Alan in the Office 01


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.

******************** 1: Fun in the office

Sylvie’s sleek voice whispered into my ear.

“Geez, Alan, have you seen Monique this morning? She’s so pissed off, her ears are glowing red!”

Set in her dark black face, Sylvie’s shining too-green eyes matched the sheath dress that revealed just enough of her sleek skin and generous curves. I turned from my computer terminal as my fellow Programming Assistant eased into my cubicle and sat on my credenza, crossing her well-muscled legs.

“Well, I noticed that our pouty little friend seemed to pout even more than usual today,” I said.

I glanced at Sylvie’s legs and body, as she intended, then looked up to those bright eyes framing her wide nose and generous mouth.

“Her boyfriend just dumped her and she’s about to go ballistic. You know how she is. When she gets like that, she looks like she could rape somebody.”

“Oh shit, I hope it isn’t me,” I breathed. Fat chance.

The subject of our gossip, tart cold Monique of the pouting lips and breasts, the subtle thighs and ankles, who always dressed as some old pud’s fantasy of a naughty Parisian schoolgirl, glided by without looking at us. I feared my colleague’s return.

“Who could Felipe prefer over Monique? She’s just the hottest piece on this whole campus, and you know it. Felipe must have gone to some whole other level.”

Sylvie grinned, “Seems like Felipe spent some time with Leilah down in ops.”

I was nonplussed. “Wow, he managed to crack her tight Persian shell? He must be slicker and sexier than anyone imagined.”


The time: midmorning on a late autumn day in 1980. The place: the big computer center of a regional bank, in San Francisco’s suburban East Bay. What the bank called its “country club campus” sat at the edge of open rolling grassy hills. We inmates called it the “tiny cubicle office building” or just “Green Hell”.

Besides massive IBM System 370 computers, the campus complex housed hundreds of programmers, plus the operations and support staffs. Dozen-person teams of programmers were herded in Groups and Sections on the upper floors. Downstairs were the Operations pukes who fed and ran the machines. Thus was our world enclosed.

Each Group manager hired a Programming Assistant to maintain the software libraries of the project teams, track batch-job submissions and runs, coordinate outputs, all that necessary tedium. There were over a dozen of us PA’s in Green Hell. We were mostly clerical, but some, including me, had qualified for the brutal in-house programmer training class. We would soon start its next cycle. Those who survived would emerge as Professionals.

Most Group managers were male, and hired attractive female PA’s. My desirable boss Cyndi, just five years older than me and a rising star here, had hired ME because I was smart, and not ugly, and she felt a certain chemistry. I beat 100 other applicants for the job.

The PA’s I consorted with were mostly lovely young things dressed to be easy on male eyes. Ah, when Group manager Lynda needed a PA, she hired Terence, who was, if you will excuse my language, a screeching flaming faggot. Lynda was dominant, aggressive, loud, profane. Her husband Larry was innocuous. I envisaged Larry wearing a French maid’s costume in their bedroom.

Sylvie, Monique and I were PA’s for adjacent Groups. Sylvie was sweet and smart and hot for me. Monique was cold and reserved in the office but the inner Monique was voracious and ruthless. Those who thwarted Monique faced the brunt of her icy steel-edged anger. Few endured her anger twice.


I was not surprised when Monique stalked by a little later and ordered me, “Number three, five minutes.”

I sighed and, at the appointed time, headed for Supply Room

As I keyed through the door, I saw Monique’s black lace panties and a tube of lube on a shelf next to where she sat on a flat-topped supply cart. She stood, walked to me and dropped my trousers and boxers. She knelt before me and sucked my cock to rigidity. She spit into a paper towel, sat on the cart again with her skirt raised and her legs spread wide, her cunt obviously lubed, and said, “Fuck me. Hard.”

I obliged, roughly shoving into her cunt and slamming her for several minutes. She shoved me back, bent over the cart with her pussy aimed at me and said, “Again. Harder.”

I pounded away at her exquisite ass and fingered her clanging clit until she grunted and pushed me away.

“I’ll get you again later,” she said fatih escort as she resumed her panties and strode haughtily into the corridor.

I quickly jerked-off to relieve my swollen cock, and then stumbled back to work.

