trunk and we were spinning away seven minutes later. Four of those minutes elapsed as Andrea and I hugged and kissed Sylvie. And we were off. Andrea wore a floppy black hat, and huge dark glasses, and a dark paisley silk scarf, to disguise her features. She still sank low in the front passenger seat. Paranoia strikes deep... and even paranoids have enemies. I drove across the Peninsula to US-101, then into The City where we caught I-80 and crossed the Bay Bridge. No toll stop in this direction. We spun by Berkeley, paid the Carquinez Straight bridge toll into Vallejo, and fell into the Central Valley. The sun was down by the time we passed Sacramento. Andrea ditched most of her disguise, just keeping the scarf turbaned with drooping ends obscuring her face. We had not talked much so far. Andrea was obviously thinking hard, distracted by her hard new reality. Around Auburn, we started climbing into the Sierra Nevada mountains, and Andrea started talking. "Alan, I know I've given you a hard time ever since we met in Portsmouth Square." "Yeah, you're a bit of a ball-buster, even when we're fucking and sucking and slurping like wild weasels, but I love you anyway." I grinned at her. "Hey guy, you and Sylvie really are my best friends. I love how you're doing so much for me. I just want to say, I really appreciate you, and I love you, and I want to apologize for any attitude I'm dumped on you." She put her hand on my thigh. "I really can't thank you enough." Her hand move onto my stiffening schlong. "But I can try, a little bit." She unzipped my fly and slipped my cock out of my boxers. I stood to attention. Andrea leaned over me and took me in her mouth, directly and firmly. And that's how we spent the next two hours, Andrea calmly fellating me, never fast, never approaching too close to my orgasm, just keeping me at a steady burn. Exquisite torture! And she calls this a thank-you? G'zzz... I was in no shape to drive back to San Francisco from Reno tonight. We thought to check into an airport hotel, then decided we would be safer somewhere more anonymous. We found an old motel along the Truckee River. I picked up the room phone and called Moira at home with a situation report. "Hey hon, talked to Sylvie lately?" I asked while Andrea unpacked and undressed. "Sure thing, I'm up to speed. Everything OK out there?" Moira sounded a bit tense. "So far, so good. I should be back by early afternoon." I was undressing too. My trousers hit the floor. "You're all straight at the office? Anything I should do or know?" No names named. "Got it wired. See ya for dinner. Love ya, hon." Andrea tugged at my dress shirt. "Have fun, and don't get caught! Love ya too, babe." Moira hung up. I stretched. "Let's get clean, Alan. I want to wash away whatever has settled on me." "Good idea," I said, following as she led me to the shower by my cock. We carefully cleansed each other. I scrubbed herbal shampoo into Andrea's thick jet mane and massaged her braincase till she came. She knelt and blew me till I was steel-rod hard. The shower stall was too small for a full up-against-the-tiles bent-over-and-screaming fuck, so we dried, and tore the covers off the king bed. Andrea welcomed me with open thighs. I insisted on eating her first. Not a slow sensuous lip-stroll up her silky thighs to her steaming treasure, nope. Dive in and chow down! Finger-lickin' good! After her next orgasms, she insisted on reciprocity. Who was I to deny her oral fixation? But my own mouth still hungered, so I pulled her atop me, her pulsating pussy back onto my mouth, for a few minutes of mutual joy. Andrea did admirable work on my cock, especially considering how distracted she was by my slurping her tasty engorged clit. I felt a series of small orgasms. "Okay, enough," Andrea said as she rolled off me and flipped around. "Time to get serious." She straddled my hips and slid my straining hardon straight into her screaming-for-action cunt. I groaned. She moaned, "Oh yeah." Andrea moved on me, up and down, back and forth, round and round, amen. She prayed with every magical motion: "O god o god o god o god o..." Each set of my fingers cupped a good handful of her splendid breasts. Andrea's pounding increased in velocity and