Dean Walsh was happy with his new life, his job, his girlfriend. Until his boss, billionaire Salomon Ellis, discovers his darkest secret. From then on, he will hold Dean hostage to his whims in exchange for his silence.
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Inside locker #12 in the IT restrooms, I found another small black box that held four fat oil beads, each about an inch and a half long. My eyebrows went up in surprise and then down in a frown. Was that his wicked oil? And if so, how was I supposed to use those beads? Oil beads are meant to melt, and I could think of only one way to melt them in touch with my body.
"Forget it," I grunted.
Only then, on the way to my desk, I realized my phone was still off. I turned it on as I walked past the fishbowl.
"Hey, Aisha."
"Hi, Dean!"
I got a text a minute later. "Text me when you check your locker."
Effing freak control. "Just did," I typed, huffing.
I waited for his next text while my systems loaded. Nothing, so I put away my phone and got to work. Halfway through my shift, I met Bill when I went out to the inner garden for my break, and joined him at one of the picnic tables.
We had our snacks commenting about an upcoming five-day seminar on coding our department was giving the next week, that Bill thought I should attend. Back to my station, after asking Aisha to sign me up for the seminar, I spent a couple of hours struggling with a bug messing up the GPS logs, so I didn't even notice my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I only saw it after crushing the bug, when I took a minute to get a soda from the vending machine, because I needed a sugar boost after dealing with that tenacious sucker.
"Send me another video. Get started in the shower and finish it when you get out, using one of the beads."
What the hell? If he was expecting me to shove it up my ass, he could call the cops alright.
"Use the bead only on dry skin. Like this."
He added a GIF that showed two fingers squeezing a bead on the head of a hard cock. I hated the chill of pure anticipation that ran down my spine. Okay, don't call the cops yet.
An alert sound from my computer kicked me back down to earth. I turned to my screens, praying it would be something simple to end the day. Hard to say, because my eyes kept darting back to the GIF and the oil trickling down that cock.
I went back home with the box of beads in my bag, thinking that if he'd left me four and told me to use only one, he'd surely keep demanding videos over the following days. Wasn't I lucky. The son of a bitch wouldn't let me off the hook even when he wasn't around.
Steph was still working, so I left her to her Zoom call in the living area and headed straight to our room. It was my best chance to make the video. She wouldn't think it odd if I took a shower just back from work. So I took off my clothes in the bedroom, grabbed my phone and one of the beads from the box, and went to the bathroom.
While I waited for the water to warm up, I faced some production problems. First, where could I settle the phone? I had to find a place to keep it dry and, at the same time, the spot should allow me to stand before the camera under the rain. It took me a few tries until I figured it out. After moving the corner rack closer to the door and settling the phone on the top shelf, the frontal camera only showed me as a foggy figure. Shit. So I opened the window and mixed some cold water to keep the steam at a minimum.
