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Author's Note: this is the start of a slow-burn body horror series. Many sexy and (frankly) weird things will happen in time. Everyone in this story is 18 years or older.
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It all started on overtime. I needed the money. I hate working late. The tired monotony of forms upon forms and stamps upon stamps. Sometimes I even dream in lot numbers and warehouse codes. I can see the letters crawling across the endless reams of paper when I close my eyes.
I shifted in my chair, my back and my shoulders ached. I'm also pretty sure that I lost all feeling in my butt an hour ago. The least they could do was give us better chairs. Well, not us. Me. I was the only one here. The only one burning the midnight oil.
I adjusted my glasses and glanced about the office. Dingy, boring, dusty -- just like the damn forms. It was little more than a metal box with a creaking aircon box. The other shifts called the latter the "breathing tube", for the facility was several feet below ground. If the AC goes, you go too -- slowly and horrifically. Ah, just the kind of humor that makes you yearn to go back to work, isn't it?
Besides the vital lifeline buzzing away in the corner of the room, the place was pretty spartan. A pneumatic tube system crawled across one wall like tree roots that lacked imagination. Those were for the forms, of course. Once you filled the right one out and ticked all the right boxes, you rolled it up, placed it in a metal cylinder, and sent it away. Four possible routes: Cursed Objects (COs), Biological Entities (BEs), Anomalous Findings (AFs), and Miscellaneous (X). As far as I know, the paperwork gets filled in each of these four underground warehouses -- along with the actual thing it is for.
My job was to sit at this desk right here, sift through the heavy coded field reports, fill in forms, and send the tube away. Day after day. Forever. And then they pay me every month. The fact that the bank statement says "Dark & Mysterious Coffee Shop" is probably none of my business. Certainly not yours. Trust me, on your first day here you sign so many Non-Disclosure forms that you're not even sure that you can tell anyone your real name or not. Suffice to say that the facility is just outside a small town in the middle of nowhere. A black site that does not exist.
Things are so secret here that I don't even know who else works here. Okay, except Nina, but I will get to her in a moment. I never seen anyone else come or go. I know that someone leaves forms and that person or persons unknown occasionally bring items and entities in for storage, but I never see them. Just me, this office, and the mind-numbing boredom.
Oh, yes, Nina. She does exactly what I do. She is the day shift. She is a twenty-something goth girl, ice queen who has said no more than two words to me (i.e. "goodbye, loser"). Black hair, pale skin, stockings, choker, black lace everywhere else. She usually wares black lipstick. She hates me. I hate her too, in principle. But there were many times when I grunted her name as I came over myself. I could not help but imagine those black lips on mine, or on my cock. What did those breasts feel like? Those that strained against the black fabric and that line of cleavage that drove me wild...
A man can dream.
Alas, dreaming was the end all and be all of it. Nina would not spare even a mildly erotic thought for me. I too was a twenty-something, but that was the end of it. I was tall and chubby and rather plain-looking. I had wild brown hair -- I usually looked as if I just got out of bed. I was happy with Jr. -- he had seven inches on him on a good day and was a decent girth. My collage girlfriend seemed to like it. But then again, that is where it stopped. I wonder how long you have to wait between actual sex before they give you your virgin card back. I was expecting it in the mail any day now.
Anyway, back to the incident. Overtime, like I said. Profound boredom, like I said. Boredom makes me insanely horny. While I was staring down at the reference documents and forms upon forms, I could only see Nina's lips. What would it take to make her smile? What would it take to make her moan?
I shifted in my seat again, feeling my hardon grow in my pants. I should just finish these last few and then I can go home and wank my brains out. I could pull it out right here and relieve myself at the desk. I was sorely tempted ... and sorely tenting. The idea of Nina sitting at here on her shift wondering at the stains... I had a problem. Part of me was disgusted by my desires. The other part, well, it spoke for itself.
Just these forms. Just these forms.
The next twenty minutes felt like hours, but I did my duty. The process involved matching the codes on the field notes (just alphabet soup to you or me) with the codes in the guidebooks (more gibberish). This last one was for BE-147 -- a biological entity, as I've said before. What it was, what it looked like, what was special about it -- all of this was a mystery to me. For all I know it was someone's radioactive houseplant.
