Tech Support and the Troubleshooting of Love (BrentCheeks / Fairbyfly)

[BrentCheeks]

“A man must have control of himself before he may have control of the world around him.”

“Father, I don’t-”

“A man must have dominion over his body and mind - his pain and his pleasure - to know the truth of his world.”

“Sir, he’s just-”

“A man,” the grizzled old voice roared, “must know joy and sorrow and fear and sadness and shame! And you will teach him! Just as I learned!”

“Fath-”

“You will learn, Aleksei, and through pain you will become strong.”

“Sir, I-”

“Silence!” The reverberation of skin smacking flesh echoed with an electric report of pain and fury. The sound carried decibels of disappointment that left silent, subdued resignation in its wake. “It is an infantile superstition of the human spirit to venerate virginity as a virtue and not the barrier between ignorance and knowledge.” The tall figure receded and a door slammed shut.

“Aleksei…” The warmth of a human body crowded him into a cocoon. The larvae shuddered and shivered and shook with sniveling sobs. She met him on her knees and enveloped him like a whale swallowing a sinner. The penitent man bows before God.

“I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

Teeth.

His screams were a philharmonic cacophony of caterwauling as the battering ram laid low the barrier between ignorance and knowledge. The demarcation between pain and pleasure blurred and overlapped and melded in his mind’s eye and his body’s corporeal vessel. He retreated and receded and found a place of peace where he could safely wish that one of them were dead.

“My…father…”

“Loves you.”
************************************

“Gahhhhh,” he sputtered, shaking himself awake. The dreams came unbidden and unwanted. They were a foreign invasion of the solace and sanctity of unconsciousness. And something was wrong. Had he taken the wrong medication? Had he taken the wrong dosage? His nightly ritual demanded exact accuracy to subdue his subconscious and keep the intruders at bay.

Aleksei Smirnoff descended from the divine, in his head, down into the mortal and mundane body. His senses extended in all directions in a meditative account that focused on his body’s component and constituent parts. His mouth tasted the metallic acrimony of lifeblood alkalinity; he had bitten his tongue. He hadn’t donned his mouthguard. His olfactories rankled at the cloyingly saccharine feminine fragrance flaring his nostrils. His eyes bloodshot open and his pupils dilated and dialed-into the ambient light. Why hadn’t he donned his eye mask? The room was quiet except for the sibilant sounds of a softly snoring body. He hadn’t started his ocean-crashing lullaby on the wall of sound. That body was warm and its proximity was making him warm and sweaty and crowded…like a cocoon.

Fuck.

“Get off me,” he commanded from his back. It was loud enough to wake a heavy-sleeper.

“Hmm?” The murmured interrogative was unintelligible but Aleksei found it crossing into the irritating side of cute.

“Get. Off. Me.”

“Oh, babe I thought-”

“You are not paid to think,” he growled and shoved the life and limb of a sleep-limp mannequin. “You are paid for the use of your body to relieve my stress.”

“You’re an asshole,” the female voice sounded like a bruised ego to his ear.

“And you’re a prostitute,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’re not dating. We don’t cuddle. And you sure-as-fuck don’t sleep-over.” He rolled over to the side of the king-sized bed and dismounted like a gymnast off the pommel horse. “Get your fucking clothes on and get out of my house.” The tall man bent over and slipped one leg through a pair of flannel pajama pants. “Don’t mistake what we do here,” he began, “Our relationship is purely transactional.”

“Aleksei, the least you could do is show me some fucking kindness.” The girl began fumbling along the floor like a blind man driving by Braille.

“Alexa, bedroom lights level three ambient and indirect,” he spoke like a robotic seance to everything and nothing in the room. And, as the lights slowly blossomed into a bioluminescent back-lit glow, he held the hooker’s gaze while slipping his other leg into the flannels and pulling them up and over his dangling participle. “Had you respected the terms of our arrangement you’d be on the receiving end of a wad of cash, a repeat-business appointment, and a modicum of kindness. Instead, your lack of professionalism led you to pass out in my bed in some pitiful attempt to endear yourself to me or play my ‘girlfriend’ for a night.” He reached into the bedside night table and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills. “Your misguided attempt at seduction earned you my ire and burned what could have been a very profitable bridge.”

“Fuck you asshole! I fell asleep!” she spat at him with metal-detector motion, sweeping the floor, hunting for the treasure of her undergarments. The girl hadn’t come up empty-handed; she held a bundle of hot pink hued, gossamer-thin lace that passed for lingerie with little-enough light. Her small form sat on the bed with her back facing him as she replaced her panties and began to dress.

“Well you ruined my sleep by overstaying your welcome.” He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and it read “3:24.” Fuck. “I’ve got to be up in an hour. Collect your things quickly and leave.” He breathed a deep sign and resignedly announced, “This is the official termination of our business arrangement; your services are no longer…desired.” Aleksei started meting out hundred-dollar bills until they numbered ten. He pressed a button on his phone. “Ivan, the girl is coming down. Return her phone and escort her off premises. The car will take her anywhere she wishes within an hour of the city.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Ivan, I am disappointed in you. The girls don’t sleep here.” He paused for effect. “Ever.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” The voice on the intercom hesitated. “The young master was deeply asleep…I knocked…”

Fuck. He had slept through-

SSSSsssssnifff.

*Ahem*

Cough.

“Ivan, I’ll speak to you after my training.” Aleksei’s hackles raised immediately. Was that the sound of…

SSSSsssssnifffff.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Damnit Aleksei! I can barely think straight,” she whined plaintively. “It’s the middle of the fucking night and I need a little to function.”

The blond man sprung into action like a coiled spring-steel wound tightly to pounce like a panther. He leapt across the bed and slammed into the woman’s back, knocking her forward and sprawling. She screamed and floundered, grasping at straws as she was ridden like a surfboard into the bedroom floor. Aleksei mounted her like a spider-monkey and pressed one knee into her back while his hands gripped the back of her head and spun to push her cheek into the carpet.

“Look at me!” he growled in her ear. Her sobs and sniffles only incensed him more. “Look at me you wretched cunt!” he spat as the woman’s side-eye went wide with the fear of god and the threat of violence. She was a blubbering mess of abject horror. The man’s weight forced her body into the floor but her head was turned sideways so she could see the wroth written on his face. “You disrespectful bitch!” Aleksei was fuming and seeing red. “I have two rules. TWO FUCKING RULES: No sleep-overs. And no drugs.” The urge to hurt her swelled like the building crescendo behind a wave in a whitecap of frothy outrage. It would be so easy to-

NO.

Breathe.

NO.

Fucking breathe…

Mantra.

“How dare you disrespect me in my house? In my own fucking bed?” he sneered derisively at her, spittle flying from his mouth only inches from her terrified face. “Do you know what my father did to people who were disrespectful?” he screamed at her. “DO YOU?!?!”

His answer was the sniffling, snuffling, sniveling, mewling whimper of a terrified child.

“You’re fucking lucky I-”

“Sir,” came the voice from outside the bedroom.

“Enter!” Aleksei shouted and when the door opened he heard footfalls of boots rush around the bed to his side. “Ivan, dump the coke and get this cunt off my fucking property before I erase her.” He used her prone form like a diving board and launched himself upward and off of her. The blond man stood aside and looked down on her pitiful whimpering form.

“Sir!” The affirmative sounded steady and reassuring to Aleksei’s ears. Obedience. Loyalty. These were things that could be given freely…or commoditized and traded with currency. Money could be a currency. Pleasure could be a currency. Lov-

Rough, gloved hands gripped the girl under her armpits, righted her, and spun her to face the blond man. Fear streamed down her face in mascara fluting rivulets that embodied the teary-eyed Comedy and Tragedy masks in the broadest range of human emotions. Aleksei looked down at the crying woman and his coffee-colored saucers pierced her glass-eyed gaze. His hand came up to her chin and he forced her to look up at him as his other hand brandished a roll of cash.

“This is a thousand dollars,” he began, “and you earned it for an hour of service, four hours of sleeping, and two bad decisions.” Aleksei gripped her chin tighter and his fingertips dimpled her flesh until white fingerprints pockmarked her unblemished lineament. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he contemptuously announced and released her chin. Aleksei grabbed her hand and held it between them before cramming the wad of hundred-dollar bills into it and closing her grip. He turned to Ivan, nodded, and the other man hurriedly ushered her out of the room.

There was no way he was going back to sleep.

The blond man padded into the bathroom and stood before the mirror in a moment of darkness. The girl had disrespected him. And he had wanted to hurt her. But he hadn’t. He had made her afraid of him. But he hadn’t hurt her physically. He could hurt her in her wallet or in her heart but…

“Alexa, bathroom lights settings match the bedroom.”

As the soft illumination encroached and chased away morning shadows Aleksei stood before reflective panes and opened himself to all that was true. The mirrors showed him a handsome man who had chiseled his physique out of athletic stone and sculpted lean, lissome musculature from primordial clay. His face was the countenance of youthful complexion with clear skin and deathlike pallor. He kept it clean-shaven to cultivate his signature, boyish grin that was simultaneously winsome and mischievous while promising peals of laughter and lots of fun. He had straight, naturally dirty-blond hair that he kept short on the sides and long and frosted on top. Part of the man’s charm was looking like he had just retired from a very successful musical career as the lead-singer of a chart-topping triple platinum boy-band. Aleksei pulled his flannel pants down and stepped out of them with an admiring appraisal. At 6’2” his legs were long, lanky stems, braided with sinewy angles, that had been honed through years of training. They flanked his tumescent tuber at the apex-vee as it swelled from the arousal of exertion and throbbed like a clock pendulum bobbing for apples.

He had wanted to hurt her. It felt good to…

Breathe.

Mantra.

Aleksei wiped the Sandman’s sleep from his sunken eyes and haunted gaze. His eyes were the syrupy caramel-color of coffee with “just enough” cream to chase away the bitterness. He stared deeply into the mirror and felt himself sinking. The blond man leaned forward and rested his palms on the vanity sink for a closer look. What the fuck was wrong with him? Inside there? Why couldn’t he just…adjust? Be like the reed that bends in the river. Be like the leaf that blows in the wind. She had broken the rules. She had to be punished. Did she? His anger had led him down a path that had changed his life. By allowing her to make him angry he had relinquished control. He had ceded power over himself to some dumb plaything - to an inconsequential idiot. A man must have dominion over himself. How could he control another person or an animal or a company or a country or a world…if he couldn’t control himself?

Another night of deficient sleep hygiene and he had no one to blame but himself. He had been angry at the girl but that was a coward’s temptation. Giving in to anger in a puerile fit was a man’s tantrum; it relinquished control and allowed him to be vulnerable and exploited. He would not let his anger be a liability or a weakness. He would not let it be a collar for his enemies to manipulate him. He had learned the mantras of self-dominion and self-control. He meditated twice-daily. He trained his body hard and his mind even harder. He slept - with the aid of regimen and medication - long and dreamless and alone. He had made these changes to improve himself, to grow as a man, and to heal. Aleksei stared into the mirror and did the most difficult thing he had learned to do in prison: He forgave himself.

Real men - leaders of men - hold themselves accountable and take responsibility for the results of their thoughts, words, actions, and inactions. Real men…

Fuck this.
***********************************

The kennels were his sanctuary. When Aleksei walked the grounds he felt like the Advent of the Messiah. The dogs barked and howled and sang their spirited sing-song salutations. The smells of the kennel varied wildly from gamey, wild animal, wet fur coat scent to excrement and offal. He felt plush, lion-mane shampooed fur and groomed smoothness. He felt rough tongues and wagging tails. He felt like he had come home. These animals adored him. He delivered them, fed them, trained them, and played with them. He taught them pack hierarchy, tactics, respect, and loyalty. Aleksei worked with them like a devoted father. And they repaid his devotion with unconditional love.

The blond man sat in the grass, with his hands clasped around his knees, shoulder-to-shoulder with Otto. He wore simple gray sweatpants and a windbreaker zippered up to shield his body from last night’s chill. The Leonberger dog was Aleksei’s first breeding sire from the time after his release. He was the oldest. He was the biggest. And he was the boss. A hundred and seventy pounds of muscle and bone sat, in solemn silence, holding space for his master. His coloration was stunning in the predawn darkness. The sun’s fingers sought the horizon but only the tips touched and left regal prints on the night sky and the dog’s coat. Otto’s muzzle and chest were inky black but the rest of his coat was a chestnut mixture of walnut and pecan gingerbread. The hues mixed and melded and blended and blurred in the foreplay sunrise. He panted. Aleksei sighed. Life was simple in the kennel. He had made their lives simple. He had made them better. And they loved him.