intensity. Faster! Harder! She spoke-moaned a constant incomprehensible litany, words and phrases in no known human language. Her movements became a blur. I pinched her nipples HARD. ZAP! She screamed something in Urdu or Nahuatl, and collapsed on me, soaking me, overflowing. I flipped her again, into doggy position, butt up, chin down, tits shoved into a pillow. I slammed into her. Oh damn, her red-hot pussy felt so good! Oh damn! I was already rather stimulated. I did not last long -- just long enough to inject her with what felt like boiling gallons of hot molten love. We sprawled in bed awhile, nearly insensate. We managed to drag ourselves back to the shower. I am not sure who dragged the most. But we somehow got clean and dry, and back into bed for a long night's sleep. I woke in the dead of night with a warm mouth on my cock. Imagine that! The alarm clock conspired with our wake-up call to drive us from our warm smelly bed. Well, after a morning fuck, of course, with plenty of banging and yelling. Her last scream of "Oh fuck, Alan!" nearly deafened me. We dressed, ate an uninspired casino breakfast of adequate eggs-ham-biscuit (me) and granola (her), and rolled to the terminal at Reno-Tahoe International. Andrea wore a long grey dress and was back in her big-floppy-hat-and-sunglasses disguise. We sat at the exit gate till her flight was called. (Airport security was rather different back in the mid-1980s.) We did not see any likely PLA thugs. "Damn, Alan, this feels like goodbye. I know it isn't. I know I'll be back. Back with you, and with Sylvie, and with Moira and Mags and Mike and all of you. I just don't know when. Damn, this is going to be hard." She leaned into me. "Yeah, it'll be hard, no bullshit." I braced her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "We'll get past this. We'll keep you safe. Sylvie will finesse the situation. Her plan will work. You'll have a new identity in a new place. We'll miss having you around but we'll still get together, and you'll be with Sylvie again before long. "But enough of the pep talk. Just keep on being *you*. What you create is striking and beautiful and important. Just like you are. Please don't change." I kissed her mouth. She pressed against me, pushing her noticable tits into me. Boarding call. Time to go. Another embrace and kiss, and she was on her way. ******************** 9: And back to the usual grind - grind me, baby! The four-hour drive back from Reno would be tedious, alone. I stopped for a young couple hitchhiking at the Virginia Street (old US-395) on-ramp. They smelled as if they had been on the road and rough for some days, but I enjoyed the conversation. "Wow man, thanks for the lift! Going all the way to The City, huh? That's a trip! Groovy!" he said from the Audi's back seat after shoving their backpacks inside. Trip? Groovy? Oh lord, I have a throwback here. Sigh... The girl caught my mood. "Oh, don't mind him, he's been out in the sun too long, laying around Pyramid Lake for a good tan and vibes, but he's just fried now." She looked back at him affectionately, as if at a cute puppy. "He's Chad, I'm Elle, and we were up around the Modoc Caves most of this last week. We followed the Indian trail there. It'll be good to get home and get clean." "And home is...?" I asked, noting their ground-in dusty jeans and tie-dyed tees. "We're in a collective by City College, not far from the Cow Palace," Chad gushed. "Nothing outrageous, just righteous organic living and deep meditation. I've already got a good mantra. OWA-TAGU-SIAM! OWA-TAGU-SIAM! Wow man, it's righteous!" Pretty brunette Elle and I exchanged eyeball rolls. I was reminded of a software conference at Esalan in Big Sur where the keynote speaker was the brilliant Dr Timothy Leary. Five minutes into his talk, I was convinced he had ingested WAY too much LSD. Chad gave off the same multi-tracked vibe. Chad may also have been a bit manic-depressive. Or maybe his internal or external stimulants just wore off. Adrenaline metabolizes, y'know. Anyway, his bounciness suddenly evaporated. "Hey guys, if you don't mind, I'm gonna crash. Bye now." Chad leaned back against their packs and was snoring thirty seconds later. "Cool boyfriend you have there," I snarked at Elle in