I met my girlfriend Moira in the cafeteria for our regular lunchtime session. We munched our sandwiches and headed to the changing rooms for our around-the-campus run. I admired her slim but curvy Irish figure when she emerged in shorts and a sports bra. Real red hair in just the right places – that was Moira.

Moira was a senior programmer in a Group upstairs from my Section. I had met her in Santa Barbara after I finished my six-year Navy service the year before. The civilian world did not really need my skills with torpedo warheads, so I was studying those ominous devices, computers.

When the bank hired Moira, I tagged along with her, and wormed my way into Green Hell. We lunched daily and slept together nightly. She did not seem to know how or where I spent my breaks downstairs.

Just before the afternoon break, Sylvie sashayed into my cubicle.

“Did Monique bust your nuts this morning? Poor Alan. See me in number five in ten minutes, OK?”

I keyed into supply room on the other side of the wing in just five minutes. I sat on its supply cart and slowed my breathing, trying for a quick meditation.

Sylvie came in, shoved the door shut, and quickly skinned her too-green sheath dress up over her head. She wore nothing but green pumps on her feet and a woven-sliver chain around her strong neck. She drew me to her.

Just as I dropped trou and kissed Sylvie deeply, the door opened and Monique marched in and pulled off her panties.

“I thought I’d find you two here. Alan, lick me.”

Monique pushed my head into her open crotch. I slurped her already-damp cunt. She seemed to use anger as foreplay. She pulled me up by my longish dark hair, dropped to her knees, and blew me to woody hardness. Sylvie stood in a corner, a look of wonderment adorning her glorious glabrous nudity.

Monique stood, pushed Sylvie onto her back on the supply cart, and bent to her.

“Alan, fuck me. Sylvie, I need to get the taste of man out of my mouth. Spread your legs.”

Monique tongued the pinkness within Sylvie’s dark pussy as I pistoned into her. The supply cart rolled back and forth with our exertions. Monique reached up and abused Sylvie’s nipples. Sylvie gasped, and groaned, and came wetly. I continued pounding Monique’s butt until she grunted, pushed me back, and stood straight.

“That wasn’t bad. As a reward, you can suck my pussy. Lay down on the cart.”

Sylvie and I exchanged places. Had she expected this encounter? Monique climbed up, straddled my head, and shoved her used cunt onto my mouth. I did my best. Our mixed juices did not taste too bad.

With my legs hanging off the cart, my unrelieved cock stood out like a lonely sword. Sylvie bent over and backed her wet pussy onto it, sheathing it as her dress had sheathed her own body. She moved her hips back and forth, fucking me as if I were some demonic dildonic device.

I mouthed Monique until I came like a fucking firehose in Sylvie’s flaming cunt. My epileptic-like shaking almost threw Monique from the supply cart, but she had locked her knees and hands tightly on my head. She dismounted at her own pace.

“You two can go back to work now. But I’m warning you – DON’T FUCK WITH ME!”

Monique grabbed her panties and marched out. Sylvie and I stared at each other, dazed. She came over and held me and kissed me. I finally got to nuzzle her ample breasts. We quivered together for a minute.

“Wow, I sure hope her next boyfriend lasts longer,” Sylvie muttered.

We cleaned ourselves off as best we could, and helped each other get dressed. We still stank of sweat and sex and sin. Ain’t no way Moira wouldn’t smell this on me on our drive home. What to do?

I returned to my cubicle. My phone rang a few minutes later.

“My team meeting is running longer than expected. I’ll be about a half-hour late,” Moira explained.

“No problem,” I replied, “I’ll just take another run when I’m through here. See you at six then, love.”

Whew. I could run, and shower, and be all squeaky-clean and safe and loyal when next we kissed.

******************** 2: Fun with the cow-orkers

Green Hell was a family-oriented workplace. Many employees there were married couples, or seriously dating. Intra-office relationships were encouraged.

Management was not dumb. Programming was a high-stress occupation, with lots of drug and alcohol consumption. Uninvolved mates could not always understand the long hours and intense concentration involved. At other large computer centers, divorce rates were high. Same-shop partners of Green Hell staff knew exactly what their mates were going through. Tensions eased markedly. (Except Monique.) Productivity improved. Happy staff made for good business.

Moira çapa escort and I had close friends there, mostly other couples.

We spent many funny evenings with Rog and Suzy, playing cards and drinking wine after their two kids were put to bed. Moira and Suzy occasionally gave fashion shows for Rog and me, modeling dresses and swimsuits, but we did not go beyond that. When Rog started pulling tax scams, we were glad we had not been closer to them.