Aleksei was still reeling from his rude awakening. He had awoken disoriented and sleep-deprived. As a testament to his deprivation he had forgotten to kick the girl out and take his medication and perform his nighttime regimen and ritual. The routine was imperative to making his sleep dreamless and as restful as possible. But the sleep deficit had accrued and last night he had passed out after a particularly vigorous stress-relieving session. He hadn’t taken his medication and without it his sleep was fitful and plagued by nightmares. And the nightmare immediately put him on-edge upon waking. No eye mask? No medication? No meditation? A comely idiot and her blow-habit? Any one of those factors, alone, was easy to overcome. A confluence of unfortunate events had wormed its way under his skin and burrowed into the vulnerable flesh. He hadn’t been thinking clearly this morning. Belay that. He had been positively triggered and the drugs were the straw that broke the camel’s back. And that was an indication that he had a long way to go. He needed discipline. He needed to be imperturbable. He needed the flexibility and strength to adapt and overcome. And that meant he had to try harder.
*********************************************

TEXT: Available tonight?

He sent the text and then stepped into the walk-in. His training had been subpar and today’s trainer had let him off easily with only a few painful reminders. Mixed martial arts was its own artform. And this morning he had to be reminded of how important it was to get a good night’s rest before sparring. Aleksei trained with three different Masters to ensure that his fighting-style was versatile. He would never be a prize-fighter; he didn’t want fortune or fame. But he wanted to be able to defend himself against multiple skilled attackers. He wanted his enemies to underestimate him.

The water was exactly 100.34 degrees. Nozzles poked, like prairie dogs, out from the tile in every configuration and angle to shower his body with garden-hose spray water-pressure. The blond man stood at the nexus like the center of a bicycle tire and oscillated in a human car-wash. His naked body, athletic and toned, was the focal point of the body-scrubbing power-washer jets. He ran his hands through his hair and brushed it back from his face. “Alexa, play Metallica - And Nothing Else Matters.”

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Boar bristles and vegetable gourd loofah exfoliated his sweaty epidermis under the torrent. This particular pad, Chinese okra, was lathered and smooth with sudsy coarse caresses. Aleksei paid particular attention to his long limbs, running the brush up and down his arms and legs and even scrubbing the nooks and crannies of his crotch. He lifted his arm and angled his armpit to the side jet when he heard the chime.

<DING>

She had responded. Less than four minutes. He smiled into the stream and tried not to feel flattered.

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words, I don't just say
And nothing else matters

Aleksei knew he was one of her best clients. The feeling was mutual. Except she was one of his best providers. He had taken her out of regular rotation for a little variety. The last visit had been over a year ago and their last texts were exchanged only a month later. She was very good at her job. And she didn’t make mistakes. There was something to be said for consistency. It was far more valuable than novelty. And novelty always evaporated…eventually.

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

He smiled with satisfaction as he presented his under-carriage to the firehose jury. After training it was important to be particularly thorough. Thankfully, this part of his routine was unaltered and easily accommodated. The potpourri of floral fragrances wafted through the steam and comforted him with a blanket of calming horticulture. After the body wash and scrub came the exfoliant. After the exfoliant he used the lather, rinse, and skin conditioner. After those came the clay and micro-beads. Then charcoal and spirulina. Aleksei inhaled deeply and attempted to identify the medley. There was grapefruit and coconut and shea and…was that vanilla? The volume of products was a little excessive - even to him. But he had difficulty denying their accumulated effects and the results of consistent application. His skin was baby-soft and silky to touch. His hair was shimmering healthy and shone with sheen and vibrance. Even his cock-

He felt stubble. Was it time for his Bro-zilian already? Manscaping waxing in a Brazilian bikini pattern was a standard, minimum level of grooming and hygiene in the upper echelons of society. Aleksei grabbed his cock and tugged a little lather into a pud-pulling pattern of deep-tissue massage. His pulse filled the blood-sausage with an animal-shaped balloon response like a clown’s penis party favor. His veins bulged insistently in a latticework mapping of routes and roads crisscrossing the erection superhighway. Aleksei wanted to fuck something. Badly. But he preferred to let the desire build than ease his own tension. He let the suds see themselves out. Besides, the game was afoot!

The tall, blond man stepped out and drip-dried under the soothing warm air blowers recessed in the ceiling. Before his hand had dried he grabbed his phone and unlocked it with his retinal-scan.

TEXT: A year goes by and the first text I get is the night of your holiday party?

TEXT: Schwartz already booked?

TEXT: Marconi

TEXT: He’s got good taste. I’ll double your normal fee.

TEXT: I’m a professional; I don’t cancel on my clients unless it’s an emergency.

TEXT: Triple.

TEXT: I guess it’s an emergency.

TEXT: I miss you.

TEXT: Stick to charming and truth. You want to look good tonight and you know I’ll make you look even better. Besides, what happened to my competition?

TEXT: I have two rules.

TEXT: She’s an idiot. Did you hurt her?

TEXT: No. Almost. But I need something comfortable…someone familiar.

TEXT: I have rules too, Ale.

TEXT: No bruises, nothing visible.

TEXT: Good boy.

TEXT: That’s my line.

<IMAGE>

A silky-smooth, baby-hairless, vagina filled the megapixel screen. It was pink and puffy and glistening with the moisture of anticipation. A dark-skinned pointer and middle finger propped it open like stakes at the vulva circus tent. The grotto beckoned, waggling a finger beneath the beacon, at the entrance of hell.

TEXT: She missed you.

TEXT: Get out of my head.

TEXT: You wish.

TEXT: The car will scoop you at seven.

TEXT: With bells on.
*********************************************************************************************

 

[Fairess]

If a necromancer ever needed to find the ripest spot to find succulently miserable, helplessly submissive souls, he need not look any further than a company 'party.' The whole shebang was probably attractive to, what, maybe seven people in the entire business? Eve knew the type too well — those self-acclaimed social butterflies who thought they knew what a scrum master was supposed to do, who told people to do their job for them and somehow built a career out of that, and who loved nothing more than preening inside of their clique so they could enjoy the ripe misery of every other human being around them.

Because who the hell wanted to be in an office building at 7pm on a Friday night during the holidays? God, and even worse, the ninnies in charge of the exercise in emotional torture had already been bragging about the catering. Something about the words "ethnic" and "local" really got them excited, so the order of the night was going to be pretentious, kind-of-warm phad thai from a big ol' aluminum casserole dish. There'd be boxed wine on hand, too, so everyone was going to be casual-bragging about who brought the best booze with them.

The problem wasn't tackiness — few things hit like a soggy takeout box full of salty noodles when she was on a GeForce RTX 4090 and barely halfway through some Halo: Devastation binge. No, the issue was the pretentiousness, the corporate take on 'socializing' that drained the heart and soul out of everything a social excursion was supposed to be: hanging out with the people you like doing the things you want to do.

Instead of donning something skimpy and playful and tossing The Bird at anyone who offended her sensibilities, she was going to put on something tight and confirmative so she could reaffirm every negative stereotype about 'good' office women.

It wasn't that the corporate look was bad on her — the tight, half-buttoned white shirt made her already impressive bust all the more prominent, and the addition of a gold-toned belt with a pencil skirt did the same for her generous hips. She was pin-up pretty and knew it, and if she didn't have to wear 'business formal' for the sake of her corporate overlords, she might have actually found something to like about how she wore it.

Of course it didn't matter how she styled her hair, given that no one was actually going to be looking at it. If they were going to pretend at being ethnically diverse because of their catering choices, she felt like she might as well make a subtle dig by adding a leftover pair of spare chopsticks to her platinum blond hair in a loose bun.

Years of experience informed her next wardrobe moves: matte make-up with pink highlights and some cherry red gloss for her plump lips (and just two flirty red gems stuck just below the corner of each eye for some holiday mystique), a pair of dark, velvety thigh-high stockings that would tempt onlookers with just a tiny bit of thigh whenever she sat or bent over on account of her short skirt, and comfortable, if plain Mary Janes. The key was to be spicy with just that extra bit of glitz that was still company friendly — that would absolutely piss off the socialites who hated fading against their own manicured camouflage of conformity.

The end result was, indeed, flashy in all the right ways. The dark eyeliner highlighted her long lashes and the wideness of her pale blue eyes, and the soft curves of her cheeks and slightly upturned nose were made all the cuter with the flush of pink. She couldn't go too heavy on the makeup without drowning out that natural sweetness her face tended to evoke, always the best trap to ensnare an unwary, half-drunk victim that'd find himself mixed up in a crazy morning routine that usually ended up with him storming out.

"Man, Eve, sometimes I wish you were a little less pretty." Eve turned her head just so as she admired herself in her pocket mirror, already balancing her purse and her phone in her other hand. "It's so miserable to be the most — and only — interesting person in a big ol' herd of sheep."

Well, she might make an exception for Aleksei Smirnoff. It wasn't his money — that was just the baseline of surviving among sharks these days — nor was it his perfect cheekbones and the way the toned muscle of his arms and shoulders always screamed for attention under the form-hugging wrap of his clothes. It wasn't his big, cushy job title, the sheer presence of his charisma that could have a room of people laughing in seconds, or that slick car he took off in for God only knew how many upscale luncheons with his fellow big-wigs.

No, the best part of Aleksei was that he was dirty. And he was hers.

It hadn't taken much to hook him. Hell, he hadn't even been aware that he was a little baby fish in a big, big ocean! Aleksei was one of countless victims, robbed of the one precious thing no amount of money could truly buy: privacy.

Oh, money could certainly help hire the talent, and the ultra-rich generally were responsible for far more criminal loopholes when it came to exploiting the innocent. In a society where more and more information was becoming instantly available, however, the truly powerful knew how to secure, breach, and store their personal data.

It didn't matter how many times she drunkenly (and sometimes soberly) argued: few people truly seemed to get the message, to see the writing on the wall. The power of data didn't lie solely in credit card and social security numbers — it was about tapping into a person's daily habits, their connections, their biosignature, their medical records and their legal paper trails. If she wanted dirt on someone, all she had to do was stand next to someone and fiddle with a Bluetooth app on her phone.

Aleksei wasn't stupid, but he hadn't yet realized he was simply living in a city, a country, a world that Eve happened to already own. She knew everything there was to know about his little court case from back then, the charges of rape and assault that had landed him in prison. The brand of his home security system, the names and performance reviews from each member of his personal staff, the phone number of every prostitute he'd contacted, the latest medical records concerning his father — frankly, it would be easier to list the things she didn't know about the man and all the little planets that orbited his exorbitant lifestyle.

Could she have spent the same amount of effort to, say, hack money out of bank accounts and uncover the latest tech being developed by the Pentagon? Probably, but none of that compared to the simple, wonderful hit of dopamine every time she got to watch Aleksei struggle to contain himself.

He'd sent private investigators after her, of course, probably trying to dig up dirt on her he could leverage in turn. It must've been nice, being able to disperse his cognitive load across professionals who could make it their goal instead of his to pursue her. Annoying as such privilege was, she had to admit that their pursuit, too, tended to keep her amused. How else would she have been motivated enough to turn her car handle into a taser trap, or to provide a false house address in the company record and set up one of the investigators to be arrested upon breaking in?

There had been digital attacks, too, the fun kind where she got to test the latest updates to her firewall while reverse hacking the poor souls determined to get their hands on her precious, precious data. She loved the attention, the thrill of the chase, and the best part was that it was Aleksei paying for it all.

Perhaps someday she'd drop him a bone, show a hint of mercy. He really wasn't a wise person to cross, and truth be told, she should have simply left the company where she was miserable instead of clinging to a petty grudge. Well, she wouldn't admit it was much more than a grudge by now, but skimming his text messages secretly forwarded to her phone was endlessly entertaining. Was he, for instance, really the type of guy to appreciate such low-quality clamagrams?

God, a high school girl could do better! It had absolutely been worth being late to work just to run her own little photoshoot — in order to make a point, of course. The background? Something warm and complementary to her skin tone, satiny beige sheets that would help contour the shadow of her thighs. Lighting was the most important element, but her cute little video setup was already perfect for it, scrim and all. The key was soft light, the sort of glow-up that would make her skin appear even smoother than it was (all the better to show off her Hollywood wax).

There was nothing fundamentally wrong with a close-up, as long as the angling and lighting were right. But Aleksei's slut was so sinfully uninspired! No creativity, no playfulness, no foreplay! And what the hell was a clamagram if not foreplay?