the front passenger seat. "Umm well, he's more like a traveling companion. We have our own rooms, and he isn't in mine all that much. I only went on this run with him 'cause I didn't want to be alone and he was available. I'll be rid of him after this semester anyway." "You're students then?" "Yeah, Chad's studying Native American spirituality, but I'm going for dental tech training. I think that's better than knowing how to tie spirit bundles." Elle stretched her arms over her head. Her honeydew-melon-size breasts pushed her colorful tee out nicely. Hardened nipple points demonstrated her bralessness. Elle noticed that I noticed, and smiled sweetly. "How about you? What takes you to the City by the Bay?" "I'm a poet, but my poems are only read by machines." "Huh?" This was a new one for her. "I'm a computer programmer. Programs are the world's weirdest poetry. I work for a software house. My warez just count pennies, stuff like that, nothing profound. Just boring stuff." "So you're like those guys I see in the movies, wearing white lab coats and pocket protectors while big tape reels spin around and lights flash?" Elle smiled coyly. "Don't believe Hollywood. There are big machines and even a few tape reels left, but most of the ops people just wear street clothes, like any other office workers. And I just have a desk job. Only difference, there's a big terminal on my desk." "That doesn't sound too sexy," Elle said. She stretched and did her nipple pushouts again. She noticed that I noticed again. "You'd be surprised," I grinned at her. "Y'know, we really are thankful you're giving us this long ride. Would you like to see just how thankful I can be?" She brushed her had over my crotch. Hey, Andrea thanked me the same way, right here, just yesterday evening! Elle unzipped me and freed my hardening cock. She gave me some preliminary strokes. "Mmmm, that's pretty impressive. Clean, too! Mind if I have a taste?" Without waiting for my answer, Elle leaned down and engulfed me. Mmm, mmm, good! Traffic was light over Donner Pass today. Good thing. I switched-on cruise control so I needed to concentrate only on steering and feeling. And I felt GOOD! Elle was a superlative on-the-road cocksucker. She worked a bit faster and stronger than Andrea had less than a day before, but she was just as careful not to bring me off too quickly, too explosively. It felt like she was giving me a continuous low-grade orgasm -- but any orgasm lasting over an hour cannot really be called low-grade, can it? Elle finished me off around the exit leading to Folsom Prison. I kept my eyes open and the steering wheel steady as she drained my testicles dry and swallowed every milliliter of my man juice. My urethra was nearly smoking by then. "Hot damn, lady, that was pretty awesome," I gasped quietly. Chad still snored. Elle smiled as she carefully stuffed my drained dick back into my trousers. "Yeah, well, Chad may be into American Indian stuff, but I've taken advanced training in the Kama Sutra and other India Indian love work. And you're welcome." I stopped in Sacramento for hot tea. Our Welsh friends Mike and Mags, and our Canadian friends Jock and Althea, had given me a taste for sweet strong black tea with milk. (I was raised on black coffee. This sweet milky tea combo used to mess with my prejudices, but I have adapted.) Elle bought a more sedate herbal tea. Chad still slept. Worn out by hallucinogens? We exploited Chad's snoring near-coma a half-hour later. I took the Napa-Sonoma turnoff, then spun onto a little side road I knew of. We stopped next to a downed log in a grove of trees that blocked us from view. Elle blew me to stiffness again. She stripped off her sweat top -- no bra. She dropped her jeans and rolled onto the log, butt in the air, looking over her shoulder at me. I stood behind her. I stroked her tight ass, spread her thighs, massaged her mons, fingered her ready slit. She moaned, "Yesss..." I slid all the way into her warm wet tunnel. She groaned louder, "Oh fuck yeah!" We wasted no time on tedious foreplay nor sensuous kissing. This was not slow tender lovemaking. This was fast raw sex, brutal and direct. I pounded her butt and twisted her nipples. She pounded back. I reached down to strum her clit. We pounded harder. Alan in the Office Ch. 03 Elle came, not too loud -- let us not wake Chad. "Oh. Oh. Ohhh..." She came again, a little louder. "Oh, fuck me, oh that's nice, ahhh..." Her cumming accompanied a continuous litany. