This is chapter two of a 'confessions of a window cleaner' type story following our protagonist, Thomas, as he learns the ropes at a small Architecture consultancy in England.
As always, all characters are of age and consent to the activities described, and unfortunately, none of this relates to actual people I know, but some may come from personal experience.
*****
My father drops me at the Gallagher & Holmes car park on his way to work. I'm excited but somewhat nervous about starting day two of my already eye-opening career at the small Architects' practice in leafy England.
My little car sits cold, lonely, in a correct spot, having been left there the day before when my colleague, James, abandoned me at a client's house to attend the birth of his child. Quite a good reason, I know, but still a bit overwhelming at the time. Little did I know that it was nowhere near as overwhelming as the experience that ensued with the client, Harriet, also known as Ms. Brown - My new, personal dominatrix - My own attentive domme! Overwhelming, all-consuming, extra-sensory - I give up on superlatives - it was by far the most surreal experience of my short twenty-three years on the planet. I can't wait for it to happen again, or can I? What would another session be like? It could be painful. It could be earth-shattering. It will be mind-blowing.
For now, her business card is tucked securely into my wallet. A decision for later.
If I'm honest, I was a little disappointed that my father announced he was dropping me at work, and it wouldn't be his girlfriend, Claire. Actually, if I'm really honest, I was devastated that it wasn't Claire. I had spent most of the previous evening with her. We started cooking dinner for the three of us, but when my father called to say he would be late home, she put the Mamma Mia soundtrack on at full volume, and despite my street-cred telling me to the contrary - my street-cred in fact screamed at me to stop - we sang and danced around the kitchen to the sounds of 'Super-Trouper' and 'Voulez-Vous' before putting the movie on the TV and re-living it all again.
By the time my father arrived home, our mouths hurt from smiling and singing, and our eyes were red from crying - both laughter and sorrow. Yeah, I blubber at films, so bite me!
I don't really know Claire. She and my father got together after I left for university, so I only saw her during the holidays, and even then, I was either sleeping or out with mates, so time with her had been limited. After last night, I wanted to rectify that immediately. Although, Christ only knows what my father would do to me if he knew the thoughts that were going through my mind. She was stunning to look at, a pleasure to be with, clever, funny, caring, thoughtful (yes, she had given me another banana as I left this morning for work), and, did I say, stunning?
Thirty-seven years old, nearly ten years younger than my father. Flowing blonde hair, well-defined cheekbones, sharp jawline, skin as smooth as silk, lightly sun-kissed, with just enough lines to show her experience and joy of life. Her eyes hold you like a baby - with care and attention. Her intelligence shines through her gaze - with a powerful hit of sexiness, which slaps you in the face when you look down at her lips. Full but natural, aching to be kissed.
Between dinner and the movie, to my initial disappointment, she ran upstairs to change from her gym gear. The gym gear that clung to her athletic body and large tits like a glove. The gym gear that showed the hint of a camel-toe. The gym gear that had my cock in a permanent state of arousal. But after showering, my concerns were unjustified as she reappeared in light silk pyjamas that hung and flowed around her body, giving glimpses of the treasures beneath. A carefully positioned cushion on the sofa spared my embarrassment throughout the evening as I stole looks at her, snuggled up in an armchair.
My thoughts were so wrong. So wrong. But my body didn't know that; it only reacted to what it saw and felt. My mind knew it was wrong, but it wished it didn't. This could turn into an infatuation if I wasn't careful.
Okay, returning to the here and now; The office. I'm super early. My father had to be at work for eight, and his college is thirty-five minutes from here. I'd protested, Claire had protested, but he insisted. 'Waste of petrol'; 'busy woman'; 'better things to do'; 'Mac's fault anyway'; all listed as reasons why I would travel with him this morning. He never once said it would be nice to spend time with me.
The car journey was quiet. I was tired from being up this early, he was exhausted from being overworked, and we never really talked much anyway, but mostly I was pissed off that he wasn't female, blonde and sexy.
As I'm dropped off, I mumble a 'thanks' like a moody teenager and extricate myself, my rucksack, and James' bag from my father's Volvo. I wander across the car park, interested that there is already a black BMW Three series, a white Fiat Five Hundred, and a silver Ford Focus keeping my car company. They're keen. I don't recognise any of them, which is unsurprising as I only know the owners of three cars from the office. I can deduce that neither the obnoxious Rob, my boss, Jeremy, nor the wife attending James are here yet. I doubt James will actually be in today.
I push lightly on the front door of the office, and it swings open. I don't need to hunt for the out-of-hours door and alarm codes I'd been given the day before. I sigh to myself that the beautiful Lauren is not there to greet me, as she had done yesterday. I trot through the empty office to my desk and drop the bags down. Looking over the courtyard, I can see someone sitting at a desk on the other side, but I can't quite make out who. I'm unlikely to remember their name from my whistlestop tour of the office on day one.
What shall I do now? I should start writing up my notes from the 'consultation' yesterday. I'll grab a coffee first. I wander back to the little kitchen area.
Then I remember that during my interviews, when they were selling the job to me, they told me there was an office gym in a barn to the side of the main building. I had planned to check it out and register for an introduction to the machines yesterday afternoon, but as we know, I ended up exercising in a completely different way. I'll kill some time and see if I can check it out now instead. I head back out the front door and down the far side of the office to investigate.