Eve fixed this with a pair of crotchless panties, a stringy black thing that hugged her mons like a butterfly. Rather than being completely bare, a string of pearls ran over her slit, leaving only her nether lips open to the camera's view. Finally, she ran her fingers just a few inches under her panties and kept it in the shot, as if she'd just been caught about to pleasure herself. All she had to do was angle her knees up slightly, keeping them just a few inches apart, as if she were on the cusp of opening. This was foreplay.

After picking her favorite photo of the bunch, she'd gone on with her day and pondered when the best time to use it would be. She really couldn't wait to see his face when he discovered she'd hacked his phone again.

But that was for later. As she headed off to the Christmas party back at the office with a white elephant gift in tow, there was one extra little gadget she had to be sure to bring. Aleksei's arm candy was due to be picked up at seven, and a chauffeur from Mr. Money Bags was bound to be exactly on time. If she was really going to screw up his night, she had to go above and beyond to make sure his pretty little stress ball wouldn't be on hand.

It was as simple as a drive-by — along with her laptop and a convenient little wireless card working on just the right frequency. In seconds, she had full control of the traffic light network for the next few miles or so. All she had to do was upload her neat little virus and it'd keep things on the fritz until it was set to delete itself.

Yes, it was fitting. Sure, thousands of people were about to hit a sudden and probably, maybe deserved traffic hell. But the payoff! She found herself rather satisfied to imagine Miss Pussy Drool frustrated and stuck in traffic for hours on end. Maybe she'd do the smart thing and find more value in the hard nub of a seat buckle than her boy toy's 'little man.'

Eve was grinning ear to ear by the time she made it to the big ol' business center, a massive glass and concrete structure that housed several companies owned by none other than the Smirnoffs. The lobby was big-wig fancy with marble flooring and a veritable atrium of hanging greenery, to say nothing of the waterfall fountain that must be at least three stories high. Really, why were such nice spaces designed merely to be walked through? She'd find the office slightly more tolerable if she had a green little corner to hide away in.

But no, it'd taken twisting Boy Toy's arm to get her own private office. She could really put her feet up without someone blabbering about how much she was slacking off! Except for tonight, as she was doomed to head up into the office's cafeteria.

She could hear the Christmas music drifting from outside the large glass doors, and truth be told, it wasn't quite as bad a sight as she'd imagined. The office did have an incredible view of the city, after all, with floor-to-ceiling windows made all the brighter with the addition of Christmas lights. While the table decorations were cheap at best, people were already much more concerned with the liquor bar. It was still early enough that all the cliques hadn't quite formed yet, so Eve could comfortably make a beeline for the punchbowl before finding the best spot to catch Mr. Nepotism walking in.

 

[BrentCheeks]

TEXT: Running late

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: What happened to that professionalism?

TEXT: I was early. Your car was punctual. Traffic isn’t cooperating.

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: Traffic? You had an hour to go ten miles.

TEXT: Out of my control.

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: Unfa king believable

TEXT: What?

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: Driving

TEXT: Multiple intersections. Traffic-lights dead. Pile-ups and crashes. All over the news.

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: I know it’s not your fault but if you’re going to be more than twenty late don’t bother.

TEXT: You never fail to impress.

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: I’m pulling into the valet.

TEXT: Have fun.

SPEECH-TO-TEXT: We’ll try again next year.
******************************************************

Fuck.

So much for reliability.

At least Marconi wouldn’t have her.

But how? And why? Could it have been the girl? Would she go to such lengths just to…

<DING>

The elevator doors opened onto a large hallway with floor-to-ceiling glass separating the catering hall from the elevator foyer. Smirnoff Corporation held exhibitions and conventions and training in this hall and it could be converted from a conventional cafeteria to mixed-use multipurpose space in the span of a few hours. Aleksei shouldered his bag and strode confidently down the corridor while adjusting his hat. Overhead, recessed fluorescent light afforded him ample illumination in a sterilized white hospital-cold hue. The floor was stained beige synthetic ipe wood tile fitted together seamlessly. Aleksei’s big black heels clicked on the tile and echoed down the hallway in his haste.

Rockin' around the Christmas tree
Have a happy holiday
Everyone dancin' merrily
In the new old-fashioned way

Brenda Lee…

‘Tis the fuckin’ season!

Assuming that the hacker was responsible for the traffic jam just to fuck with his provider and, (indirectly) him, was a very slippery slope of logical fallacy. It meant that he was effectively the center of the universe and that random chaos didn’t occur randomly but purposefully just to fuck with him. And that meant it wasn’t random. It was just chaos. And that meant it was Eve. Did he dare assume? The presumption was seductive even if the logical fallacy had blonde hair, big tits, and a face that urged smacking and fucking in equal temptation. If it were just bad luck that meant she hadn’t hacked his phone…again. If it were merely random that meant she wasn’t stalking him…again. She already had leverage over him - that’s how blackmail worked - so what purpose did it serve to fuck with him? Aleksei came to a disturbing conclusion…

Bottom line: if the traffic-insanity was Eve’s doing then she wasn’t motivated by anything that Aleksei could understand - money, revenge, power, greed, jealousy. He understood those things because it wasn’t the first time the Smirnoff family had been blackmailed; it was the first time they had been blackmailed by a person whose motivation wasn’t easily discerned. What did she get out of toying with him like this? His image dropped a peg if he showed up to the company Christmas party without arm-candy. He hadn’t risen to the bait before. And he certainly wasn’t about to do so now. For what? The cost…the risk…what would he prove? What was she trying to prove? She had already proven that she was his…superior…in the realm of technology and computers. Eve hadn’t asked for a raise - she had asked for a better office. She hadn’t asked for an apology or demeaning photos - she had asked for relief from her corporate managerial overlord. Her actions were erratic and unpredictable and that made her dangerous. Frankly, she was acting like a fucking brat. If…if…

All of these were big IFs and he hesitated to make such a leap-of-logic. It was foolish to underestimate your opponent. It was a mistake to assume anything about your enemy. And regardless of the traffic’s culprit Eve had made an enemy of Aleksei Smirnoff.

As he opened the giant glass double-doors onto the Smirnoff Holiday Celebration the sights and sounds of merriment warmed the cockles of his heart and he stepped into a winter wonderland. The hall was dark with mood-lit glowing tchotchke battery-candelabra. Archaic candle-holders with real-wax and wicks were intermingled with menorahs and chandeliers. A snowy Christmas disco ball cast kaleidoscopic rays in gyroscopic rotation like an epileptic seizure waiting with baited breath. The young man caught glimpses and hints and shadows of sporadically visible faces and momentarily illuminated features and decorations. It gave the scene a half-time picture-flip-book feel as if his eyes were blinking in sequence with momentary lapses of reality. He caught a whiff of evergreen and pine and…was that peppermint? Someone had gotten a little carried-away with the Christmas Cheer. There were wreaths and pine cones and garlands festooned from the walls and ceiling. He smelled cinnamon and nutmeg and eggnog spices wafting from the bar. A ten-piece big-band orchestra sent the sounds of holiday happiness in brass and wind and string and percussion all around the high-ceilinged room. Three singers in sequined-sheer dresses crooned like the Ronettes with throwback doo-wop moves and synchronized choreography.

Aleksei’s smile was winsome and beatific and charming. His eyes were warm and creased with an invitation of mirth and intelligence. He was happy to be here. And he had brought the party. “You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear,” he announced in a loud, commanding voice that drew every eye in the room. “Voices singing, let's be jolly!” Aleksei sang in pitch-perfect projection. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly!” His coworkers cheered the Chief Operations Officer and son of the Chief Executive Officer, Jaroslav Smirnoff, with raised glasses and applause. Fashionably late and fashionably clad - as always!

Aleksei was a tall man. As he entered the cafeteria exhibition hall his presence commanded attention. Black boots reached up to his knees before curling over on themselves with bright silver buckles at the top of his ankles. Deep crimson silk tucked like blue-blood into the cuffs of the knee-highs and ballooned loosely with a baggy-pantaloon look that reflected shimmering micro-spotlights in the disco-fever inferno. The red pants clung and draped with his steady gait and confident movement to draw onlookers’ eyes and cast shadows on spectator attention. The silk was cool and smooth and very soft. A red-and-white petticoat hugged his torso with the winding pinstripe candy-stripes of a barber shop pole. His athleticism was apparent, even dressed as Saint Nick, in the subtlety of his movements. To complete the ensemble, Aleksei had found rhinestone bedecked white and silver gloves, a plush, white beard, and a red and white velvet-furred santa hat. The Russian man epitomized the idealized image of Santa stepping off the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly and into the hearts of his admirers. After all, to Santa, everyone was still a child.

Mr. Claus began the arduous task of making the rounds and delivering envelopes from his great big sack. And he was accosted within seconds.

“Now remember, children, don’t open your presents until it’s time!” Santa made the announcement with a roar. “Same rules as last year! He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake!” Aleksei opened his sack and started rummaging through envelopes and checking for names. The plain, white envelopes were marked only with cursive-script and calligraphy penmanship. Employees’ names were written in big letters on the front and wax-sealed in the back.

“Thank you, Santa.”

“Don’t thank me! Thank the elves!”

“Ahhh, thanks Santa.”

“You’re welcome! And thank you for all your hard work this year.”


“Thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” Aleksei questioned. “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” he roared in response and waggled the proffered envelope.

“Whoa! Look what the cat dragged in!” the loud nasally voice shouted as Aleksei approached. He was a short, thin man with a pencil-outline mustache and Israeli-looking features. He was wearing a nondescript dark suit and a nonplussed expression. Standing next to him, with her arm tucked beneath his, was a dark-haired woman that Aleksei didn’t recognize. She wore a mostly-white one-piece, with striking red outlines, that hugged her slight curves and stopped just above her knees.

“Schwartz!” Aleksei roared through the poofy white-haired beard. “Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!” Saint Nick made a show of rummaging through his bag and even ducked his head into the big opening. “Ohhhhh! Schwartz it looks like there’s no envelope for you in here!” Onlookers laughed with Aleksei as he played it up. “Is it because you’re on the ‘OTHER’ list? Or does Hanukkah Harry have something special waiting for you in your office?” Employees roared and Schwartz raised his glass. His provider wore a bemused smile and Aleksei saw the joke zoom right over her pretty little head.

“Here’s to you, Aleksei!” the Israeli man ribbed sardonically and toasted his martini glass in Santa’s direction

“Hey Aleksei, where’s my date?” Marconi sounded annoyed with his interjection. The Italian man was only a little taller than Schwartz but his features were dark and oily. He was alone and standing with Schwartz and the other executive vices. Marconi also wore a dark suit with slicked-back brown hair and a recently-dyed brown goatee.

“Ahhhhh Lucio Marconi!” Aleksei announced in a deep faux baritone. “Ho ho ho!” Santa made a big show of looking into his bag. “I don’t see any hoes here in my bag! Maybe your present has yet to arrive!”

The crowd gathered in a circle and clapped at Aleksei’s performance.

“Fuck you Aleksei,” Marconi sighed with annoyance, “I know you outbid me at the last minute.”

“Marcooooni! Why-ever would you think that?” Saint Nick made a big show of looking around. “I don’t see Mrs. Claus. Do you?” he emoted incredulously. “Santa came alone this year.”

“Santa came in his Maserati this year,” the Italian man quipped. “Fuck off Aleksei. You’re two drinks behind so go deliver those envelopes and get back here so we can catch-you-up.” Marconi looked skeptical about Aleksei’s explanation.

Aleksei made an obvious show of bowing with wide-open arms to Marconi. The oily-looking Italian shrugged but Aleksei hoped he took note that Santa didn’t have his traditional arm-candy companionship. Last year his provider’s Mrs. Claus was so classy-slutty-compelling that Marconi had booked her a few weeks early. And Aleksei couldn’t blame him for being bitter. He was normally imperturbable about these things but right now it was tough not to be disappointed. And it was probably for the best that she wasn’t here on Santa’s arm to rub the Italian’s nose in his defeat.

“Ho ho ho! Lucio Marcohoho…ho ho ho!”

“Alright, Aleksei, now it’s just annoying.” Marconi scowled at Santa who ignored him and turned to bow to the woman on Schwartz’s arm.

“For you, young lady,” Santa produced a small envelope and offered it to her. She looked at Schwartz with raised eyebrows and skepticism. The short man nodded his approval and she accepted the envelope.

“Gentlemen, I’ll be back,” the bearded Aleksei bowed to the two men and continued making his way around the room.

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!”

“Thank you, Santa.”

“Here you go, young man.”