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck omigod..." Her last orgasmic spasm finally triggered my overdue eruption. We grunted together as I squirted a never-ending stream of adventurous sperm into her uterus. Overflow! We gasped, and cleaned, and dressed, and drove on. Chad did not wake till we were crossing the Bay Bridge at Treasure Island. "Oh man, we're here already? Wow, I just missed everything. Far out!" I dropped the pair downtown -- they could catch city Muni busses to get home -- and got into my Financial District office as though returning from a late lunch. It was an ordinary afternoon. Another boring cross-platform integration meeting. Veronica sat next to me at the conference table again. She was nodding off again. I fingered her vulva again to keep her awake. Just another day. ----- Sylvie put Operation Watertight phase II into action. Bribery produced a good-enough corpse in El Paso, of all places. She apparently was a call girl who overdosed. The poor victim was shipped on ice to Minneapolis to be 'discovered' in a cheap motel room. Another bribe had the body identified as Andrea. This was back before DNA tests, so only forged medical records and a little more cash were needed. Andrea's 'death' was a national Page Nine sensation for about six hours, then was lost in the shuffle of the news cycle's usual atrocities. (Do not get me started on what the Reagan administration was doing then.) Our friends on Grant Avenue said Andrea was the buzz of Chinatown for a few days. Then the PLA-vs-tongs war took other turns, and she was mostly forgotten. Sylvie relocated STUDIO S to Miami Beach a few weeks later. That was an easy move; just Sylvie, and Signe, and Andrea's designs to date, and a few bales of dresses and such stuff. And she found secure ID and location for Andrea, whose new name was Alicia Martinez. Sylvie called me to report on the move. "We had a couple minor glitches but we're pretty well moved-in now," she sang. "A couple weeks more, and we'll be back in full swing." "Any people problems there? Any gang problems?" I wanted to know. "Oh, I had no trouble recruiting new assembly and graphics and marketing teams. The Miami area has a pretty good talent pool. And we haven't come to the attention of the Cuban mafiya. I don't think they'll bother us. "We have some big advantages being here over the Bay Area. We have great Haitian and Dominican seamstresses, and we can setup larger production runs pretty cost-effectively around the Caribbean. High-quality fabrics cost less here. We can job-out accessories cheap to local ateliers, don't have to make it all ourselves. "Of course, we also have the fucking heat and humidity, and we can look forward to hurricanes. And there's all those batshit-crazy Cuban counter-revolutionary commando wannabees who're gonna overthrow Castro next week. Yeah, right. "Andrea (we call her Alicia now) and Signe and I sure miss the Bay Area vibe and weather and culture, they're all totally different here, and we sure do miss YOU guys. But we'll survive and thrive here, I'm sure of it." My turn. "Moira and I are tied up with Gnosis for the next few weeks but we'll fly out to see you some weekend. Don't worry, we'll give you some warning so you can clean up your act, hide all the dancing boys," I teased. "What, you'd make me give them up? Miguel will be devastated! But hey, when you get here, I'll see if I can have some Havana cigars for you. Can you be bribed?" "Easily, baby. You know I'm cheap. A good cigar, a glass of rum, a hot woman or three, and the latest workstation, that's all I need," I laughed. "Done! Just bring your own woman along for the fun. See ya soon!" ----- Life went on. Moira and I had friends over to our condo most nights, for fun and frolic. We flew to Miami about once a month to check on business and for more fun and frolic. This was long before MIAMI VICE; the scene there was still being invented, a heady mix of sex, drugs, mambo and salsa, money, guns, and fantasy. Moira and I