Desperate Breaths

A story for Literotica, by Narwhal_Daddy

Edited by the incomparable sluttybbyg19

*** Disclaimer, Please Read Even If You KNOW You Want to Read This Story ***: This is a work of pure fantasy and involves genuine non-consent as a theme, fantasy examples of threats of physical and psychological harm, and fantasy examples of restraint and bondage without safety measures. Under no circumstances does the author endorse real life scenes where consent has not been given by every party that is involved or where genuine harm is intended by any party. The author is a real-life Dominant who always engages in Risk Aware Consensual Kink and does not engage in, or condone those who do engage in, any play, including non-consent play, where negotiation has not already taken place, consent has not been given, and reasonable safety measures have not been taken. If reading about the kinds of fantasy elements described in this disclaimer are not your cup of tea, you are invited to stop reading here.

All characters are intended to be (well) over the age of 18, and if the reader is not of age to legally read sexually explicit material in their place of residence, please stop reading now. ***

It was as typical as any Monday morning, except that Ryan wasn't ready to work. Ordinarily, he belonged to that tremendously annoying class of people known as morning people. Even worse, he generally showed up on Mondays ready to start the week in overdrive, a particularly dangerous trait to have when one worked in an IT department, a department that universally runs on two things: caffeine and complaining. IT was always the home to everyone who preferred electronics to people, but also the department only talked to people who had something that was, figuratively, on fire, people whose business was always much more important than the computer problem they needed fixed immediately, in other words people that were usually acting like the worst versions of themselves. Also ordinarily, he would understand that his positivity and alertness were going to be unwelcome both this early in the morning and this early in the week. Ryan's relatively unusual talent of handling the personalities of both the "techs" and the "users" had launched him off of the help desk and into a manager position in a niche that even other IT people didn't want or fully understand. This, however, was not a typical, and definitely not an ordinary, Monday.

Staring at his Inbox, rubbing his temple, and weighing the pros and cons of putting his fist through the monitor, he finally made himself get up for a cup of coffee. Two of the young help desk monkeys were already there, avoiding morning tickets as usual. They saw him as soon as he entered and moved out of his way.

"Morning," he offered curtly without really looking over at either of them, barely registering the way they both seemed a bit uneasy at his presence.

"Good morning," they both said in unison, backing away from the Keurig as if to give him extra space.

They were silent for a few awkward moments that just made him sigh. Why the hell couldn't anyone else in IT handle basic people skills but managers? He closed his eyes and slowly reopened them, deciding it just was

not

his responsibility today to make the kids feel safe. He focused instead on getting his sugar and cream ready as he heard the sound of water starting to boil.

Finally the two of them started to whisper to one another as if they were in the corner of a junior high classroom, causing Ryan to roll his eyes to himself.

"Have you seen the new VP of Accounting? I set her computer up for her last week," Mike, the one sporting the goatee he'd probably had since college, started.

"Not yet, but Jim on the second floor was messaging me on Teams about her this morning," Tam, the tall lanky one answered, "he said she was an 8 leaning towards a 9."

"He's underselling it. I'm telling you, she's like a real-life oppai character. Even her outfit had fan service written all over it," Mike answered. Being in IT required speaking a few nerd languages, and Ryan was semi-fluent enough in anime to parse out that the woman they were discussing had big tits and was at one point wearing something that showed off something, probably just a bit of her cleavage considering this was, in fact, a VP they were talking about and not an undercover stripper. Ryan could feel his hands balling up into fists and started trying to will his coffee to finish brewing. Listening to locker room talk from two likely virgins was the opposite of what he needed at this moment.

"Maybe someone needs to turn off the accounting file server so we can go do some 'troubleshooting', eh?" Tam suggested jokingly.