“Thanks Santa!”

“And this one’s for you.”

“Thank you sir!”

“Ho ho ho! Merry…” Aleksei hesitated. The improvisation was a fascinating escape from reality until he saw her. “Well well well, little girl,” the Russian man announced in a fatherly, chiding tone, “which list were you on this year?” GQ Santa approached gingerly with a little pep in his step and some verve in his swerve. This was going to be enjoyable. He knelt on one knee and made a grandiose display of rummaging through his sack while he met her gaze and never broke eye-contact. Two red gems beneath her eyes seduced the smolder from him even as it curled his lips into charming mischief.

Eve wasn’t just a technician or a data analyst, she was an information technology guru. And right now she looked like a really classy provider. Aleksei allowed his peripheral vision to soak it in while he focused her with pin-point derision and laced it with sarcasm. Her body blatantly defied the hours of sedentary seat-time required to excel at her career. Her tits were the prominent and playful orbs of a capricious nymph. They caught Santa’s attention in a wanton display of titillating flesh, half-visible through a barely-buttoned white shirt. They jiggled just enough behind a gossamer veneer to evoke jealousy in women and Pavlovian saliva in men. Santa felt the urge to ‘punish’ rise up and tent red silk on bent-knee. The golden belt girded alluring hips and balanced the equator at Aleksei’s eye-level. Her pencil skirt was slitted to flash a glimpse of skin in locomotion and prompted an inhalation from the bearded proposer. The stockings hugging her thighs peeked out like shy children hiding and seeking behind a demure charade-facade.

Fuck.

The bitch had great taste.

And she wore it to the nines.

“You better watch out!” When Santa found what he was looking for he stood triumphantly and showed the envelope to the room. With the attention on the envelope-in-hand he was confident the prominence at his waist would escape notice. Aleksei couldn’t deny his body’s reaction but it felt like a betrayal and made him even angrier. “You better not cry!” He took the letter and shook it with exaggeration and then held it up to his ear as if listening at the door for whispers. “You better not pout, I’m telling you why!”

The room erupted into a chorus of “Santa Claus is coming to town!”

Aleksei handed the envelope to Eve and continued around the room until the bag was empty.

 

[Fairess]

Well, shit. Eve had been so determined to be a delighted Grinch, but Aleksei's entrance was the proverbial comeback of Whoville. He smiled and the whole room warmed up, his corporate sheep eating up the shameless holiday cheer he radiated with the intensity of a nuclear reactor. Actually, if she was being honest, his presence made the people around him feel less corporate and more human, expressive and genuine in their gratitude. If rumors were to be believed, Christmas bonuses hadn't actually been a thing until Aleksei had been brought onto the leadership team.

And he did it all without that eager prostitute on his arm. Her heart didn't grow a single size larger, but it did ache a little bit, watching his obnoxious little act turn the party into a genuinely good time. There weren't a ton of executives like him willing to play along with a silly bit while personally handing out gifts for the holidays. That sort of thing took time and care, an actual beating heart.

But he didn't have a heart! It was all one big show, one big shot milking all the attention in the room because he liked having the eyes on him. There was nothing more to it, nothing at all!

"Fuckin' stupid party… crappy, weak booze… buncha assholes…" Eve muttered her bitterness into the depths of a plastic beer cup, angling her body away from all the noise. Not even earbuds would help her escape the loud carousing over the already obnoxious Christmas music. As soon as the big announcements and mandatory team building games were done, she was getting the hell out of there.

"Well, well, well, little girl, which list were you on this year?" A warm, muscle-melting baritone approached Eve at last, and suddenly her mouth felt dry.

It had always been easier to think of Aleksei as more of a concept than a person — he was one of the 4%, a spoiled, rotten-to-the-core trust fund kid who got to have a prison record and still be among the top brass at a Fortune 500 company. Sure, she messed around with him a little, but it was nothing he couldn't handle and nothing he didn't deserve. Probably. She knew enough of his therapy and daily routine to know just how hard he was working to turn a new leaf and make himself into the big, reliable boss he'd been hired to be. It didn't matter, though, it really didn't.

That's what she kept telling herself as Aleksei literally got down on one knee to play his ridiculous Santa act. Her gaze, however, got quite stuck on the taut muscle of his thigh, whose prominent silhouette was only encouraged by the satiny drape of his pants.

Eve's fingers tightened around her cup, her free hand slowly rubbing down her thigh as if to calm herself. It took a moment for her eyes to wander up to his — really big mistake, that.

There was definitely no proper spirit of Christmas in the mocking taunt of his eyes. Even when confronted with the woman who held his cozy career in the palm of her hand, he still had the nerve and the courage to confront her on his own terms. Somewhere in that defiance, there was something more, a heat that quite melted through the fabric of her blouse and made her feel stuffy for wearing clothes at all. Her legs twitched, cheeks warming as it suddenly became difficult to remember the sharp retort she had to his dumb Santa-ing.

Thankfully, she was saved by the boom of his voice bursting into cringy lyrical glee. Leaned against a table as she was, she imagined she probably had just enough support to kick right at his midsection and send him toppling backward. Ah, that would have been a —

No. No way did he have a boner. Right here and now, in front of her? Eve's face flushed bright red, mildly panicking over whether it was her or his apparent love of playing Santa getting him hard. Everyone around them was sure to chalk her reaction up to her hating the attention (or, you know, being understandably overwhelmed by that boyish smile and imposing aura of her big boss).

"Gee, thanks." Eve frowned and snatched up the envelope when it was offered, promptly glancing away from her glowing pervert Santa. "I'll put it toward the eardrum replacement surgery I'm now in desperate need of."

Unfortunately, that uncomfortable warmth stuck with her long after Aleksei left her to deliver his little gifts. She wasn't nearly drunk enough to deal with all the nonsense, and the places her mind started wandering to? Well…

She could see it clearly. Instead of fishing for her envelope, Santa snatched her belt and dragged her onto the hard muscle of his thigh. His hand cushioned her descent, but at a terrible price — two of his long, broad fingers greeted her crotchless panties, easily slipping all the way into her pussy. While she squealed and squirmed, his opposite hand had no trouble in tugging the taut buttons of her blouse wide open. Slipping the lace of her bra aside, he pinched his hand around the fullness of her breast and leaned forward to tease her nipple with his tongue.

"Shitty little girl," He chided, wriggling his fingers inside her tight, unprepared pussy, "do you know what happens to the children on my naughty list?"

She grasped at his arm, his thigh, unable to do anything but squirm. "Nngh! Coal is a stupid punishment!"

"It's not fitting for you at all, no. Bad girls like you get fucked." That's when his teeth found her nipple, pinching it tightly while his fingers inside her started to curl. When she squealed and tried to pull away, he simply laughed. "You'll have to fuck yourself a lot harder if you want me to be gentle."

Back in the real world, Eve caught herself fondling her own breast and promptly cursed. She should be at a club right now, shimmying her way up a handsome stranger's thigh so her head could be full of anything but Aleksei. It didn't help that her nipples had hardened enough to poke through her shirt, an embarrassing reminder of her arousal.

Dammit! This booze is weaksauce! Eve huffed her way over to the drink bar, not even bothering to read the label of something that very much looked like some kind of whiskey. She wasn't usually one to drink the stuff straight — she was all about disguising the ick and burn of liquor with syrups and sugar — but this was a special occasion.

 

[BrentCheeks]

Somewhere between Andy Williams’s “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” and The Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick” the youthful, blond Claus bounded up the big-band stage and made some overt hand-waving and gesturing motions. He leaned-in to whisper something in the flutist's ear and then pulled all three sequin-singers into a holiday huddle. What was going on? Aleksei finally handed a little piece of paper to the saxophonist and held it beneath the sheet-music lamp on the music stand as he pointed animatedly at…something.

“Merry Christmas Team Smirnoff!” Aleksei announced into the microphone in front of one of the doo-wop singers. He didn’t bother adjusting the height just bent over and into the spotlight. The room gradually quieted as the music faded to a soft background jazz tune. “I want to take a moment to formally acknowledge and thank you for all of your hard work this year. Every single person in this room is an integral part of our team and your contributions are noticed, acknowledged, and appreciated.” Aleksei took a deep breath and beamed with charisma. “What good is an acknowledgement of empty words, right? Well everyone here will receive compensation based upon the performance of our stock, the market, and the earnings.” Cheers rose up all around the room. “In addition to your compensation, Christmas Bonuses have been carefully selected by management to recognize employees for exemplary service and outstanding above-and-beyond performance.” Smirnoff employees were buzzing and chattering with the prospects. “Remember, please don’t open your envelopes until the drawing. As usual there will be a raffle-number inside your bonus and we’ll draw the numbers right after the Baked Alaska - in honor of the Motherland.” People cheered and jeered and booed in equal counterbalance. Aleksei chortled into the mic and put his hands out in a placating gesture. “Hah! Please! Please I’m only keeeeeding!”

He paused and scanned the crowd, letting them simmer for a moment, before speaking. “This year we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve and a couple of memorable games to break the ice and build rapport with your coworkers.” He smiled, “And before I get to the games and the White Elephant I will remind everyone: No one drives home tonight and tomorrow is a paid floating-holiday so get home safely and sleep in!”

“You mean get home drunk and sleep with someone!”

“Haha! Funny you mentioned that!” Aleksei guffawed. “No…I’m getting ahead of myself.” He smirked. “Who was that?” He held his hand over his eyes to shield them from the spotlight of the sun. “Regardless, I would never pressure anyone to drink. But we’ve done everything in our power to ensure that you get home safely.” He paused. “And would you trust a baker who doesn’t eat carbs? You’ve got three hundred sixty-some odd OTHER days to be sober. Tonight is a night for celebration!”

“Hurry up already!”

“Hah! Who was that? Hanukkah Harriet?” Aleksei smiled and stood back from the mic to stretch his back. When he stepped forward into the spotlight again he pulled the mic from the stand and stood up tall and proud. “We have secured the services of the entire fleet so all you have to do is head to the lobby when you’re ready to go. No apps, no phones, no fees, no cash, no tips - NOTHING. We have taken care of everything!” The employees clapped and whistled. “If you don’t know your own address I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to help. But everything else has been taken care of!”

“Next! I’m sure you noticed that we set up a Holiday Photo Booth on the balcony on the opposite end of the hall. It’s the best view of the city skyline in the entire building and there’s enough privacy for you not to feel self-conscious…so do your worst! The automated polaroids post the photos on our internal wiki for voting which closes tomorrow night. And I will personally hand-deliver your prize on our next normal business operation day.”

“Someone take the mic from Santa!”

“Santa’s SOBER!!!!”

“Santa-shots!!!!!”

“That’s right, team, Santa is sober right now but he will catch up just as soon as he takes care of business.”

“Santa drink responsibly!”

“Okay, folks, last order of business: I think we’ve learned our lessons from years past and we’re taking Never Ho-Ho-Have I Ever and Two Christmas Truths and a Lie out of the party-foul game rotation. In their stead we’re turning the Gourmet Hot Cocoa Bar into a BUMP-shot station.” The hall erupted in a roaring furor.

“Folks! Folks please. I know! I know, right?” Aleksei tried to regain control of the crowd. “The game is open to all genders, all identities, all sexual-preferences, and all coworkers regardless of their marital status.” Uproarious laughter. “Remember, it’s just a BUMP! It’s innocent! It’s innocuous! And you don’t have to go home with anyone…”

“Unless you want to!!!!!”

“Hoooooo boy! Well as long as your performance doesn’t suffer then please…shit where you sleep as much as you like.”

Hubbub and pandemonium.

“As we speak the baristas are lining the bar with BUMP-shots of cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, warm milk or non-dairy milk alternatives, and the basics. And you can customize your BUMP-shot with mix-ins and flavor shots like crushed candy canes, marshmallows, whipped cream, chili powder, peanut butter, and cereal. And remember the Smirnoff proprietary BUMP-shot-BASE is our completely odorless, colorless, flavorless potato m00nshine alcohol.”

The Smirnoff employees were practically eating out of Aleksei’s palm and he basked in their adoration and adulation .

“We’re doing the BUMP-shot in Squid-Games style elimination!” Aleksei raised his eyebrows mischievously at the crowd. “The band will play music and you will have a certain amount of time to BUMP-partners and dance until you get your BUMP-score. If you are satisfied with your score then stay with your partner. If you’re not satisfied or you’re just curious and think you can do better then drop ‘em like they’re hot and go bump someone else. When time is up and the music stops you are eliminated if you DON’T have a partner. At the end of the first round any couples with a score lower than ONE (1) will be eliminated. Everybody else must take a BUMP-shot. Then the music will begin again and you’ll have to continue BUMPING until the music stops again. This time any couples with a score lower than TWO (2) will be eliminated. Everybody else must take a BUMP-shot. The Squid-Games rounds progress upwards through the BUMP-scores until only one couple is left.”