were still rising functionaries at Gnosis. We kept finding new ways for (other people's) money to make money. We were stars, but in a small galaxy. Not that it was not fun. We were well paid, richly bonused, got perks, all that stuff. And the work was interesting -- well, as interesting as other people's money can be. Moira and I do not worship money. We just love how it lubricates life's frictions. Were we bored with the Bay Area, tempted by the Miami scene? Maybe a little. Our monthly visits sure were spicy. But oh shit, the weather! And the lunatics! I was at home and on the phone to Sylvie. She asked if I had thought about moving east. I told her: "Look babe, I'm a California boy, born and raised. Yeah, I've been all over, in many different environments around the country and the world. But here in USA, the truth is: The West is the best. To me, the area east of the Rockies is just about fucking uninhabitable. Yet people live there anyway. Go figure." "You're kind of cutting yourself off from a lot, aren't you?" Sylvie laughed. "Sturgeon's Law: ninety-five percent of everything is crap. I'll apply that to geography as well as to literature, politics, and food. Maybe sex, too. I'm happy with the best five percent, not the rest of the crud." "Are you becoming an elitist pig, Alan? Not that I won't love you anyway, dipshit," Sylvie giggled. "I'll be sure to send you sweet valentines, right as the next hurricane blows you away, babe." "Always the sweet-talker, Alan! That's cool. I'll keep a storm shelter warm and cozy for you. Sweet dreams!" I hung up the phone and turned back to the slurpy scene in our condo's mirrored living room. Nobody was in the wide hanging swing. I had expected that. My Celtic beauty Moira lay back on the biggest plush couch with Xenia's dark wiry Greek pussy feeding her face and Suzanne's busy Belizean mouth buried in my wife's auburn crotch. Xenia gasped under the Moira's tongue-lashing; her nearly prehensile feet twitched madly. Suzy's chocolate weight-lifter's arms wrapped firmly around Moira's thighs. Her amazing athletic ass poked high in the air. That ass looked mighty inviting to me. I joined the fun. First, I had to ensure Suzanne's sultry slot was in a prime state of fuckable readiness. I gently stroked and probed between her tremendous thighs. Yes, wet; but wet enough? Try the tongue test. My lingual probe was successful, both as a taste treat, and for generating a happy response: Suzy dripped even more, and groaned, and spread. This was quite encouraging. I was already naked and hard. Yes, I had stroked myself to stiffness. My potential fluffers *were* occupied, after all. I tongued Suzanne even more, savoring her smoky juicy flavors and the exquisite softness of her labia and vagina. She shuddered in appreciation. My tongue explored further, and found her clitoris, and abused it till she yelled into Moira's muff. I was ready. I moved behind Suzanne. I brushed my dickhead around her puffed-out labia, playing with the soft folds, teasing her portal, feinting in and out just a bit. Her butt vibrated, surely a demand for more. And more is what she got. I eased into her, sliding slowly, directly, inexorably deep. I pushed into her cervix. Suzy squawked happily. I grunted, and stayed in place, keeping her filled. Then I started moving. Long slow deep strokes, mixed with short fast shallow pokes, with occasional near-pullouts and quick deep thrusts, and then prolonged pounding. And more pounding. And finally cum, sweat, and tears, with accompanying bellowing. Suzanne rolled away from between Moira's thighs. Not one to waste an opportunity, Xenia moved into a 69 atop Moira. Their slurping and groaning continued unabated. Suzy rolled on top of me for a 69 of our own. I tasted our mixed juices. I felt her mouth working miracles on my well-used cock. I felt my excitement rise again. Life was GOOD here! No, I do not think we shall move to Miami. ----- NEXT: Stay tuned for the further adventures of Alan In The Office. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have yet to finish reading, editing, and adapting Ron's notes about Alan's adventures, and stories told by others of his friends. Expect more posted accounts. Your feedback is more than welcome.