"There's a good idea," Ryan heard himself saying, though he didn't remember deciding to talk, "While you're at it maybe you could drop by her office and give her your direct lines, tell her that you can help with any computer issues she might have. And then I can watch as both of you are surprised when all of her employees call you two directly from now on rather than putting in tickets." He shook his head and looked at the ceiling before sighing and looking them both in the eyes, "I swear, learn this now, guys: never trust a pretty woman. They all learned a long time ago that things were going to be really fucking easy for them." With that, Ryan picked up his coffee, an unreasonable number of creamer and sugar packets, and turned on his heels leaving the two 20 somethings looking like scared rabbits that had just had a conversation with a wolf.

Maybe I should just take the day off,

Ryan thought to himself on his way back to his cubicle. He'd lost his cool with those two morons and even let a little bit of his actual emotions out. He was shaking when he sat back down in his chair.

"Woah, man, you alright there?" the voice from across the cubicle row asked. When Ryan looked up, he saw Clint had made it in, in one of his trademark t-shirts (today's involved light sabers) and jeans.

Ryan sighed in response.

"Ah, Christine?" Clint said concilitorily.

"Seriously, not today," Ryan said back, knowing it wasn't going to work. Clint wasn't totally clueless when it came to people; he could read when someone was stressed or upset. Usually he had a pretty good joke or something witty to say to lighten the mood, but one thing he never did was just leave it alone. Most of the time it was endearing..

"You know, I once did a cost/benefit analysis of just hiring some va-jay-jay every Friday night versus the whole girlfriend/wife thing," he began, "basically once kids get involved the numbers start to go entirely in the whore's direction."

Ryan smirked in spite of himself. Clint really was a pain in the ass, especially when he forced your brain to go along with him, "And how exactly are you getting numbers for the direct-pay model?"

"HBO reality shows," Clint said back deadpan. Ryan laughed and Clint knew he had him on the hook. The next 15 minutes were devoted to a discussion of how expensive paying a prostitute weekly would be depending on how hot she was and what kind of a freak you were. Their cubicle mates got involved. Chaos ensued. In the end, Ryan felt better without having actually resolved or, just as importantly, having actually

discussed

anything that had made him angry in the first place.

* * *

"Let me just be as clear as I possibly can be: Stop texting me, Christine. Stop calling me. And most importantly, stop showing up at my house. This is over," Ryan hit send on his phone and sighed. He sat down behind the wheel of his truck and started the engine. When he got the fifth message before he was even out of his neighborhood, he pulled over and blocked her number.

For crying out loud,

he began to promise himself,

from here on out, you absolutely will NOT be with anyone who has not demonstrated that they are a genuine grown-up. No more 26 year old princesses living with their mom and dad.

For what he hoped would be one of the last times for a while, Ryan drove to work angry. The last 48 hours had been a soap opera that had started with his ex-girlfriend confronting him, in front of his friends, at the group's favorite bar to say that he'd come crawling back to her and somehow culminated in him slamming the door in her face last night when she showed up on his front porch at 2 a.m., dropping a dressing gown to reveal she was wearing nothing but a thong and heels in the dim glow of the streetlights. Apparently that particular rejection was enough to convince her he wasn't just mad but serious about ending things. He'd woken up to at least 40 texts and what looked like a tearful video that he didn't even open. The worst thing was that he knew she wasn't crazy. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she was pursuing it exactly as she had the entire time they'd been together. About a week ago it had stopped being about really wanting him and turned into something that was obviously about her pride and ego. She was the kind of girl that had always done the breaking up.

It took him about 30 minutes to get to work, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot, he'd been talking to himself, with the radio off he noticed, for 29 of them. He took a moment to take a deep breath and collect himself before getting out of the truck and grabbing his messenger bag. He straightened the tie he rarely wore. In his department, ties made one stand out in not the most appreciated ways, but he just needed to be dressed nice for himself today. Then he squared his shoulders when he got to the doors of the office building.

He was early today; there was no one waiting at the elevator. Suddenly feeling tired, he closed his eyes for a moment as the elevator doors opened and he stepped in. He opened them in response to the sound of shoes on the tile outside the elevator cab, just in time to see a brunette about to be closed out by the doors. He quickly threw his hand up between the doors, triggering the safety re-opening feature a half a blink before he would have felt compelled to yank his hand back. It was like a shot of adrenaline in his arm.