The hall was a din of chaos.

“And here’s the twist: If, at any point in time, the music stops and you are directly under a mistletoe you CANNOT be eliminated, you MUST be kissed by the nearest person, and you automatically advance to the next round. And you have to take a DOUBLE-SHOT.”

The mixed-use space sounded like a football stadium during the Superbowl.

“Are you guys ready?!?!” Aleksei shouted as he hopped off the stage with signature Santa-suave smoothness.

“All I want for Christmassssssss is you!!!!!!”

 

[Fairess]

Of course Aleksei glowed on the stage. His pale hair, what with that stylishly messy combover, had an uncharacteristic warmth that made her think of a flame's chaotic flickering. Much more intense, however, were those near burning eyes so hot with enthusiasm his every word just about ignited the entire crowd. He wouldn't have been out of place behind a drum set, banging out a ba um tss for every one of his cringy jokes.

And dammit, all that enthusiasm was contagious! In the sullen cavity of her chest, her heart did an unsteady pitter-pat while the dorks around her cheered. No matter how many times she insisted he was an obnoxious, tactless bear of a guy whose spiritual animal was a frat boy, she couldn't deny that his oh-so-cozy aura of camaraderie was on full blast. Slowly but surely, she was getting sucked into that bubble of brown-nosers with the promise of boozy hot chocolate and shameless flirting. What would it feel like, to have his arm squeezed around her waist while he tortured her with those awful ho ho ho's rasped right into her ear?

It would have made sense for a resident Grinch like herself to be nervous about a big ol' social mixing game, but even she had a place on Team Smirnoff. Beyond being "Bad Romance" hot, there were some people who appreciated her wretched attitude in the best worst ways. Bitterness was a two-way street, after all, and the open hostility of a few insults had a way of clearing the air in a situation where everyone was used to walking on eggshells.

"What gives, Eve? I'd thought you'd go nuts slutting it up for a party. Guess it figures you'd actually look like you're working at an office on the one night you aren't." Yup, there was Sheldon, one of the less tolerable account managers. He always had something to say about what she was wearing, and it was somewhat difficult to clap back in that department — he looked great in a suit and avoided gaudy ties.

"You know what? You're right. I feel ridiculous." Eve tsked, not minding a single glance from anyone as she undid the top two, no, three buttons of her blouse. The black lace of her bra was an intricate, pretty thing, but the best part about it was how the padding cupped her breasts just so, threatening to all but thrust those burgeoning titties right out of her shirt.

"Wh…!" Sheldon was actually taken aback for a moment, staring at her brazen cleavage with the most amusing mix of disgust and masculine curiosity. Disgust ultimately won out with a delicious taste of fury. "The hell are you doing!"

"Meeting your demanding expectations, naturally." She grinned, idly toying with the open collar of her shirt. "I wonder what I'll have to do to exceed them…"

"Fifty bucks if you streak through the whole party with your top off." Ashton cut in with a cheeky smile, just as happy to watch Sheldon shrivel away at his side.

"Fifty bucks?" Eve snorted and shook her head. "What are you, the company janitor?"

"I mean, you're basically already giving yourself away for free." The cold mockery in Ashton's voice almost cut, but there was an earnestness in his gaze that promised a lot more than smack talk. "A lap dance, though? I could up the ante for that."

Always game to call a bluff, Eve stepped closer to Ashton, spreading her hand flat against the center of his chest as she leaned in. "You wouldn't know what to do with me in the one out of a trillion alternate realities where I actually end up in your lap."

Predictably, his breath hitched and his pupils dilated as he gazed down at her. She knew he wasn't an inexperienced pup, but she also know how powerful that sudden rush of arousal could be. Imagine how it would feel to do so much more than just look at me, right here and now.

"That's it. I'm reporting you both for sexual harassment." Sheldon broke the tension with a prudish huff and stepped away, presumably to catch the ear of the nearest HR agent.

"Prick." Eve and Ashton muttered the insult in unison and laughed. While he seemed plenty content to let her continue standing so close to him, she felt it was high time she made her way over to the cocoa bar for a pre-game shot or two. Or three.

The first round of the BUMP game went exactly as Eve predicted — while it wasn't exactly rare to score less than a one, she had a better idea than most regarding why some people were stuck with a constantly poor score. Deep in the undisclosed algorithm developed by the popular app, people who had a known chronic health condition or a serious risk detected during genetic testing would never score higher than one regardless of any other compatibility.

How did that come about? Well, BUMP! had started out like most dating apps, a small group of developers who wanted to add more depth to the Tinder formula. Their shtick was having every member take a one-time, mandatory personality quiz. People could answer questions about their personal, sexual, and physical preferences, then receive a score based on the compatibility of someone else's answers when trying to match on the app.

What made BUMP! so special early on was how effective it proved to be. Sure, people could lie and fabricate whatever fiction they wanted about themselves, but the results were complex enough to make the most enjoyable experience occur from simply being honest about a person's preferences. No more awkward questions about your deepest, darkest fantasies, no more surprises — if you matched well with someone, you could expect all sorts of chemistry with only the occasional dud.

A few years later, when just about everyone was addicted to the app, the developers took things further in a direction no one had expected — instead of simply taking a quiz, users could undergo a simple little blood test and have the results added "invisibly" to their profile. How did they get away with such a creepy turn of personal input?

Easy! They claimed to have identified the key to ultimate sexual satisfaction, a blend of observable, measurable results predicted by hormonal, genetic, and other physical factors. Pair two people with the perfect biochemical profiles together and you'd get the most gratifying, sensual results. Suddenly sexual pleasure had a measurable number, an exponential factor of delight that could be predicted through advanced understanding of the human body.

Was it too good to be true? Of course it was. But for a negligible fee, you could buy a testing kit, have it sent off to a lab, and then get a little sticker on your BUMP! profile to indicate you'd done the thing. Had such a system proven to have little to no measurable accuracy, the company would have moved on and people would have forgotten the scheme entirely.

The problem, however, was that BUMP! had stumbled onto gold. Over and over and over again, tests of all kinds proved their predictive methods to be effective. When the results put out a number, a person could absolutely rely on it as a reflection of just how good they could expect sex with another person to be.

So, over time, it only made sense that people stopped asking important questions so they could jump onto the bandwagon even faster. Suddenly, it didn't matter what information about your health a private company was keeping. People scrolled straight through the disclosure agreements, largely unaware that they were waiving any right to keep all their personal preferences out of the hands of companies more than happy to purchase that information. Your age, what you liked to eat, the sexual fantasies you kept — sure, all of that was hidden behind a simple number, but that didn't mean the details simply faded into the abyss.

Eve had taken great pains to dig into BUMP!, both to take advantage of the system and to understand the threat it presented. Joined by a fellow hacker who liked to go by B33lzebub, they'd cracked a system with better security than the F.B.I.'s database. Oh, the dirt they'd found made even her sick. The backroom dealings with health insurance companies, discussions of encouraging genetic purity through a more heavily weighted ranking system — who'd have thought a 'harmless' dating app would be such a fascinating force of technological evil?

And now it had infiltrated her little work party, too. Just about everyone had one of those BUMP! bands, which came in so many varieties that the menace had personalization appeal, too. All a person had to do was download the app, take the quiz, and then touch their wristband to anyone else's to see the results. If your smartwatch wasn't BUMP! compatible, all you happened to be wearing was a piece of junk.

It was simple: people with diseases or potentially problematic genes were immediately eliminated from the first round. Eve counted about twelve unlucky people who walked off the dance floor, bitter and embarrassed. At least six of them had gotten that exact result multiple times now and still somehow had the nerve to try. But then, what else could they do? Not having BUMP! was basically admitting you were an actual leper, social or otherwise.

Round two saw most friends, shy folks, and married employees still sticking together. Two was a pretty casual standard to clear, so the tension for staying in it to win it wouldn't hit until the next few rounds. Eve had no trouble casually bumping wrists, and she got to take some small comfort in her cayenne and 'moonshine' spiked coca — along with the fact that she apparently wasn't the only one who thought Jared's 'dancing' was like watching a suffocating weasel spasming out of control.

Round three! She found a solid score of four with one of the IT boys whose cubicle group she no longer shared. That was pretty fair, she decided — he was too timid for her taste, but knew his way around a vorpal blade and could name the special attacks of several D&D dragons from the latest edition. Like many other men in the room, he also cast a defeated glance or two in Aleksei's general direction. The prettiest ladies in the office, it seemed, were doing their utmost to be caught under mistletoe as close to the man as they could possibly manage.

Real stupid move, ladies. You're too classy for a guy like that. Eve watched on with sharp amusement, knowing full well that Aleksei made a point to avoid affairs with co-workers. Being such an important public figure working within the company, any female employee even remotely attached to him would become a source of scandal — the ugly kind where he could easily be accused of abusing his position or playing favorites over sexual gratification. He could talk about people being able to flirt and fuck all they liked, but at the end of the day, she and Mr. Santa both knew he was in the habit of hiring escorts for a reason.

Round four was spicy — Eve ended up kissing some cherry lipbalm'd sweetheart from the marketing department and was rewarded with an extra shot of cocoa. She was starting to enjoy the pleasant little buzz in the back of her skull, and her feet felt inexplicably lighter.

Most folks, if any, probably wouldn't make it past the next round. It was rare to score above a six even in the big, wide world, and a five was a lot to ask from a random group of white collars. Of course Aleksei was still in the game, the stupid, exceptionally handsome man, and she decided to see if she couldn't at least grate on his success at least a little.

"Hey, ugly Santa! Gimmie a bump for my present this year!" Eve waved obnoxiously through the much thinner crowd, raising her voice above the din of the music. Cleavage bouncing and wrist bobbing up in the air, she almost looked cute with those booze-flushed cheeks.

 

[BrentCheeks]

The rounds had flown by in a whirlwind of tension and titillation and Aleksei was a whirling dervish at the eye of the cyclone. The BUMP! shot cocoa station was a raging sensation and GQ Santa had to shoulder his way through the cluster crowd just to find space at the counter. He and Marconi went play-by-play to catch up on Santa Shots until he imbibed enough to buzz. The tall blond European man spruced up his m00nshine BUMP-shot-BASE with crushed candy canes and added a little peppermint to his breathalyzer. Extracurricular drugs were off-limits but alcohol in moderation greased the squeaky wheels of interaction. Inhibitions were down and liquid courage was up! The inversely proportional relationship made friends of enemies and flirts of introverts. It seemed like everyone wanted to do a shot with him but he was saved from impropriety by the music.

Each round was easier than the last; it was almost like the escalating difficulty responded to his animal magnetism and sex-appeal crescendo. Aleksei floated through the sea of humanity like a wraith thane over a battlefield of bodies. The ebb and flow of the crowd swaying in-time to the music made his movements fluid and graceful. His initial BUMP! encounters went from secretary to executive and clerk to attendant seamlessly. He smiled and laughed with cult-of-personality charisma that charmed his partners into bashful, blushing brides. In the first few rounds he had scored some two's and three's and even abandoned a fuckable-four in favor of variety and the spice of life. Aleksei wasn't the kind of man to settle.

"Hey, ugly Santa! Gimmie a bump for my present this year!"

The voice emanated from none-other than his own haunting. She hovered like a personal storm cloud that constantly threatened rain on his parade. With bountiful breasts on unbuttoned display she taunted him with a flagrant concoction of sassy and saucy. Aleksei turned toward the voice and immediately regretted it. The look on her face told him all he needed to know: This bitch loved toying with him and provoking him and lording her blackmail over his head. She seemed to enjoy rubbing his proverbial face in her proverbial tits and then rubbing his nose into the pee-puddle carpet like a poorly trained pet. Bad dog! A part of him wanted to growl and he felt the rumblings deep in the back of his throat.

Eve.

