Author's Note:
This chapter is much longer than the first, as we start to set up the main plot line. There's quite a tale to tell, but fear not, we'll get down and dirty wherever possible. Choosing a category for this part was no easy task, as there's a lot going on here. I hope you'll find it to be an Erotic Coupling indeed.
For our hero, it's just another day at the office...
o
THE CLIENT
Jack Action pulled his Porsche 911 into the tight parking lot behind the midtown offices of A.I., drove past the two vehicles waiting there, a gleaming black Hummer and an old rusted pickup of indeterminate make, and parked in his usual space. It was a vibrant, sunny Wednesday morning in May, and Jack was in a damn fine mood. Not bothering to raise the top on the silver Carrera, he climbed out and strolled toward the back entrance.
On the outside, the building was little more than a featureless two-story commercial structure on one of the slower streets in midtown Metro City, flanked by a used book store on one side and a strip club on the other, at the corner. The street side façade was glass, unlike the brick standard of its neighbours, and boasted a wall of fifteen-foot windows fronting the entire width of the building, all black. And unlike the reasonably tasteful, but simple signage proclaiming soft-covers and softer skin on either side, this building discreetly made known its contents with only two letters, elegantly embossed in smoky white on the oblique wall of tinted glass: A.I. Double glass doors allowed entry beneath the simple moniker, and were printed only with ACTION INVESTIGATIONS in small white print.
Out back, three large windows overlooked the parking lot from the second floor, and a single steel door was set into the wall below, flanked by two more, larger windows. A security camera stared down upon the rear entrance. Jack smiled up at it as he approached the door, pulling from his pocket a coded key card. He swiped the card through an unmarked slit on the wall, and when his hand fell on the knob, it turned easily.
Inside, a hallway led straight ahead to the reception area out front, with a door to either side standing open on large conference rooms. Jack noticed both were unoccupied as he quickly strode past, out to the cavernous atrium.
The reception area was huge, open to the ceiling twenty feet above, its soft earth tones brightly illuminated by the massive windows fronting the building. It was dominated by a semi-circular reception desk of slate and mahogany, centred in the space, facing the front entrance, around which were cast several comfortable leather lounge chairs and small glass tables, most round, some square. A curving set of stairs wound up both sides of the wide room to the second floor gallery, adorned with an exquisite balustrade of dark wood interspersed with glass panes that continued as a railing along the open upper floor, where laid the upper offices. The place had an air of subtle sophistication and discretion.
It also had an air of emptiness, for not a soul inhabited the place.
Jack checked the desk. His receptionist was running a little late, he knew, but he had no problem with that. These things happened. It looked like there had been no calls this morning anyway, though the computer and security displays were all on. It looked as though Cy had signed in already—hours ago, in fact, as expected. So where was he now? Sleeping it off in one of the offices, perhaps?
Jack looked at the clock. Nine fifty. The prospective client was scheduled for ten.
He took the stairs two at a time as he hurried to the second floor, where he found two of the doors open. The centre one, which led to more of a staff lounge than an office, was closed. He stepped to the door and was about to swing it open when a sound made him pause, his fingers inches from the doorknob.
He waited a moment, his ears devouring the silence. Then he heard it again: a soft sigh, almost a moan, coming from beyond the door. Jack grasped the knob and gently turned. It made no sound, and he eased the door ajar, peering through the crack.
This room was smaller than the other two offices, but no less tasteful and immaculate. He could see the long leather sectional that dominated one corner, the glass coffee table, and the oak dinette beneath the window and its accompanying chairs. He would have to open the door further to see the other half of the room, which contained a small counter top and sink, two cupboards, a small fridge and microwave, and behind the door, a table and chairs to match those beneath the window. All the trappings of a luxurious, comfortable staff room.
And as he noiselessly eased the door open further, poking his head curiously into the room, he found not one, but two of his staff hard at work.
Jack could see the back of Cy's dark-skinned, hairless head, his massive shoulders, his broad, heavily muscled back as he knelt on the carpet before the sink. Cy was easily the biggest man in Jack's employ, at six-foot-six, and was a towering behemoth of Olympian form, his entire frame carved as though by a classical Greek sculptor. His head was moving slowly, his neck muscles tense, his face buried deep between a pair of long, slender white legs.
Perched on the edge of the counter, not so much working as enjoying the fruits of Cy's labour, was lovely Lena Lang, her head thrown back, eyes closed in soothed satisfaction, long sunset red curls cascading across her shoulders. She tensed and held her breath, smiling at some unseen motion from Cy, and then released a contented sigh. Her red blouse hung open, teasingly revealing only one generously rounded breast, the pebbly nipple of which she toyed with, gently rolling it between her fingers, pinching it occasionally to send a visible quiver through her upper body. Her black skirt and lacy underthings lay discarded on the floor atop a heap of Cy's clothes, but her heels remained on her feet, at the ends of long legs languidly wrapped around Cy's manoeuvring head.
Jack watched in silence a few moments, a part of him twitching to life at the sensual sight of the beautiful redhead massaging her breast while being tenderly attended to by the talented tongue of the Adonis on his knees before her. Lena dropped her hand to Cy's head, gently rubbing his naked pate, coaxing him further with a soft moan as she rolled her hips back to allow him deeper access to her excited centre.
Jack adjusted himself quietly, moving a stiffening sensation into a more comfortable position. He wished he didn't have to interrupt. Hell, he wished he had the time to join in. Reluctantly, he withdrew his spying self carefully from the room and softly closed the door. He took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it, and then rapped three times on the door. After the briefest pause, he opened it and stepped casually across the threshold.
Cy was still naked on his knees, but Lena had slipped off the counter and was now standing before him, her waist hidden from view behind his wide shoulders. Cy's hands were also hidden from view, presumably grasping her taut buttocks.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jack apologized as he entered the room, unable to hide his smile. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No need to apologise, Jack." The look of wary caution that had briefly tensed Lena's features relaxed into a grin as she exhaled with relief. "We both know you don't mean it."
Jack's smile only widened as he cocked an amused eyebrow. He certainly couldn't argue with that.
Cy rose as Lena moved to rescue her skirt from the floor, making no effort to cover her beautifully clean-shaven, saliva soaked pubis. When the big man turned, Jack saw the deadly hand cannon clutched in his left hand. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of the giant handgun, which Cy must have held concealed in the sink beneath Lena's pretty posterior.
