Hi all, a couple of quick short stories for you. The first is pretty much my normal sort of writing, the second is more of an experiment (or, to put it another way, you have been warned…). As usual, all thoughts, comments and criticisms appreciated, and hope you enjoy ‘em.
****************
Every cloud has a silver….tickle?
There are days I’m absolutely convinced that there is indeed someone ‘up there’ watching over us, and He/She/It is a dyed-in-the-wool sadist. After everything we’ve gone through this week, moving mountains to meet a deadline that the boss swore was impossible we’d finally got everything sorted out, the last number crunching done and just as I go to save it, the power goes off! Not just for us, no that’d be too easy, the entire area’s blacked out, even the traffic lights have failed and most of the office is enjoying the carnage outside as a five way junction tries to work with everyone convinced they’ve got right of way.
Most of the office of course doesn’t include me and the IT team, who are dashing around trying to shut down the more crucial machines before the back-up batteries die. Somehow I’ve drawn the short straw and am doing the only machine room in the building without emergency lighting. The torch our IT manager hands me is, not to put too fine a point on it, about as bright as a candle before it’s lit and I jam the door open with a chair to get some light in the room as I work. Unfortunately the single emergency light outside provides barely enough light to show the outline of the door, and the inside of the room is still a dark nothingness to my eyes. To add to the fun someone didn’t plug the monitor for this particular server rack into the battery supply.
As I’m rummaging in the pitch black for a power lead, inspiration hits. While the current IT team might not believe in good handheld lighting, they haven’t changed much in here since I was in charge so with a bit of luck they haven’t taken out some of the toys I left lying around. Standing on tiptoe I feel along the top shelf of the rack, and it’s only a few seconds before my questing fingers touch the cool aluminium barrel of a Really Big Maglite. As I pull it towards me I hear a rustle from directly above my head and get a hand in the way just in time as a cardboard box falls straight towards me. From the feel it’s full of old network cable, not too heavy but big enough to need both hands to move easily. I make sure the maglite isn’t going anywhere and stick both hands under the box, shoving it up until it’s resting on the lip of the shelf. One more push ought to get it back in place, though I’m conscious of the fact I’m really stretching to get this to work.
A moment later I’m also very conscious of a pair of hands wrapped around my underarms, ten hungry fingers writhing against the thin cotton of my shirt and sending shockwaves through my unsuspecting body. My first instinct is to bring my arms down, but the weight resting on my palms reminds me what a dumb idea that would be. Any thought of complaining is driven from my mind as I dissolve into hysterics, the disembodied hands proving to be deadly ticklers.
A quick tug and my shirt’s un-tucked, the hands at least having arms attached to them as they flow up underneath, that thought small comfort as they go to work directly on my skin. I’m trapped, nothing I can do but stand here and take it, move and this box is gonna go, legs already stretched out preventing any additional leverage, torturous fingers swirling, poking, prodding, probing against my underarms. Nothing I can do but laugh, head down, eyes closed as I try and keep the laughter confined to my voice, keep arms and legs locked in place.
The hands drop down, flicking slowly at first, then with increasing speed over my ribs, fingers finding their targets with unerring precision. Muscles twitching now despite my desire, soft hands playing me like a violin, soft, warm, female hands, roaming freely over my stretched body. My head shaking involuntarily, tremors working their way up my back and neck, poised to wash over me, defiance the only tool I have. Faster and faster the laughter comes, drowning me, robbing my oxygen yet relaxing too, a cleansing of spirit and soul.
A final movement, hands darting round to my stomach, fingers stretched over my skin to my waist, a single finger darting down to plunder the untouched flesh of my navel. The tide rises, breaks and my entire body shudders, once, violently as I wrench away from the torturous, tormenting, teasing, intoxicating touch, cardboard and cable falling in a shower around me. A brief touch of lips on the nape of my neck, a final caress that makes me tremble for an entirely different reason than before, and I’m alone again.
Slowly, shakily, my hands reach up and find the maglite, turn it on and I take a look around. There’s cable seemingly everywhere, but getting to the power for the monitor’s easy enough and I go about the routine of shutting down the servers, using it to calm my still twitching body. A final look round, the cable can wait until the lights are back on, all the machines are off with a couple of minutes to spare. And then, the torch falls on something that doesn’t belong, something alien to the cold technology of the room. A single small envelope, propped over the light switch, no name on the front and inside a single piece of paper with a telephone number written in a swirling hand. I slip the envelope into my shirt pocket, and smile in the dark…
*********
Moments Of Transition
Another dull, boring day, in at nine, out at five, all day long the drone of fans and click of keyboards drowning out the world in a blanket of background noise.