Hog-riders Phil and Denise were another matter. Phil was a long lanky Texan who occasionally snorted a little coke. Denise was a cute little chestnut-haired ex-nun. What kind of guy was Phil? The kind who could persuade a nun to divorce Christ. Figure it out.

We four regularly went camping together in the Sierra Nevada Mountains on weekends. We threw gear and supplies into the back of Moira’s old pickup, and Phil and Denise rode their Harleys in loose formation, all of us chatting on VHF radio.

We would find a remote campsite, pitch one roomy tent, cook up a good meal, sit around the campfire (naked on warm nights) and pass the wine and joints. Then we would crawl into our tent and join in various couplings and triplings and quadruplings. No cocks went into the guys’ mouths or any rectums, but just about everything else happened.

One night, at a rough site below Lake Tahoe, I was eating Denise who was eating Moira who was eating Phil – and a bear growled nearby. Phil did not quite get his cock bitten off, but he was seriously impaired for the rest of the weekend. Hey, more pussy for me!

Other times, we added a raft to our gear, and we would ride wild creeks and rivers, naked whenever possible. The gals always sat together so that if a wave bucked Denise from the raft, Moira could grab her line and haul her back in. Yes, Moira was strong. Every rescue earned a long kiss.

The day after setting up camp, we would go hog-riding, with Moira sticking her tits into Phil’s back while I kept my hands on Denice’s breasts as I rode behind her. Their saddlebags were loaded with blankets and sunscreen, just in case.

“That knoll off to the left seems like a good place to spread the blankets.”

“Damn straight. Hang on, the track up there looks a bit rough.”

“You always give me plenty to hang on to, Denise. Mmmmm…”

“Shut up or all you’ll get is sloppy seconds.”

“What, again?”

Moira’s ex-manager Anaya (from India) married her debugging specialist Josef (from Austria) in a garden ceremony. After the reception fizzled out around midnight, the newlywed couple invited Saul and Farizah (from Israel), and Moira and I, into their hot-tub. The wedding-night orgy lasted till dawn.

Anaya’s wedding present was a series of triple penetrations, with Josef sheathing himself in her anus while Saul and I traded off fucking her pussy and her mouth. Josef’s present involved receiving Saul’s long clean cock in his rectum while Anaya, Moira and Farizah took turns going all oral-genital with his mouth and cock. I was satisfied with whichever woman was not otherwise occupied at any moment.

Josef and Anaya’s first anniversary party was a near repeat of the wedding-night festivity, except that Farizah had broken with Saul and had hooked up with Tamara (from Uruguay). Anaya’s TP required the addition of a big dildo, and Josef got my cock up his butt this time. Otherwise, as with the previous orgy, we all managed to find varied pleasant combinations through the night.

Josef and Anaya, and Saul and Farizah, and later Farizah and Tamara, all lived some distance from us, so we did not drop into each other’s homes and beds very often, but they remained lusty friends.


Things slowed down a little while I was in the programmer training class.

The class was non-trivial. Each student worked their full daily 7 1/2+ hours job, had a quick dinner, then had another 7 1/2+ hours of classwork and homework. Except for a couple one-week vacation breaks, this lasted for TEN MONTHS.

Nobody failed. Unlike college, the instructors’ goal was not to mystify students, but to prepare them to WORK, as team members. A couple students in my class dropped out because of family problems, but we had no divorces nor suicides, and nobody flunked out. Failure was not an option.

At graduation, we each received a CERTIFICATE OF SURVIVAL. And we moved into much higher-paying jobs.

All except for our friend Judy. Judy had been a senior business analyst with an MBA, got tired of the corporate horseshit that entailed, and took a major pay cut to move into software engineering. That eventually bored her too. She later quit, got ordained as a Unitarian pastor, and started a radio ministry for agnostics. Go figure.

Judy was small and dark, taut and intense, painfully neurotic with justifiable Mommy issues. Judy rode masochistically painful bicycle races. She loved the California Death Ride over the highest Sierra passes. She invited Moira and I into sarıyer escort her Berkeley Hills house, invited us into her bed, and damn near massacred us with her lust.

Judy validated the truism: Never go to bed with a woman with more problems than you.

