Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Softcore Mira makes a Man

Mira didn't take no for a answer. She was a real go-getter, a force of nature when it came to sales. She closed the deal every time. Stan didn't stand a chance.

Stan worked in the invoices department. It was his job to write up all of the sales that the different reps on the floor made. He was kind of like their supervisor... only it always seemed like he really worked for them. The other reps were all men, and they bullied Stan and pushed him around. It was always jokingly.. they always seemed to be so light hearted about it... and everyone laughed. 

Except for Stan.

   Mira was the only female Rep. She was always primly polite to Stan. She spoke to him in a clipped authoritative voice and always seemed tightly wound. Stan didn't know if she was showing him respect, she hated his guts or if she disapproved of him so thoroughly that she was treating him like a insect.
     He was almost afraid she would come up behind him with a rolled up newspaper and swat him.
   In fact he started fairly early on having dreams about her.
 Her coming in to his office and demanding he fix the copier and then sitting behind him a yelling at him the whole time telling him what a idiot he was, how he was doing it wrong. How it was his responsibility to keep the office running smoothly and how he was a failure.. and then she would start hitting him and he usually woke up.
With a huge Erection.

The first time he spoke to her at work after the first time he had that dream he had to put the folder he was carrying in front of himself because he felt it start to go hard.

She had pushed her hair behind her ears and adjusted her glasses. He remembered thinking how hot she looked in the oversized plastic frames. There was a expensively cheap quality to those glasses.. Something that feintly reminded him of both the librarian at his elementary school and his Dentist.

She seemed very strict. He liked it.
One night he woke up after fantasizing about her spanking him over her knee.
And he climaxed.

Finally finishing his work for the day Stan streched and laced his fingers and arched his back. He was leaving his office when he noticed the desklamp in the cubicle.
She was sitting at her desk. Writing in a small notebook. Stan coughed. He felt like a ass. He squirmed and said her name, she ignored him and kept writing and he waited. Finally he descided that she didn't want him there and he backed up.. to slip out of the cubicle when she closed the book and sat back looking at him.
He froze. Bizzarely he was terrified, like she had caught him in the act of doing something when he hadent been doing anything wrong at all!

She capped the pen, leaned the chair back and crossed her legs. She kept the pen, flicking it up and down with her fingers and she glared at him.
Neither of them spoke.
He wanted to turn away, to ask her what her problem was... or to tell her to stop staring.
But he couldent break eye contact.

Finally when he felt he was going to loose what ever game they were playing... she leaned forward rolled her chair up and grabbed him by the belt.

 "I'm tired of toying with you Stan," she said in a annoyed yet playful tone. "For months I've felt your eyes on me, following me like a dog. You don't think I don't know why you stammer and blush every time I talk to you do you? You can't possibly be that stupid."

Stan explained that he did know, that he rather enjoyed the game or whatever it was.. or he would have said something like that but all that he managed to mumble was something about game... and he didn't know... and office furniture. None of it made any sense but he didn't notice he was too busy staring at the open pearl button on her blouse. His eyes didn't dare dive into that shadowed cleft.. so he just looked at the button. Somehow the way it dangled on the threads without the buttonhole to give it support. like a too heavy flower tipping over on its stem; somehow this alone was erotic. He knew that she was talking.. that he should be listening, but he was having a hard time focusing when... WHAP!
She had hauled off and thumped him with the daily call log right on his arm.
Stan backed up rubbing his arm but didn't complain at all. Mira said "pay attention" and then pointed to the floor at her feet. Stan instantly sunk to his knees speechless.

 Mira leaned forward and whispered in his ear firmly "You will agree to do as I say or you may leave now. You will listen when I talk to you, and do what you are told or I will stop toying with you all together and I will never speak of any of this even if asked to anyone. It will be like none of it ever happened... do you understand?"

Stan nodded mutely. His eyes downcast.. he was shaking, and he didn't know why.. it wasn't fear.
"Answer me."
"Yes Mistress"

Friday, January 07, 2011

Keyboard terrorist-character study

Sitting in a packed coffee shop set on a busy street in a busy city I type on my antiquated beast. Cobbled together from ancient transistors and salvaged military machine parts I built the beast for security and not for style. The housing however is a cleverly modified feaux alligator suitcase which opens to reveal a deck covered in up scaled keys from several antique typewriters. There is no holo screen for display as I prefer to view the code through my input visor which is cleverly hidden by a rare pair of vintage glasses.

 To any of the casual gawkers in the coffee bar I seem a exccentric twenty something customer lurkin in the corner sipping his chai, wearing a full length fur trench and faded fedora in tattered tortoise shell glassies with a typewriter in his suitcase on his knee.

  I am such a odd presence that they don't suspect me of shite, thinkin is that anyone who sets themself apart so much must not be tryin to hide a thing. Like the zebra; I make myself stand out to blend in better with the herd.

 Behind the glass my eyes run over the fences and fly past the guards, there is no where that I cannot go, no limits to my ability to see past the security and spot the hidden. My fingers tap out the rhythm that brings information to light, like a god calling up the sun from the darkness. I copy documents that the shadowmen had hidden in what they thought to be impenetrable vaults. I post same documents where any layperson with a palm computer can find, with a few keystrokes the documents are blazing billboards of fire across the whole of the worldwide network. Impossible to hide again, impossible to refute.. all they can do now is control the damages, set their PR men spinnin to spread a fresh load of manure over the lot to make it smell fresher.

They call me terrorist, they would set their dogs on me if they could find where I roost. But its a nursery game to set blind alleys and switchback switches and a web of alter ego persona's never used my real name on the net, never post in the same place twice. My code spiders through automatically, finding new nodes, writing subroutines on its own- to cover its tracks and mine. Making connections and weaving a ever more complex system of moving the information so that they can no more pick me up than pick up a specific grain of sand with a construction crane.

 I cannot relate to real people. I have a rapid and bizarre speech pattern developed from speaking more in code syntax than in sentences. I write eloquently enough, but I might as well be speakin in ones and zeroes for all the success I get with women... or men for that matter. Even if they are interested in my roguishly rugged looks and exccentric threads, they soon find my dialogue tedious at best and wander off to sleep with some simian stud who has all the intellectual acumen of a toddler.

No matter, on the net I am a god. A unknown character rumored and whispered about with many faces.

~Just a quick character sketch for a idea I had about a steampunk retro cyber terrorist set in a cyberpunk world. More to come hopefully.