He wanted to fuck the boozy self-satisfied smile right off her face. Rub his face in it? He imagined shoving her face-first into her excrement pile of shame, ass in the air, and ramming her with the cold, hard truth until she begged for mercy. He imagined…

"Ah! Look what the cat dragged in - a big titty grouch-Grinch Ghost of Christmas Eve!" Aleksei bowed graciously. "A BUMP!? Under normal circumstances I'd say that you would have to wait your turn." Without waiting for a response he crowded her personal space and placed his hands firmly on her pencil-skirted hips. Her unbuttoned blouse pressed nipple-nubs against Santa's red and white fur for the briefest of moments before he spun her hips to face away from him - giving her a view of the room. With her back to him the pressure of his hands disappeared from her hips. The chopsticks whipped free and her locks spilled into a puddle of blond tresses on her shoulders. The asian eating implements were spirited away and replaced with Santa's own sweaty, pileus - replete with fluffy red velvet and dangling white furball - fitted snugly on her crown.

In an instant, the tall man arched over her and leaned to whisper into her ear while their cheeks grazed. "As you can see, there's a bit of a line," he snickered as he drew Eve's attention to the three idling ladies-in-waiting, "but I'll 'bump' you to the front." The lingering scent of peppermint mingled with the musk of sweat and an older man's spicy cologne. His hips jerked forward and nudged her in-time with the poignant remark. He felt the plumpness of her rump push back almost imperceptibly until she caught herself. Sandy, Mandy, and Nicole were acting inconspicuously and hovering nearby but it was obvious what they wanted; and even more obvious how disappointed they were at the sudden turn-of-events. Aleksei hated to brag but he had a fan club; it was part of his charm, if not appeal. "Preferential treatment for my digital-bitch messiah and the arbiter of my secrets. C'mon, let's take you for a spin," he snickered as he drew the blond woman into a ballroom-dancing embrace that began with them side-by-side and arm-in-arm.

With the Santa cap off his head Aleksei felt his hair, matted damp with sweat, begin to waver with the breeze of movement. With the Santa cap on Eve's head he begrudgingly admitted that she wore it better than him. And then he stole a furtive glance at the distracting ruby gems glittering in the corners of her eyes. Fuck. He hated being under her thumb.

Like musical chairs, the BUMP! Shot Squid Games, was based upon the stakes of elimination.

Musical chairs.

Musical partners.

Duck. Duck. Goose.

But the music hadn't stopped…

He guided Eve with the force of a tidal wave - fluid, powerful, and inexorable - and then he felt the smile crease the corners of his mouth in the first genuine emotional display of the evening. The pitter patter syncopated stutter-stumble of her little feet failing miserably, in clunky Mary Janes, to keep pace was priceless. So authentic was his goofy, lopsided, shit-eating grin, like a jackass eating cactus, that it actually caught him off-guard. Was he having fun? Of course he was having fun! But was he really having fun? At least it was at Eve's expense.

Aleksei felt the alcohol begin to percolate and his movements were debonair and smooth. In one brisk motion he spun Eve toward him again and swept into her side so their bodies collided. The tall man snaked a steel crowbar arm around her waist in a gesture that was both dashing and disorienting and pulled her close to lead the ballet and carry the conversation. With her caryatid curvature cradled in the crook of his arm he led their ballroom dance with an aggressive flourish and body-tight contact.

"I assume I have you to thank for the series of 'mysterious traffic-control malfunctions' that robbed me of my evening entertainment." The tall man sighed with disappointment. "So, while I'd love to embarrass you with a public display of thwarting your BUMP! aspirations and discarding you like trash, you'll be filling in for tonight's amusement." He moved them briskly and forced her Jane-heeled shuffle to keep pace with his suave soiree expertise. With his hand at her waist, Aleksei guided her into a one-hand hold and then collapse-position. "A BUMP! would only feed into your ego. And I may be your mouse but you, my dear, are not my fucking cat."

Peppermint on his lips tickled the air tantalizingly close to her ear as he whispered, "It would give me no greater satisfaction than to deny indulging your puerile whimsy and let the curiosity gnaw away at your pussy until I've killed the cat." Aleksei orchestrated the transition from collapse into suspended-position. "But I suspect your kitten is already as dead as Schrodinger's." He swept her upwards in a sustained, percussive movement that gave them short, punctuated bursts of movement. "Feels dead, doesn't it? So that's what the chopsticks were for. I give you a middling two…at best."

The blonde man led them into another collapse that was more forceful than last time. His powerful arm guided the blonde bombshell into a dip that dared to defy gravity with his handprint supporting her back. The move was a textbook classic and straight out of a Cinderella fairytale. Eve's golden tresses hung inches above the floor and Aleksei leaned into the dip so his lips could graze her ear. His fingertips pressed into her back through the gossamer fabric of her blouse. They dimpled the flesh there and kneaded, like a baker, into her bra-strap.

Press-squeeze. Unhook.

"Why leave anything to the imagination?"

His fingers deftly manipulated the undergarment through her overgarment

Press-squeeze. Unhook.

"You're already half-way there."

Powerful fingertips moved adroitly along her spine.

Press-squeeze. Unhook.

Their dip and dramatic pause drew the crowd's attention.

"I knew you had it in you."

Press-squeeze. Unhook.

Aleksei's expression never changed while he breathed peppermint into her ear and grinned mischievously. His one-handed manual dexterity even impressed himself.

Gravity could not be denied.

"The truth shall set you free."

The tension of under-wire lined fabric supporting copious breast-flesh suddenly relaxed like spaghetti under boiling water. The spill of fat in her supported supination forced blood down the pike and pressed Aleksei's urgency into Eve's side.

It was a dip to remember.

And then the music stopped.

Silence.

Aleksei glanced upward at the mistletoe and grinned wickedly. "You're about to be rejected in front of an entire room of your favorite assholes." To the sounds of cheering and jeering and disappointed grumbling the remaining pairs moved about the room and milled among the throngs. The tall, Russian man expertly righted their ballroom union in a rising action that ended with the pair standing erect - if sagging - and winded. "Merry Christmas," he sneered derisively, gave her a platonic peck on the cheek, and abandoned her to the empty dance floor.

The crowd gave way like seas parting before Moses as Aleksei approached the BUMP! Shot cocoa bar. He felt a mixture of giddiness and anger roiling inside him. "Mistletoe double shot!" The bar erupted in a cacophony of inebriated cheering. The lanky Russian turned away from the counter and leaned on the bar in cool repose looking outward at Eve's walk-of-shame off the dance floor. He grabbed his peppermint DOUBLE BUMP! Shot and raised the glass at her as she fought her way through the press of bodies to approach the bar.

"After we take our shots I'm heading up to the photo booth to take a couple of Christmas Candids for the Company Yearbook. Open your envelope privately and read it carefully. It took over an hour to finish White Elephant last year." Aleksei upended the double-shot down his gullet and the lopsided grin reappeared…miraculously. It felt good and genuine and true so he didn't question it. And then he turned away and disappeared into the crowd

 

[Fairess]

God, Aleksei was suddenly everywhere. For a man who assumed she was responsible for a traffic calamity in the heart of the city, he sure seemed unconcerned with bearing right down on her. She couldn't tell if it was courage, stupidity, or an almost animalistic sort of territorialism. This is my office, the jerk of his hips against her seemed to say, these are my friends, and I'll do whatever the hell I want.

She couldn't get a word in edge-wise, going from scowling to squeaking as he gloated, stuffed his hat on her, and dragged her into his arms. While she'd known he could dance, actually experiencing it was entirely different from seeing it on paper. He moved like an unironic professional, graceful and perfectly confident in every step. It could have been a lovely experience, except she couldn't match him even slightly and he was keen to force her along. Like a paper boat caught up in a tidal wave, he could swing, twirl, and dip her, at one moment holding her at arm's length before dragging her close again. Her heels clacked chaotically as she stumbled into him again and again, grabbing at his shirt, his arms, anything that would keep her from falling flat on her face.

All that cool-headed superiority of hers melted into a pouty panic, her flustered thoughts unable to keep up with their feet. Every time he brought her close, the scent of spice and peppermint filled her head, the threatening murmur of his voice promising all sorts of nonsense. Filling in for his amusement, challenging her to prove his mockery wrong — and then he was quite literally unhooking her bra.

"H-Hey! What are you — s-stop!" Her pale face was red with exertion and embarrassment as he dipped her, oh-so-casually digging his fingers into the back of her shirt. All she could do, however, was squirm, back arched and heels slipping against the floor as her unhelpfully perky breasts were squeezed and teased by the yanking at her bra.

But of course he didn't stop. It was like he didn't even hear her despite just how close his lips were. The strangest sound came out from her when her bra snapped free, the sort of whimper a person might attribute to a doe or a rabbit once it realized it was cornered.

For all her shameless behavior, she wasn't the type to be self-conscious. She didn't let the opinion of others settle anywhere close to her emotions, saying and doing whatever she felt like. And yet! Aleksei had been one of the very few people she had ever let herself be vulnerable to. As he grinned like an idiot, triumphant and mocking as he left her sagging and breathless on the dancefloor, humiliation struck her all over again. There he was, getting hard while toying with her, and he still left her to get laughed and hooted at.

The shameless part of her brain actually liked it, this raw, molested mess he could turn her into. The more sensible part of her didn't care what other eyes were on her, all the hurt focused solely on the idiot's rejection. When she'd first confessed, he'd been gentler, hitting her with that stupid nonsense about how she was pleasant and pretty but just not his type even if he wasn't obligated to turn her down as her boss. Now he was going at her with the subtlety of a cheese grater, reminding her that no matter what she did, no matter how smart she was, she was still the fool who'd fallen for him.

God, why were her eyes so hot and damp? She sniffled, furiously blinking away any tears that dared to start forming. If she let him get a victory here, all her plans for the night would be ruined. He was the one supposed to be disappointed, miserable, beaten into submission! So she found comfort in her anger, scowling as she plowed her own path toward the Christmas-y shots.

Her breasts may have been a touch bouncier, completely unsupported as she stomped her way to her rightful cocoa liquor, but she didn't seem to notice. Indeed, she didn't so much as look at Aleksei as her glasses were slid over. In fact, he might as well have not been in the room at all — she shamelessly fiddled about with her bra, slipping it out from one arm and then the other before freeing herself at last. While the barista stared, she slapped her bra onto the bar and gulped her shots down one after the other.

He never did get a proper response to his instructions, just a very predictable middle finger before he left the bar.

Maybe it was the rush of vodka. Maybe it was the hurt getting inched even deeper by his cold shoulder. Her hand reached for his retreating shirt and missed. She had no interest in pictures, games or dancing, and she really didn't want to know what he'd left in her envelope. Tipsy, upset, and more vulnerable than she'd like to be, however, there really was no option left for her but retreat.

Maybe it would be better if he really had outgrown her threats. Maybe, if what awaited her was a termination notice, she'd finally accept it. Eve ignored the hoots and whistles as she made her way out of the cafeteria, heading straight for the privacy of a bathroom stall. It was there that she slumped over a toilet, taking a moment to cool off before digging into her envelope and tearing the stupid paper open.

 

[BrentCheeks]

It had taken time and care and thoughtful introspection. He wasn’t as good with the written word as he wanted - as this envelope deserved - but it would do. It would get the message across. He had covertly asked around. He had inquired without leaving any digital traces. He had taken care to step as lightly as he possibly could. And he had dared to hope. Appeasing the woman who held his, his father’s, and his entire family’s lives in her twisted little hands was out of the question. No. The Christmas gift wasn’t a peace-offering. It wasn’t even a ceasefire. It was a feint of prestidigitation and misdirection. It was meant to catch his Warden blackmailer unaware and off-guard. It was meant to fucking sting like the slap to her rosy cheek he longed to administer but was impotent to deliver. He had been vulnerable and this Cyber Sorceress had taken advantage of him. And she couldn’t be bought with money. And her motivation was megalomaniacal. And the bitch was fucking sadistic. Her genius had a huge ego behind it, constantly circulating a closed feedback loop of self-aggrandizement, self-adulation, and conceit. He was wary of her genius. But he had a bone to pick with her narcissism.

Pay to the order of:

Naughty Eve

In the amount of:

$1,000 worth of coal lump kilograms

Memo:

A naughty girl should shove this coal up her dusty old disused twat and make her own diamond

Endorsement:

A nice girl gets more with sugar than she does with salt. We both know you can ruin my life at the push of a button. You have the power to destroy this company - my father’s legacy - at your fingertips. I don’t know what you want from me. But consider this an overture. Meet me in the men’s locker room in fifteen minutes.

Enclosure:

Aleksei held up a small rectangular card - like a business card or a credit card - and eyed it closely. It was much heavier than it appeared at first glance. Under the light of careful scrutiny he could see the craftsmanship of high-quality etching in the 14K gold. Black plating was a perfect backdrop for the diamonds as they contrasted the brilliant golden sheen. It was a Black Astrum business card and it was a work of art. It had been given to him by his buddy Elon in response to Aleksei’s plea for help with finding the perfect gift: What do you get the girl who has everything?

