- Floor -1.
Leo sat at his desk - screens flashed irrelevant pieces of information at regular intervals, occasionally an email pinged, a business update from the new VP of Risk and Compliance - Anya.Meads@deloinne.com - restructures. A little jump in his stomach as he pondered what he'd do if he was let go... but dry corporate speak informed him of his safety. Taking a sip of coffee, he hovered on her picture, no recognition of the face, must be new. Then again, it seemed everyone was always new. Red hair that fell past her shoulders, smart blouse, piercing eyes. Or he thought they were, the picture was tiny. An email reminding him to make a payment for his AmEx. Then a meeting invite. Absent-minded, opening the Eventbrite link, adding his name and details to a data security conference in Birmingham.
The most boring day in the most boring job. The kind of job that did itself. He stretched. Long and languid. Scruffy jeans, a D&D teeshirt, white trainers. Skinny legs, skinny arms, curly brown hair that formed into a chaotic mop on his head. Blue eyes just visible under his curls.
It had been 4 months and nothing had happened yet, would anything ever happen? He hoped it wouldn't, Leo may have exaggerated his ability to work in IT, may have made his experience of Python sound a little more extensive in the interview than the simple Monkey Island rip-off point and click adventure game he had created a few months ago. At least he had the room to himself. After Rhod had done an awful job of interviewing him - Leo had noticed his Baldur's Gate teeshirt and steered the conversation to classic RPGs for most of the hour - Rhod had retired, the passwords were handed over, the archaic servers explained, and Rhod's desk was still spare (though Leo had since covered it in boxes, spare screens and keyboards).
Being the invisible man at work had its advantages. Leo got in early every morning, took a bowl of complimentary porridge and fruit, avoided the scores of junior paralegals, and retreated to the basement with a mug of milky coffee to slowly enter the day. Free breakfast, free lunch around 1PM, and he was home by 5. Seven and a half hours done. No-one knew he existed, apart from when things went wrong in their worlds, and then he was the life-saver, the Messiah. Really he just knew the right words to Google, the right forums to search, the correct prompts to give to Chat GPT, but he wasn't going to ruin his mystique by telling anyone that. Life was alright, the easiest job, no-one really bothered him, and he was slowly making a dent in his maxed out credit cards. Leo had been told this by his ex a lot, he was not the best with money. Free credit just felt like free money, graphics cards weren't going to pay for themselves. That was one of several reasons she was his ex. But he finally had a good thing here.
Well, if there was nothing to do, why shouldn't he enjoy his morning a little more?
Covering his phone screen with a conspiratorial hand, he tapped in L.I.T.E.R.O.T.I.C.A.DOT.C.O.M.. This always made the day go a bit quicker. Minutes later he had found his favourite author, and was lost in a story about a pushy dentist and a twink discovering his love for chastity - Leo felt a familiar tightening in his boxers. Their next story. A precocious musical talent and his teacher with innovative methods of inspiration - he was asked to stay behind after practice and thrashed with the conductor's baton, trousers around his ankles and touching his toes in the middle of the auditorium, piteously asking her for one more strike, welts already forming. She called him her good toy, said she could give rewards as well as punishment as he covered her heeled foot in kisses...Leo loved the stories when the submissive gave themselves over to the situation, acknowledged and embraced their plight. Another ping that he half-heard, an email, a request to share documents, it was that Anya Meads, the new VP, again. A little voice in his brain recognised that there was no picture this time, and that was a little odd. Shared. Back to his story.
BDSM was something new to him. It was erotic to the point of pain, the control you gave over in that space. Only a few months ago, a Tinder meet-up, drunk sex on her bedroom floor, a hand around his throat pinning him gently to the cold tiles, she had rode him, had asked him, no, told him to beg for her, to thank her. It had been a light bulb in Leo's head. He hadn't summoned up the courage to act on it yet. But he had the stories. Leo sighed, and adjusted himself in the desk chair. Next story.
- Floor 62.
Anya had had enough of this fucking job already.
It wasn't that the team were bad, there was just a malaise about the place at Deloinne that made it hard to get anything done. So little trust in management, everyone wanted everything in writing, done by the book. A meeting yesterday about planning had been derailed when her direct report had point-blank refused to contribute, they were worried they'd be criminally liable on one of the data protection risks if they said anything. Ridiculous. Today had been perfectly wording a nasty email about restructures, job losses, just before Christmas. Just what she wanted to have to do when trying to make a good impression in the new job. Her AVP had recommended a nasty jumped-up middle manager called Rueben, said he was very 'effective', but she didn't want to show him any good will. In a brief conversation with him, waiting for a taxi after work, she had understood just what sort of person he was - mean, a bully, needed teaching a lesson.
Linkedin decided now was a good time to let her know about her ex's promotion. She needed a cigarette. Puffing on a stupid little nicotine pen just didn't give her the distraction she needed from that stupid little update. Caroline in HR smoked and she was only a few floors down from hers.
"Hey, Caroline, can I pinch a straight?" Anya asked, leaning across the desk. The physical closeness was a mistake. It was meant to show friendliness, it was the wrong work-place to try that. Caroline looked terrified, stammered a "Yes of course" and rolled a Lambert and Butler across the table. "Thanks, that's great. I'll grab you a Pepsi when I go out for lunch as a thank you, that's what you drink, right?" Anya desperately tried to save the unsaveable social situation, spotted the obvious diet coke on the table, realised the situation was indeed unsaveable, and retreated, cigarette in hand. That would teach her for trying to make a friend. This was not the workplace to try and make a friend.
A lift ride, a swipe of her pass, into the cold air and concrete city streets, and nicotine. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the university building window opposite, Anya always thought she looked good when she smoked. Today was a green body-suit, a leather jacket, white trainers. Casual but professional. Not quite snug enough for November, she gave a little shiver.
Two pings on her phone, she had a Fetlife notification, and someone had liked her latest story on literotica. It was an event advertised on Fetlife. She should go to it, friends were good, kinky friends were better, and she was new to the area, but fuck, Anya felt the sinking feeling in her stomach. Events were hard to get excited for when you'd been to a lot. Being a domme was an exercise in sifting. The endless messages, the floods of profiles. But she should go. A final sharp inhale of that sweet nicotine ('why did she stop?!' Her inner monologue screamed) and the cigarette butt was stubbed against the wall, thoughtfully.
- Floor 33
Reuben's day at work was going well. Reuben's day at work generally went well. That came with rising up the ladder at Deloinne with incredible speed - he started off only three years ago helping the financial crime team, and now he was leading the whole department. People did what Reuben said, and he liked it when people did what he said. And what is generally true of men like Reuben, and was certainly true about Reuben, is that they are sycophantic to anyone with a bigger pay-check than them. Reuben did what his seniors told him, to the letter, and that made him very upwardly popular. If there was a well-liked cleaner to be let go, Reuben was always the man. If there was a cost-cutting exercise to take place, Reuben had the sharpest blade. There was the unpleasant business with an aggravated assault against a janitor who simply didn't fit the culture and simply wouldn't leave the building. But Reuben kept his managers sweet, and they loved him for it, and it was swept under the rug. Being downwardly popular didn't bother him at all. Though he did make a mental note that, having met his boss's new boss yesterday, he might have to ease up on being such a bastard to his staff. She had a streak of fairness he'd noticed in the fifteen minute chat that might get its hackles raised by his usual behaviour. Little Miss Anya Meads would get it knocked out of her after six months working here, he was sure of it. She was hot though, in a stern kind of way. Not his type - his type was usually junior, younger, the more agreeable the better. It was easier to get them to do what he wanted that way.