"Thanks," the curvy, well-dressed woman, in her early 30s he guessed, said with a pleasant smile.

"Of course," he answered nonchalantly, making a point to look away, at least until she started looking down at her phone. Maybe it was the thumping of nature's nitro in his veins after feeling like his hand might get smashed, maybe, more likely, it was the furious mood he was trying to keep under wraps, or maybe... he just hadn't gotten laid in a little while, but whatever the reason, his brain decided that this trip up to the 7th floor was fantasy time. In the polished metal walls of the elevator, he could clearly see the reflection of the woman standing next to him, and he indulged himself in ogling her like a teenager, albeit with a lot more subtlety. She filled out the blazer of her pantsuit and the tight pants so well that it was easy to imagine using either her generous tits or generous hips as hand holds to pull her body back against his. The darker side of his nature and sexuality rushed into the mental space he was allowing himself and imagined dropping his bag and setting on her savagely, grabbing her with a hand over her mouth as he stopped the elevator between floors. What would he want next, perhaps a luxurious grope of her body through her clothes, feeling every detail of her lingerie through them? He could smell the hint of perfume she wore and felt it start to arouse him. Feeling like a much younger man, he moved his messenger bag in front of his fly to ensure he hid any potential signs of that arousal. Normally this would be where he'd feel societal pressure not to embarass himself and break off this train of thoughts to allow the pressure to subside, but not today.

No,

he said to himself, giving dialogue to the thoughts,

this morning I wouldn't be patient enough to savor you, whoever you are. This morning I'd push you painfully into the corner and start tearing those pants away from your hips. I'd make you into a set of holes for me to relieve my every fucking desire and whim into. I'd tear your blouse open and take possession of those tits with both hands as I forced my excited manhood into your, hopefully unwilling, fuckhole.

Ryan wasn't at all unfamiliar with how rough his fantasies could get, but even so the next thing he thought surprised even him as his inner dialogue produced,

and if you got too fucking wet, I'd whisper in your slutty ear that this wasn't supposed to be for your pleasure, then pull out to shove roughly into your tightest hole. I'd make you scream into my hand. I'd-

DING

The elevator announced that they had reached floor 7, and Ryan suddenly came to his senses. His cheeks flushed, he said the obligatory, "Have a good one," and started to step out with his bag leading his way.

"You too," she said back, even looking up and smiling before the doors started to close again.

Sweet merciful fuck,

he thought to himself as he took a few breaths and steadied himself, waiting for his pants to feel less constraining before heading to the glass doors to badge in. On his way to his desk, he tried reasoning with himself that she had, in fact, been very attractive, and that he had, in fact, just been really horny or perhaps just in need of distraction. The more self-aware part of his mind, however, was far too aware of the fact that he suddenly felt lighter, less angry. Even just those few moments of sadistic indulgence had given him enough of an outlet to be more centered, even if they came with a big dose of lust that was lingering pretty hard. Energy, that was what was needed, and before he crashed from the adrenaline high.

Ryan stopped by the vending machine for some peanuts before heading to his desk, trying to avoid the voice that was relentlessly demanding to be heard. When he realized he'd read the same line of his first email of the day five times without actually registering it, though, he finally gave in with an audible sigh. He let himself acknowledge that he was sadistic, hoping to quiet the emotional voice, and counseled himself that the desires had lived only in his fantasy, so he shouldn't feel guilty about them. The voice didn't quiet down. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Alright, so he also found it exciting to possess that woman sexually against her will. That had also lived only in his head, and he shouldn't feel guilty for that as he would never act on those sorts of thoughts. That last bit caused a flash of anger and he paid attention, as he tried to mentally follow the anger. The angry voice was talkative, but it wanted to talk about Christine and he'd had enough of that in his head back in the truck. The feeling sharpened and he mentally asked,

Alright, what's the point though? What's really making you mad?