On the front it read “ALPHA TEST” in big, bold letters. On the back a QR code was engraved with a digital signature. The tall, blond man held the card up to his phone and followed the link.

<//:URL:X.XX.XXX.XX.X:URL://>

Hey guys! If you’re on this page you’re one of a handful of people in my friends and family alpha test. The card that directed you here was part of the package and it was hand-delivered by my personal cadre. Rest-assured - everything is buried under mountains of firewalls and located on a secure, remote site on my internal server network. You are now going to see what’s behind the curtain. You have my trust. And I hope I have your discretion.

I have been developing the prototype in your hands for a few years and finally progressed to the point where I’m ready to share it with my closest people. You are the ALPHA TESTERS. The technology in front of you is about ten years ahead of my competitors and anything on the market today. It eclipses everything from the Vive to the Oculus to the Index. I can’t tell you the details - even with your discretion - but I own the patents for the next few years and I have been contracted by NASA to apply them to their remote drone mission protocol.

Testing spacecraft operation is boring and tedious work so for the purposes of putting the technology through its paces and gauging human physiological responses I had my engineers develop a Human-Machine Interface that readily parses and converts any program, software, or game - on any computer - into a VR-compatible encoding. So…have fun! And tell me what you think. And if you get sick. And because I know what you guys are thinking - the suit should be relatively easy to wipe down and clean-up after a particularly vigorous session. I’m looking at you Steve!

Lastly, because I know how some of you think, the NASA contract has a provision that explicitly prevents me from acquiring any companies who stand to benefit financially from the exploitation of this technology. I’m looking at you BUMP! And because I know your wheels are already turning I’ve bundled the API with my haptic mapping to interface directly with their software and then re-wrote a bunch of the bullshit code that artificially affects the scores. It will work with or without the suit and you can update your wrist app with my version without flagging your account. Give it a try and let me know what you think.

<//:URL:X.XX.XXX.XX.X:URL://>

Aleksei painstakingly scrawled his signature in fluid, flowing calligraphic script on the cheque. He carefully deposited the check and the Black Astrum 14K card in the envelope. And then he went back to work.
***********************************************

The smell of peppermint mixed with perspiration and the odor of Old Spice mixed with the musk of exertion. The Smirnoff m00nshine BUMP! Shots were doing exactly what they were paid to do. Aleksei meandered away from the bustle after fending off a drunken faux-pas and a secretarial advance and would-be indiscretion. Merry fuckin’ Christmas! Without Santa’s sweaty pileus his head could breath and he started to cool down. The dance was especially vigorous! And his partner? She looked good in his hat. The red gems beneath her eyes held such smoldering mystique under the rouge of her cheeks and the blush of her cap. The wide-eyed doe-in-headlights look was a new one on her. Eve. How refreshing!

Beneath the bravado he fumed. Beneath the anger he feared. Beneath the fear he…

Well that’s enough of THAT train of thought. The line of reasoning bordered on insane when it was close-enough to accuracy to derail itself. He was brash. He was brazen in the face of danger. Eve was dangerous. She held his life in the balance. She was capricious and whimsical and malicious and sadistic. She fucked with him…just because. She hadn’t made any demands and he didn’t expect her to. If she had wanted something she’d have made it known long ago when she first got the upper hand. She’d have communicated her demands when the blackmail began. Right? Isn’t that what blackmailers do? Not this one. Not her. He was brazen in the face of danger but it wasn’t courage; it was defiance. Because beneath the anger he was afraid. He had come such a long way - rehabilitated himself - and found his place in the world. He had reformed and healed and made peace. He was proud of himself. And he was scared to lose it all. Aleksei, in a moment of honesty, felt the fear. He acknowledged it. He embraced it. And he let it pass through and wash over him. He would not let it control him. He would not be a slave to his emotions.

But what was beneath the fear? There was a certain “excitement” beneath the fear. It wasn’t anger and it wasn’t sadness. There was no shame. He had atoned for his actions. He had left the past behind. What was it? Joy? Was there some small part of him that enjoyed feeling trapped and cornered with his back up against the wall? Was there a part of him that liked setting the stakes high? Risk. He had so much to lose. What was the risk to a person who could lose nothing? Eve. She represented risk. And that risk was exciting. It was fucking sexy. And it was evil. Perhaps the BUMP! shots hadn’t gone deep enough. Maybe he hadn’t had enough. The night was still young.

He should just fire her. But why? And how did it look if she released her blackmail AFTER she was terminated? Was it in his best interest to keep it under wraps? She was unpredictable. Eve was the living embodiment of CHAOS. She could release the information at any time, under any circumstances, and for any reason. Maybe he should just come forward with the truth. Would that defuse the situation? It would preempt her. It would take away her power. He could just come forward and tell the world his story. There was power in the truth. There was freedom in the truth. What did his life look like after that? Too much Smirnoof m00nshine BUMP! shots.

Time to take some pictures.

Aleksei leaned back on the couch in thoughtful repose. FLASH.

He stood up, cocked his hips, and raised the People’s Eyebrow. FLASH.

He pursed his lips and gave the camera a trendy little duck-face. FLASH.

He groaned and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. FLASH.

And lastly, he wore his most-winsome Merry Christmas smile. FLASH.

The tall Russian man walked up to the photo booth and pulled up the interface. Aleksei unlocked the administrative permissions with his executive-level password and then re-routed the destination for the next picture from the company public wiki to Eve’s corporate email address. Better make it a good one. She already had enough dirt on him to sink the entire ship and blow up his life. What was a risque pic to add fuel to the fire? In the scheme of things it meant nothing. And Aleksei instantly regretted donning the Santa suit. Christmas Claus couldn’t unzip the suit from behind or free his manhood for an appropriately flagrant ‘fuck you’. Ah well! His middle finger would have to do. He stuck his tongue out like a mischievous little rapscallion deep in mid-prank hilarity.

Merry Christmas Eve!
******************************************

He gave himself enough time to travel from the private balcony photo booth down to the locker room. And it was plenty of time to ruminate. If Eve showed up it meant she was interested. In what? He didn’t know. Being blackmailed by someone who didn’t want anything obvious was a new experience for him. It meant he had to keep playing her game unless he found something she wanted. It meant that the ONLY way he could wrest even a modicum of control away from his blackmailer was by finding her weakness. He had hired private investigators and her computer prowess and countermeasures were formidable. She laughed at his attempts to find her dirt. She purposefully left misleading breadcrumb trails for the detectives that mocked them and gave Aleksei a very poignant and condescending middle finger. No. He couldn’t play her game. She was too good! She was peerless. He had to play his own game. And that meant finding a way to entice her to play.

That meant he had very little to go on: He knew she loved attention. Everything she did seemed to somehow come back to distracting him. Look at me. Fear me. Play with me. Acknowledge me. Grab me. Whatever! It didn’t seem to matter. The next thing he knew was that she was naturally beautiful and not the least-bit athletic. She seemed to be incredibly good at her job - a genius with computers - but very unprofessional in the workplace. She had come to work in video game t-shirts and jeans or sequin dresses and other trendy garb that might not even be acceptable on “casual Friday.” Another thing he knew for certain was that she wasn’t married. He didn’t know about any past relationships or boyfriends and girlfriends but Aleksei surmised that behind her lay a trail of broken hearts and salty tears. Maybe she was lonely? He didn’t know enough about her to start guessing. Let’s see. What else did he know about her? She definitely liked video games. And that’s what led him to reach out to Elon for help with the Christmas present.

It might not buy him any of her goodwill.

It might just buy him a little more time to formulate a plan.

It might take her by surprise.

It might just be a Merry fucking Christmas.

He hoped it would be.

But he had a funny feeling it would lead to ruin; Christmas Eve would be his downfall.

And that thought excited him more than he ever expected.

The men’s locker room was a mythical place. It was the home of sweat and testosterone and machismo and the aftermath of aggression. The men’s locker room evolved from the ancient bath houses where members of the same sex would congregate to rest, relax, decompress, and to find solace from the members of the opposite sex. For as long as evolution drove men to the intimacy of women, women have driven men to seek peace and reprieve from them. Aleksei had been in this locker room a thousand times. Despite training every morning at the estate he also trained at night in the Smirnoff Corporate Headquarters Tower. Like any other gym, the spa, pool, and public areas were coed. The locker room, showers, sauna, and clothing-free areas were segregated.

Aleksei sighed and steeled himself for what he was about to do. He propped the door open with a small waste basket so it would shift out of the way when the door was opened. Then he entered the cleaning and preventive maintenance code on the security inner-door so that it would lock from the outside and prevent anyone from entering once it was closed. The janitor had shown him that neat little trick after the Christmas party a few years ago. Which provider had he been with back then? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Ah yes! Busty blond. She was a lot of fun.

The Russian man made his way to the mop closet and keyed-in to the maintenance control panel and disarmed the alarm. Then Aleksei opened the breaker panel and manually tripped the lights, power, network, WiFi, and miscellaneous extensions. Immediately an alarm generated on the panel front display but it was suppressed by the overridden maintenance code. The emergency lighting LEDs flared to life with indirect illumination in varying red hues. It reminded him of an old-style photo-development dark room. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made his way to the row of lockers where the VR suit was hidden. He opened the locker and double-checked the helmet, suit, haptic feedback loop, touch-gloves, and all the accessories were accounted for. Then he felt around inside the suit for the hidden envelope. The Nice Girl envelope was very special. It was meant to be enticing. It was meant to be bait. But was it the right bait? He'd never had a bigger fish to fry.

 

[Fairess]

A thousand dollars' worth of coal stuffed up her pussy — Eve couldn't help but smile. This sort of insult from Aleksei was the kind she could perversely enjoy, embittered banter from someone forced to take her seriously. There was no soft edge to it, no lips, greedy fingers, or brazen smiles to taunt her imagination. She knew there was no changing the past, that her actions had already won his hatred for as long as they both lived. Why, then, against all logic, had she let herself enjoy Aleksei's perversions on the dancefloor even a little? Every time she dropped her guard the slightest bit, he reminded her exactly how fragile she really was.

The rest of his message was more difficult to process. First, he acknowledged her hold over him — that couldn't have been easy for him, but it was also a simple fact they both knew plenty well. More importantly, his next move was to speak with her somewhere private. What was that about?

In her head, she could picture any number of scenarios. There was the worst case scenario, where he wasn't there at all and she was instead met by a gun and a pair of goons ready to stuff her into a body bag. Aleksei had the kind of money that could make a person disappear, and as soon as she pushed him far enough, such a scenario seemed like a morbid possibility. Sure, according to the man's history, he hadn't actually killed someone before.

Oh, she'd seen the bruises, the ugly remnants of his fingers on the alleged victims to his assaults. She knew his pride and newly found sense of righteousness, too — if he was going to end someone, she couldn't see him placing the direct responsibility for the act on someone else. No, he'd do it with his own two hands just to show her that he was the one in control.

Therefore, contingency was necessary. Well, it had always been necessary. There was something especially sadistic about a negative trigger, a device that would go off if the person let go of it rather than pushing the button. Premeditating an endgame scenario meant that the worst conclusion had already been anticipated, and therefore the fallout would have to be even worse than imagined to truly have an impact. By the time Aleksei would realize just how deep she had dug into his filth — and not just his, of course, but everything ugly the people he cared about had hidden away — the horror of it being known to the world at large would keep even the worst of his revenge at bay.

What did it say about her as a person, to have taken such a measure? She wasn't concerned about the morality of it. A person could argue in endless circles about what people in power deserved, how their money and corruption ruined the lives of so many others. She wasn't a god who had made the world, or an omnipotent being of purity that could weigh the sins of humanity. Eve simply loaded the pipe bomb and threw it, one of endless agents of chaos in a world without fairness or logic.

She expected Aleksei to act according to the blackmail he knew she had over him, and perhaps he even had plans to deal with it on his own terms. But what would he do when confronted with people outside himself? What would he do when her sights encompassed the whole of his family, friends, and even employees? Was he ready to reap the consequence of ending her if it meant so much more collateral damage? Did he know, even a little, the measures she would take to preserve her own life?

Well, that was just one of many scenarios. It wasn't as though she was bent on needlessly ruining lives, not like the rich sods who pretended to be only half-aware of the damage they caused. She got her high off presenting people like Aleksei with the horror of what she could do if only she needed to. Well, once upon a time, it had been completely the other way around: she'd been foaming at the mouth to prove herself to him, to pleasure and please him if he'd only give her the chance. He'd given her his answer.

