The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Naked Ambition



“Is something wrong?” Janey asked me with concern in her voice.

It must have been obvious to her that something was wrong. I’d sat staring at the monitor for two minutes, or so, my mouth slack jawed, as I felt incredulous at what I’d read.

I work in an open-plan office. There’s about fifty or so of us; and young Janey is the office junior for our section; here for photocopying, filing and suchlike.

She’s a pretty little thing and there was no way I wanted her to know what had surmised me so much. So, I’d just said to her, “I’ve forgotten that it’s Tina’s birthday. Oh God, I’m so stupid!”

Tina’s the wife: and, bless her, Janey had said, “I’ll go get some flowers, if you want Mr Craig?”

I’d said ‘no,’ of course then sent her to the mailroom searching for a file I’d left there the day previously.

Once she’d left I’d turned the monitor back on and stared at the email I’d received through the firm’s intranet from my Manager, Jacob Rawlings.

“I want to use you. I want you on your knees, like you’re my bitch. If you want to be the new team leader; with an incremental rise in your salary you’ll do what I want. And, if you talk of this to anyone, I’ll rip your balls off. Compré?”

I was shaking all over. What could I do? The man terrified me.

He was a powerful man in the firm – a big man, in all respects: I’d stood next to him in the toilets, just the day before.

We had stood next to one another and although I’d tried not to turn my head to look, I had.

I had held my own cock, directing its flow forward, my eyes fixed on the length of his.

It’d mesmerized, it like him, had seemed so much bigger than me.

And, I’m about average, I think.

And, when he’d noticed; and, Mr. Rawlings had; all I had done was blush and stammer, ‘Sorry,’ before rushing out of the washroom without seeing to my hands.

Most unlike me.

I know I should tell Helen. But, then I’d have to tell her the rest. I’d have to tell her that part of me wants to ‘kneel down and take it like a bitch.’

I’d done stuff, when I’d been young. Me and Leigh Dunne.

He’d tried to get it in me, calling me his “girlie.”

I’d liked that, even then; even if it’d taken awhile for him to get it right.

What is it they say, ‘practice makes perfect.’ And boy-had we practiced.

But, everything had changed with Tina. She’d become my world.

How could I tell her?

‘Besides,’ I’d justified, ‘I had the cars M.O.T. due soon. We could do with a holiday. And, we could do with that extra money.’

Then, as to finally make up my mind I closed my eyes, thinking of his warm flesh, hard with his desire, his need.

I stopped shaking: and, feeling fairly certain about what I’d do next, I’d decided to reply to the email, saying ‘I am interested in promotion.’



*

Tomorrow? Another day…







The End. Just the two words together looked good.

“But,” he mused, “I do like the full stop.

Paul Torvino was satisfied.

He had final finished his novel, started after a writers block that had lasted for nearly six, very frustrating months.

Paul saved the story to his hard drive, then a copy to floppy disc and another to his pen drive. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“What is it?” He muttered, “Better safe than sorry.”

Then he closed Word and powered down his p.c.

The monitor had been the rooms only light source for three days, in which time his family had not seen him; during which time he had written continually, stopping only for coffee breaks and thee occasional glass of malt whiskey.

He had started smoking again, much to his wife’s disapproval: and, the large onyx ashtray, sitting to his right,

The curtains were drawn together, and the room smelt stale.

Paul stood and stretched, before crossing the room and turning the lights on, to stare into the mirror, once more.

His wife Helen had run the house and seen to the children, whilst he’d shut himself away, since his last drive.

It had almost become a routine, as Paul found that each time he went out driving he found the motivation he’d been seeking, as each journey had acted as a catalyst to prompt his further writing.

He still recalled that first time; and a desire for a smoke, after several hours spent staring at a blank screen, again.

He had told himself he was after ‘petrol and fags,’ yet once both had been acquired Paul had continued driving, just for the enjoyment of it; and, being away from his computer and the pressure to write its presence created.

Torvino had driven with his windows down, elbows on the sill: down Rowson Street, through King Street and then Church Street, Seacombe, where he’d taken the Birkenhead Road leading onto the Four Bridges; cruising for the pleasure of it.

It’d been a sunny day, with a blue sky and only a light wind.

“Perfect,” he recalled thinking at the time.

In the town centre he had parked the car – to wander, eventually buying himself the/a packet of cigarettes.

Then, on his return he had taken a road he seldom used. And, as he had continued driving, Torvino had noticed as much as possible: simply pleased to be away from four walls and his computer.

And, with his eyes alert, for anything and everything, he had noticed an altercation occurring just ahead of him, to his left, between a young woman; perhaps in her late teens and a young man, somewhat older, wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans; old red and white baseball boots on his feet.

They’d been arguing loudly outside a pub at the end of a row of terraced housing.







(...definitely, 'work in progress.')