It came back as a pointed feeling, not exactly words, but instead as the realization that that fantasy, in a few short moments, was more fulfilling to him than months of having Christine in and out of his bed. Importantly, for the moment, that was enough to get the emotional voice to back off and let him work.

An hour and a half later, Ryan realized that he'd been focusing too long and his joints were getting stiff. Halfway to the kitchen to get some mid-morning coffee, however, Brad caught him.

"Hey Ryan, could you get one of your guys to check out Samantha Perkins' computer? She's saying she's having a problem with the anti-virus doing something it's not supposed to," the young help desk manager asked him cheerfully.

Running the mental calculations of what everyone on his team was doing, Ryan quickly decided it was worth it to extend this stretch of the legs and just go and do it himself, "I don't recognize the name. Where does she sit?"

"Oh, she's the new VP in finance, up one floor on 8," Brad answered.

"Okay, sure, I'll go myself," Ryan answered. "Always a good idea to show a VP that they have our attention, right?" he added, thinking to himself that it was always good for any manager to make connections with leadership elsewhere. It was a good enough excuse. It let him push aside the more honest part of his brain that had just remembered the conversation that two of Brad's people had been having about this particular VP's body by dismissively thinking,

I really must be horny if that's what occurred to me first

.

Ryan grabbed coffee on the way and wandered around the accounting department until he found the office with "Sam Perkins" on its name plate. His inner chess player noted that she used a boyish nickname on her public facing office door, and went off on a tangent of the consideration of the psychology of that before he reigned it in. Knocking on the door as he poked his head in, Ryan found her office empty, and in the next moment noticed her computer screen wasn't locked. He sighed and decided to sit down in her chair, trying to think of how to tactfully tell a VP that she needed to adjust her habits to protect the data she had access to. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the ticketing system for what she'd told the help desk was wrong with her PC. It looked pretty straightforward and Ryan jiggled the mouse to find the cursor and started to work.

He started minimizing windows to get them out of his way, careful not to close anything she might be working on, until his brow furrowed. Something had his attention and he didn't really think it through as he pulled the last window back up. Recognition made his heart pound. Of course he knew the site; it was the same kink/fetish social media site he goofed around on. It also wasn't like he wasn't used to finding less than business appropriate things on people's computers; in fact, he could recall one particularly amusing run in he'd had with someone who had even allowed him to remotely connect to his PC and was still caught off guard when Ryan saw the user's porn still open. That was the thing, though; most of the time it was guys who did this nonsense. Granted, this was social media and not straight up porn, although the ads running on the site would probably qualify, but still.

Ordinarily, Ryan would just close this stuff and move on. VPs had less of the content blocks applied to their connections than most of the workforce, and frankly Ryan didn't really care what people were doing on the web as long as they weren't downloading dangerous stuff onto their PCs. In this situation, though, he was in something of a predicament. If he closed it, there was a pretty fair chance she'd realize that he had been the one to close the window, which in turn meant that he must have seen it, when he let her know the work had been completed. It wasn't as if this was a threat to him, but it would be incredibly embarrassing for her and, even worse, she might feel compelled to come to him with some sort of cringey half-assed explanation to cover herself. He was trying to play nice here and make allies, not create an implacable awkward distance between himself and the new VP of finance or whatever she was.

It was in the midst of this thought process that his eyes noticed

what

was actually on the page she was on. It was a reply thread between two users, the original, very interesting, post written by the user ForceMeUseMe_24_7. Without even really thinking, his eyes and the cursor drifted to the site's control panel and looked up the logged in user: ForceMeUseMe_24_7. Suddenly very aware of what he was doing, and the fact that he had no idea where the occupant of this office was or when she'd be back, Ryan told himself to restore all of her windows back to where they were. But he hesitated, his heart beating hard.

Oh hell, fine, she left her screen unlocked. It's not like I broke in,

he told himself to quell his inner professional struggle. He quickly picked up his phone and snapped a pic of the screen, making sure he got the username in view. Then he restored her windows quickly and started working over her windows. It was a bit annoying, but it was worth it considering what happened next.