The gym is housed in another converted farm block, similar to the office, but about an eighth of the size. I press my face against the large windows that fill the gaps in the old stonework where barn doors would have been. The early morning sun lights up the brand-new, high-spec apparatus. Black and silver treadmills and exercise bikes stand idle, black dumbbells are neatly lined up, and dark yoga-style mats cover a highly polished wooden floor. It all stands empty, silent and untouched. There's a stillness to the scene. It's really impressive. Architects definitely get paid too much. Great!
I pull on the handle of one of the glass doors and am surprised as it swishes across. The air conditioning is cool and crisp. The faint scent of rubber and metal wafts over me; it's fresh, there's not yet any evidence of sweat and grime from heavy workouts. I wonder how much it actually gets used. I step inside to explore the facilities. I'm inspired to use it. I feel that buzz of the session, the adrenaline of achievement. And, with no one else around, it feels like it was made just for me, my own gym. Maybe being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere is not so bad after all.
Beyond the expensive equipment, there are a few doors at the far end from where I entered; I wonder if there's a sauna or steam room. That would really top it off. A new-years-resolution type enthusiasm makes me almost bounce across the space.
I push a door on the right, but it's locked. It might be a storage cupboard. I try the next door, with success.
As the door swings open, I sense people before I see or hear them. The sixth sense of someone else being around. The emptiness of the gym suddenly feels oppressive. I gingerly step forward into a changing room. It has dark wood flooring similar to the main gym, plush lockers surrounding a bench in the middle. A passageway leads away in front of me to the right; it must lead to showers, wash-rooms. Out of sight. I take another step inside; the door softly closes behind me. I feel like an intruder, out of place. I nearly try a cheery call to pierce the density of the atmosphere, but something stops me. I hear an unmistakable groan. A really unmistakable groan.
I should turn and go. I should. But would you? I stand still, holding my breath, judging whether I have been detected by whoever is there. There's another groan. I take that as a positive sign I have remained unnoticed. But then there's a decision to make. Do I go further? If I am seen, it could be disastrous. But I'm not doing anything wrong here. I'm the innocent party coming to the gym. But there's a risk. There's danger. Ms. Brown's voice enters my head and tells me I should embrace my fears, be confident, walk forward and discover what is there. She also tells me that I am pathetic, my cock is pitiful, and I don't deserve to be excited. But I am excited.
I slowly breathe out and then take a deep breath. Preparing myself for the unknown.
I step forward and carefully inch along the corridor. As I get closer to whatever action there is, a quieter, rhythmic slurping sound starts to come through, along with the louder, more sporadic groans I'd heard from the doorway. My mind tells me one thing. I surely can't be mistaken.
The end of the corridor is fast approaching; it has a left turn ahead. I ease myself up to it and imagine myself as a Private Detective. I poke one eye around the corner, hiding my body against the wall. There are four toilet cubicles ahead of me, all open and empty. A marble counter and washbasin are to my right. Hairdryers hang from hooks either side. The sounds are coming from behind me - the unmistakable sounds. Slurp, slurp, schlock.
"Mmmm, Mmmmm," a woman.
"Argh! Argh, Grrr," a man.
There is a wall and then an opening about six feet wide. In the recess, the floor changes to tiles; it's a shower area.
'Private Dick Mac' slides himself along the wall and carefully peers through the gap, holding his breath.
I take a quick look and snap my head back. I saw the shoulders of a naked man, diagonally across from me, turned away at an angle.
I look back, slowly, this time allowing my gaze to trace down his body. His shoulder blades, his back, his left buttock. It's here where my eyes stop. Knelt before him, fully dressed, is the office manager, head of HR, Sandra. Her blouse is unbuttoned, her white, practical bra pulled up, exposing a massive, pearly white pair of tits, with dark round areola. They hang from her shoulders like sacks. Her nipples are lighter and stand firm and proud. She has a black skirt that flows to her knees. Her hair is tied up, her eyes wide open, her mouth wide open as she slurps and sucks on the cock of this stranger. Her right-hand twists on his penis. I can just see the fingers of her left hand that have reached around, grabbing hold of the guy's ass.
I thought she looked slightly dishevelled yesterday from stress. If this is her early morning routine, then it makes perfect sense, but not due to stress.
Her eyes are looking up at him, no doubt watching his expression change as she licks and sucks him. I imagine his eyes opening and closing, his mouth opening and closing, his head bending back, his chest pulling forwards.
I can't help it. I take a deep breath in.
Sandra's eyes now flick to me. I see a flash of fear, a flash of recognition. A murmur of a pause in her activity. A millisecond where her head stops moving, her mouth stops moving, where her hand stops moving. She probably sees the same flash of fear in my eyes, the same flash of recognition. The stranger probably doesn't notice a thing, except that, after the pause, she suddenly takes more of him, speeds up, is more hungry for his cock.
Her eyes don't look away from me.
Her hand is twisting around him as her cheeks clamp on him. She suddenly pulls him out and slaps her cheek with his cock. Again and again. His red helmet pushed through his foreskin, striking her full, round cheek. She keeps pumping with her hand as she sucks on his balls. Her eyes don't look away from me.
His groans increase in number and volume. She grabs his other ass cheek and pulls him back into her mouth. Her lips wide, taking more and more. Her eyes wide, straining more and more, but not moving from mine.
"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she gags on him.
"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she pulls him out and spits on him.
"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she takes him again, never moving her eyes from mine.
"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," again and again.