Excuses for moving present at least a brief moment of respite, a change in the routine, deliver a report to the finance team, fix a PC problem, go for a smoke downstairs, get a sandwich from one or all of the delivery services, anything for that singular instant of diversion from the mind-numbing sameness.
A brief walk to refill a water bottle as good a reason as any other, passing through the office of busy, productive drones, the room resplendent in greys and whites, a world to inhabit, not for living.
Footsteps, around the corner ten foot ahead, move to the side, out the way, no touching please, no pushing, no running.
An explosion, a riot of colour, long red hair falling to her waist, emerald green eyes drilling into my heart, my soul, light blue top hugging her curves, a darker blue skirt dancing over her hips and thighs.
A vision to my eyes, seductive, irresistible as she walks, no, glides towards me, half-smile lending her a joy and mystery, eyes locked on mine as she pulls me forward.
Right hand around my waist, left at my hip, soft, full lips rising to mine, a touch with power enough to rip my world apart, like touching a live wire and my body wakes for her, sensation returning, flooding back as if a dam had been torn apart.
Fingers at my neck, fluttering gently against the skin, tracing trails of fire as she goes, teasing a laugh from a throat I’d thought incapable of such things.
Probing, tempting touch over my chest, intoxicating, invigorating as she moves, delighting in the response, hands coming together over my heart, claiming what she already knows belongs to her.
Hands sweeping out, across to my arms, circling, exploring, stimulating as I struggle to hold on to self-control, a sand-castle before the rising tide.
Down, down to my hips, gliding in and down, fingers hesitating for just a moment over my most private spot, a knowing smile as she moved down herself, kneeling before me yet totally dominant, every passing moment making me more her servant.
Teasing touches on my thighs, muscles already tense with anticipation clenching almost painfully as she traces their counters with a single fingertip.
First right, then left, her hands caress my knees, fingers working into place behind before unleashing her attack, my legs buckling at her touch, laughter consuming my body, my mind, my spirit as I surrender to the inevitable.
Triumphant she rises, smile lighting up her face like the dawn, hands clasped behind my neck as she pulls me into an embrace.
Her warmth passes over me, through me, fuelling me as she once more brings her lips to mine, a passion barely restrained despite our surroundings as she becomes my world, my life.
She pulls back, a final glance loaded with promise, desire and love as she walks on, the single gold band on the third finger of her left hand catching the light and shining as bright as a star in its drab surroundings.
A star that finds it’s twin secure on my own, trembling hand.
****************
Every cloud has a silver….tickle?
There are days I’m absolutely convinced that there is indeed someone ‘up there’ watching over us, and He/She/It is a dyed-in-the-wool sadist. After everything we’ve gone through this week, moving mountains to meet a deadline that the boss swore was impossible we’d finally got everything sorted out, the last number crunching done and just as I go to save it, the power goes off! Not just for us, no that’d be too easy, the entire area’s blacked out, even the traffic lights have failed and most of the office is enjoying the carnage outside as a five way junction tries to work with everyone convinced they’ve got right of way.
Most of the office of course doesn’t include me and the IT team, who are dashing around trying to shut down the more crucial machines before the back-up batteries die. Somehow I’ve drawn the short straw and am doing the only machine room in the building without emergency lighting. The torch our IT manager hands me is, not to put too fine a point on it, about as bright as a candle before it’s lit and I jam the door open with a chair to get some light in the room as I work. Unfortunately the single emergency light outside provides barely enough light to show the outline of the door, and the inside of the room is still a dark nothingness to my eyes. To add to the fun someone didn’t plug the monitor for this particular server rack into the battery supply.
As I’m rummaging in the pitch black for a power lead, inspiration hits. While the current IT team might not believe in good handheld lighting, they haven’t changed much in here since I was in charge so with a bit of luck they haven’t taken out some of the toys I left lying around. Standing on tiptoe I feel along the top shelf of the rack, and it’s only a few seconds before my questing fingers touch the cool aluminium barrel of a Really Big Maglite. As I pull it towards me I hear a rustle from directly above my head and get a hand in the way just in time as a cardboard box falls straight towards me. From the feel it’s full of old network cable, not too heavy but big enough to need both hands to move easily. I make sure the maglite isn’t going anywhere and stick both hands under the box, shoving it up until it’s resting on the lip of the shelf. One more push ought to get it back in place, though I’m conscious of the fact I’m really stretching to get this to work.
A moment later I’m also very conscious of a pair of hands wrapped around my underarms, ten hungry fingers writhing against the thin cotton of my shirt and sending shockwaves through my unsuspecting body. My first instinct is to bring my arms down, but the weight resting on my palms reminds me what a dumb idea that would be. Any thought of complaining is driven from my mind as I dissolve into hysterics, the disembodied hands proving to be deadly ticklers.