Dyan was totally different, tall and thin and dark, dressed like a hippie, and radiating an aura of peace and calm and joy. Dyan said her life’s goal was to be a saint. She spent her breaks riding a building elevator while in a full lotus position, meditating.

Dyan had married a much older famous jazz guitarist, and devoted herself to managing his remaining career. After he died, Dyan transformed herself, from saintly Earth Mother computer programmer, to the slickest and calmest business consultant we have ever seen.

Dyan only shared herself with her closest friends. Moira and I treasured her friendship, and her lips, and the rest of her truly miraculous body and self.

******************** 3: Trouble brewing with management

I received a note from Cyndi requesting my presence. This woman who hired me had been promoted to Section director, moved out of her big cubicle to a bigger office, and was now my new boss Takuma’s boss.

Cyndi had an almost beautiful face framed by neck-length brunette hair, with piercing blue eyes, and a beautiful body she kept carefully concealed inside professional garb. Her brown jacket and knee-length skirt revealed little flesh but could not hide her curves. As I mentioned, we shared a certain chemistry. Her strong personality always seemed tinted with a slight trepidation when she spoke to me.

Cyndi’s stern expression softened when her eyes met mine. She trembled slightly, then gathered herself up.

“Alan, I know you’ll be graduating in a couple weeks, so you won’t be Takuma’s PA much longer. You’ll need to get with him to interview your replacement candidates. And I shouldn’t tell you this, but you’ll probably be assigned to Merrill’s team over in Section Six. You might want to preview their software so you’ll have a leg up when you get there.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I nodded. Oh boy, Merrill’s PA was dear sweet Rachel. We’d had fun before. We could again.

Cyndi looked down at some papers on her desk, took a breath, and looked up.

“Alan, I know you’ve been involved with some of the PA’s. And I know that your girlfriend Moira doesn’t seem to know. And I want to warn you, Alan: You either need to be extra discreet, or you should break off your little affairs. You and Moira can go far together, very far. Don’t ruin your chances.”

Cyndi took another breath.

“Alan, I’m not the only one in management who’s noticed the effects of your games. My boss, and his boss, are both aware of disturbances among the PA’s. Some other Section directors have their suspicions. It’s been better since Monique grabbed Achebe and stopped her little shit-fits. But once you’re a programmer, you won’t have access to the supply closets. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your playtimes.”

I thought to myself, “Maybe I won’t have keycard access – but Rachel will!”

“Does ‘elsewhere’ include a director’s locked office?” I asked as I stood and moved towards her.

Cyndi sighed. I leaned over, held her head in my hands and kissed her softly. I unbuttoned and removed her tight brown jacket. I rubbed her face and her neck. Her nipples hardened and protruded through her thin bra and blouse. I fondled her gently.

“Oh FUCK, Alan, how do you do this to me?” she gasped as she stood. I slid her skirt and lace panties to her ankles and off her feet.

Cyndi undid my belt and dropped my trousers and boxers to the floor. She stroked my enlarged cock. I moved my fingers around and into her already wet pussy. She moaned and sat on the edge of her desk, legs spread.

I move forward. She guided me into her inviting depths. We were still for some moments, then slowly started thrusting into each other. My hands were on her breasts. Her arms were around my neck. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me as if her life depended on it.

Our groins impacted fast, forcefully, fatally. She cried with her little death. I expired into her mouth. Our juices inundated her desk. After a timeless time, I softly pulled out of her, but still held our torsos and faces together.

“Cleanup on aisle three,” I whispered.

Cyndi slapped me gently. “You’re the cleanup crew today.”

This wasn’t a good time to lick her clean, so I settled for a handful of tissues from her top desk drawer. We straightened ourselves, everything normal except for blushes and pulses.

Our chemistry still blended well.

Lunchtime approached. Moira and I ate and jogged and showered, and resumed our tasks. My tasks took me around the building, to the other wing, past Merrill’s team. Rachel winked at me. I leered in response and kept going, back to my cubicle.

Sylvie put her hand on my shoulder as I keyed-in some job run data and said, “Number four in ten.”

In the supply room, Sylvie shucked off the tight metalflake blue dress that matched today’s contact lenses. Yesterday, she had been candy apple red; the day before, her favorite iridescent green. Tomorrow she might be safety orange. She took her status as a “colored girl” very seriously.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32