A quick tug and my shirt’s un-tucked, the hands at least having arms attached to them as they flow up underneath, that thought small comfort as they go to work directly on my skin. I’m trapped, nothing I can do but stand here and take it, move and this box is gonna go, legs already stretched out preventing any additional leverage, torturous fingers swirling, poking, prodding, probing against my underarms. Nothing I can do but laugh, head down, eyes closed as I try and keep the laughter confined to my voice, keep arms and legs locked in place.
The hands drop down, flicking slowly at first, then with increasing speed over my ribs, fingers finding their targets with unerring precision. Muscles twitching now despite my desire, soft hands playing me like a violin, soft, warm, female hands, roaming freely over my stretched body. My head shaking involuntarily, tremors working their way up my back and neck, poised to wash over me, defiance the only tool I have. Faster and faster the laughter comes, drowning me, robbing my oxygen yet relaxing too, a cleansing of spirit and soul.
A final movement, hands darting round to my stomach, fingers stretched over my skin to my waist, a single finger darting down to plunder the untouched flesh of my navel. The tide rises, breaks and my entire body shudders, once, violently as I wrench away from the torturous, tormenting, teasing, intoxicating touch, cardboard and cable falling in a shower around me. A brief touch of lips on the nape of my neck, a final caress that makes me tremble for an entirely different reason than before, and I’m alone again.
Slowly, shakily, my hands reach up and find the maglite, turn it on and I take a look around. There’s cable seemingly everywhere, but getting to the power for the monitor’s easy enough and I go about the routine of shutting down the servers, using it to calm my still twitching body. A final look round, the cable can wait until the lights are back on, all the machines are off with a couple of minutes to spare. And then, the torch falls on something that doesn’t belong, something alien to the cold technology of the room. A single small envelope, propped over the light switch, no name on the front and inside a single piece of paper with a telephone number written in a swirling hand. I slip the envelope into my shirt pocket, and smile in the dark…
*********
Moments Of Transition
Another dull, boring day, in at nine, out at five, all day long the drone of fans and click of keyboards drowning out the world in a blanket of background noise.
Excuses for moving present at least a brief moment of respite, a change in the routine, deliver a report to the finance team, fix a PC problem, go for a smoke downstairs, get a sandwich from one or all of the delivery services, anything for that singular instant of diversion from the mind-numbing sameness.
A brief walk to refill a water bottle as good a reason as any other, passing through the office of busy, productive drones, the room resplendent in greys and whites, a world to inhabit, not for living.
Footsteps, around the corner ten foot ahead, move to the side, out the way, no touching please, no pushing, no running.
An explosion, a riot of colour, long red hair falling to her waist, emerald green eyes drilling into my heart, my soul, light blue top hugging her curves, a darker blue skirt dancing over her hips and thighs.
A vision to my eyes, seductive, irresistible as she walks, no, glides towards me, half-smile lending her a joy and mystery, eyes locked on mine as she pulls me forward.
Right hand around my waist, left at my hip, soft, full lips rising to mine, a touch with power enough to rip my world apart, like touching a live wire and my body wakes for her, sensation returning, flooding back as if a dam had been torn apart.
Fingers at my neck, fluttering gently against the skin, tracing trails of fire as she goes, teasing a laugh from a throat I’d thought incapable of such things.
Probing, tempting touch over my chest, intoxicating, invigorating as she moves, delighting in the response, hands coming together over my heart, claiming what she already knows belongs to her.
Hands sweeping out, across to my arms, circling, exploring, stimulating as I struggle to hold on to self-control, a sand-castle before the rising tide.
Down, down to my hips, gliding in and down, fingers hesitating for just a moment over my most private spot, a knowing smile as she moved down herself, kneeling before me yet totally dominant, every passing moment making me more her servant.
Teasing touches on my thighs, muscles already tense with anticipation clenching almost painfully as she traces their counters with a single fingertip.
First right, then left, her hands caress my knees, fingers working into place behind before unleashing her attack, my legs buckling at her touch, laughter consuming my body, my mind, my spirit as I surrender to the inevitable.
Triumphant she rises, smile lighting up her face like the dawn, hands clasped behind my neck as she pulls me into an embrace.
Her warmth passes over me, through me, fuelling me as she once more brings her lips to mine, a passion barely restrained despite our surroundings as she becomes my world, my life.
She pulls back, a final glance loaded with promise, desire and love as she walks on, the single gold band on the third finger of her left hand catching the light and shining as bright as a star in its drab surroundings.
A star that finds it’s twin secure on my own, trembling hand.