Eugh. Ick. No. Play nicely with me, thoughts. Eve shook her head and took a few deep breaths, trying to set the worst of her predictions aside. Yes, she was mad at him. Yes, he'd made a fool of her. But he wasn't a mafia boss! He wasn't a killer! Chances were, he'd want to humiliate her some more in a place where onlookers wouldn't get in the way.

Unbidden, her thoughts immediately became more perverse. Suppose he kidnapped her instead, gagging her, tying her up, and leaving her wriggling in the trunk of his car? She'd seen that boner he clearly had for her, and now he was down one prostitute. How lovely would it be to fill in for that role, forcibly spread on his bed while he had his way with her? She'd adore being his little rope bunny, wriggling helplessly in his lap after a good spanking.

Okay, now you're just horny. Eve groaned, gaze dropping to the bra in her lap. Aleksei was a pervert, but not yandere levels of messed up. She just couldn't imagine a scenario where either she or Aleksei was reasonable, where forgiveness and moving on was a possibility. A villain like her didn't get redemption arcs. She was willing to destroy him if it meant preserving herself — didn't that mean the whole situation was doomed? In the best case scenario, she'd convince him to hand over a heap of money, all so she could disappear from his life forever. Then she could rethink her life on a sunny beach in the Caribbean, maybe find some other gazillionare with that stupid, charming smile and nuclear fission levels of personal optimism.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. A new email? She pressed it open and nearly cracked up on the spot. Who the hell was she kidding? This was Aleksei, probably drunk on peppermint shots and awful jokes. The photo of him was better than it deserved to be, his middle finger beautifully defined against the mean glint in his eyes. He was having fun toying with her, so why was she locked away in the bathroom playing archvillain against all her unrealized fears and fantasies?

"Well, if you're going to go and do that…" Eve smirked, swapping her phone to the untraceable messaging app she loved to blow up his text messages with.

FROM: Unknown Sender
I've seen the type of slut you like to finger. It's too bad you can't afford the kind of pussy that can turn coal into diamonds.

She'd been waiting for the perfect moment to use her little photoshoot from earlier that morning and gleefully attached her clamagram to the text. He could insult her all he wanted — she knew how he reacted to her half-buttoned shirt, and she knew exactly what he would think of her barely dressed sex.

On that note, she freshened up her makeup, slipped her bra back on, and prepared herself for a showdown with Aleksei. The last thing on her agenda was to glance at the odd card he'd left in the envelope, replete with a QR code. Her brow was scrunched with confusion and newly burgeoning curiosity as she glanced through the site it took her to on her phone, but just as she was about to lend her brain to figuring it out (as opposed to contemplating her potential demise), the lights went out.

Shit. Eve froze in her tracks, shocked into a juvenile jumpscare. The cafeteria was probably a complete mess, but she'd already made her way toward the 'restorative' wing of the office building. It was utterly silent in the long hallway, the glare of the city lights in the windows her only light until the emergency LEDs kicked in.

Okay, so maybe goons and a body bag were still on the table. The dim, silent atmosphere was nothing short of sinister as she continued forward, heels clicking with annoying loudness on the floor. She contemplated taking her shoes off, but if there really was a threat ahead, running was the least survivable option. Probably. So she kept creeping forward, ready to punch the shit out of any particularly blond Russian guy who may or may not be waiting to pounce.

Eve creaked the door of the men's locker room wide open, going well out of her way to kick away the trash can that had propped it open. "Love the prank, Santa! Did you finally look in a mirror and get so scared by what you saw you want to hide in the dark?"

She wasn't quite willing to leave the doorway, feeling more vulnerable than ever as she leaned toward the metallic glint of lockers waiting in the dimness. Her voice was just a touch nervous when she spoke again. "I hope you're not about to do something you'll really regret."

 

[BrentCheeks]

The Santa suit was more difficult to discard than it was to don. And Aleksei clearly hadn’t thought this through. He had Ivan’s help zipping up the back of the suit before he left the house. And now he fumbled like an awkward orangutan reaching over and back behind him to find the zipper. What a sight he made! Thankfully, no one was in the men’s locker room to see him. He had almost gotten it up and over his head but for all the herky-jerky motion it had only mussed up his sweaty hair. The tall, blond man sat on the locker room bench and hunched over. He was tired of fighting with the fabric. He was frustrated that he would have to ask for help. He was really annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to disrobe and shower before she showed up. But he had to wonder if had really left himself enough time. That part of the plan…had not gone according to plan.

The plan. The fucking-

<INCOMING MESSAGE>

“...the type of slut you like to finger…”

“...too bad you can’t afford the kind of pussy…”

<IMAGE LOADING>

His breath caught in his throat.

She was fucking with him. Again. She must have seen the pussy-pic from his provider. And she was properly upstaging the professional with an erotic eclipse.

His hand smoothed out the burgeoning knot in Santa’s red velvet crotch.

Fuck.

Her pussy displayed prominently. Against a beige backdrop his eyes lingered longingly on the satin-sheen shadow of her thighs. Indirect light highlighted her curves and contours that promised pleasure like an enlightened despot posing on the dais-podium in a rabble-rousing recitation of riot-inciting radicalism. What a fuckin’ cunt. She was a Cult of Personality crowd-pleaser for crowd-pleasure! It was intent to transform society! It was hell-bent on long-lasting change! It begged for reformation! It screamed for revolution! It would change men’s lives! It would change Aleksei’s life.

The picture was taken at such an angle that it left nothing to the Russian man’s imagination. The panties were a prurient picture-frame that outlined the object of desire. Black strands molded to her folds in a silky silhouette spotlight on her sex. It looked like black licorice had melted over her pudenda and then peeled away the pussy eye-patch. Pearlescent luster pockmarked the dotted landscape with Tahitian black sheen as the oyster’s treasure lodged solidly into the naughty niche of her pink telephone. The oyster. Her knees were almost spread and poised to part. Her digits were locked tight - as if caught in the act - and stood frozen in mock embarrassment. What was she about to do? What was she thinking about? Naughty girl. She was about to make some fuckin’ diamonds. His heart skipped a beat because it was too busy sending blood to his cock.

Eve was right: He couldn’t afford to have that kind of pussy. The pic he’d received earlier paled in comparison. It had been the rushed work of an ignorant amateur; it was a half-assed, sloppy attempt at foreplay. This photo, however, was a work of art. This picture wasn’t just foreplay; it was a mind-fucking mental tease that insinuated itself into the arousal of its viewer. The male gaze. Aleksei’s eyes had a hunger that would not be satisfied by a two-dimensional facsimile of the object of his desire. The male gaze sexualized and objectified and instantly cast innocence in the light of eroticism. And the subject was a tribute to sexual-appeal and animal magnetism for heterosexual masculinity. Aleksei felt the impulse instinctively. He wanted to fuck that pussy. More than that he wanted to tame it and make it beg and make it purr. He wanted to lick it and love it and lavish it with attention. He wanted to put a collar on it and own it and parade it around like a fucking prize. He wanted the world to see that he had conquered it and displayed it proudly like a trophy. He couldn’t afford NOT to have that kind of pussy.

“...love the prank, Santa!”

She was here.

“...want to hide in the dark…”

Aleksei rolled his eyes and walked out of the locker aisle toward the entry. “No prank!” he called in a lilting BUMP! shot parody voice as he approached. “I wanted to deliver this gift in-person and away from inquisitive eyes.” When he rounded the corner and saw her standing in the doorway he stopped in his tracks. The red light cast her in a devilish crimson glow. The red gems at her eyes’ sides were like tractor beams that zeroed-in on his flushed face. She had replaced her bra. He hoped the “mood” lighting hid his reaction.

“...hope you’re not about to do something you’ll really regret...”

Aleksei stepped closer to her, closing the span between them in two steps, and towered above her but nearly as close as their ballroom-dancing distance. His movements were graceful and fluid and smooth. The Russian man controlled his body with the precision of a giant feline predator. He didn’t intend to intimidate her and so his approach was slow, measured, and calculated. He stood within her personal space not as an encroaching affront or a boundary-testing incursion but as a welcome visitor in unspoken invitation. It immediately reminded him of their closeness on the dance floor and the feeling of her body in his arms. And now he stood in the shared space between them and opened himself to her, holding space, with a disarming, charming smile.

“Eve, let’s get two things out of the way: First, I would never presume to outsmart you…again.” The tall man took a deep breath. He was still sweaty and a little red-faced and the alcohol was making his body hot. “I tried in the beginning,” he flashed her his signature lopsided winsome grin, “but you made it painfully obvious that you’re out of my league.” Eve’s eyes spoke volumes to him. Was she nervous? Was she intrigued? The band on her wrist caught a glint in the red light. She had asked him for a Bump! on the dance floor and he wanted nothing more than to rip his cock out of his pants and drape it around her Bump! bracelet-band. Feeling her this close reminded him. It reminded his body.

The hard part was out of the way. Admitting that she was holding all the cards and that she was more intelligent than him was only half the battle. “Secondly, and I want you to look in my eyes and listen closely: I am a man of my word. And I promise you that you will come to no harm.” His heart thudded and thundered in his chest and he held his left hand up to cover it over Santa’s red velvet. “Am I angry? Sure. My heart hurts with worry for my family. You have the power to completely ruin everything. Do I want to kill you? No.” He sighed with an eye-roll that was louder than his heartbeat. “Do I want to hurt you? Sometimes...yes.” His eyes smoldered with the promise of sex and violence. “But I will not act on those impulses. I refuse to be a slave to my emotions any more.” He reached out for her hand, gently, and guided it up to his chest and pressed her hand to Santa’s red velvet over his heart. “You’ve been a cunt to me. And you deserve to be bent over my knee and spanked like a recalcitrant child. You deserve to be taught a lesson like a Naughty Girl. But you need not fear for your life; I promise that you are safe with me.”

The blond man shrugged in capitulation. “So Eve, no pranks here, because I can’t outsmart you. But I do hope that I can surprise you.” And then he about-faced and presented her with his mid-back nigh unreachable zipper. “A little help?”

 

[Fairess]

What. The. Hell. What the hell. What the hell! Those three words oh-so-helpfully jostled around her head on repeat while she tried to wrap her mind around what exactly was happening. First of all, Aleksei's smile was all wrong, warm and inviting and very much not what either an ambusher or a victim should look like. Unlike their encounter on the dance floor, there was no sarcasm there, no anger or inherent meanness to spice up his otherwise handsome face.

Her stupid body reacted the way any woman's would, heartbeat stuttering and knees going weak. She hated him, she knew that she hated him without even a sliver of doubt, and yet he could still have such a ridiculous effect on her! Why did her gaze linger on his lips and long for the hard press of those wide, wicked things? Why did the broad, rampantly masculine shape of him towering over her make her palms sweaty? The flush of warmth on his skin, the glimmer of sweat in the red light, the hungry smolder of his eyes — this was Fantasy Aleksei, the devil that pinned her up against a wall and fucked her silly when she drank a little too much and dreamed a little too deeply.

What had changed him, exactly? Had he simply decided she'd had her punishment, and it was time to play nice? No, that couldn't be it. She'd done far too much, gone way too far! A man like him was too stubborn to just, well, let the woman threatening to slander his entire family help with his zipper problem.

If he'd been anyone else at all, she could have decided his sentiments were entirely fake and moved on with her life. Trouble was, she knew him way too damn well. Sure, he was definitely prideful enough to try and outsmart her any day of the week, but every word he said stung with sincerity. He wouldn't lie about not hurting her, not like that. He wouldn't make himself look pitiful just to make her lower her guard. It had always been his style to bang things out directly, even when he was the one at fault. Taking responsibility for his team instead of laying all the blame on his underlings was one of the many things that made him so popular within the company.

She didn't know how to deal with Aleksei's sudden vulnerability, so she skirted around it, grumbling as she tugged at his silly clothes so she could get a proper hold of his zipper. "Ooooh. Wow. What a surprise, getting the privilege to undress you! I might faint from the excitement."

Eve's gaze wandered down to her wrist, which still felt the lingering warmth of his grasp. If she really was intelligent, she'd leave him just like that and walk away now. Let him be mad, let him feel the same empty anger she did when he'd left her wobbling on the dance floor. In the morning, he'd wake up with an ultimatum for some ridiculous amount of money, and then he'd never see or hear from her again.

For some reason, though, for some stupid, senseless reason, her hand wouldn't budge from that ridiculous Santa suit. A little voice in her head decided this was the perfect moment to speak up, too. Who knows better than him what it's like to get mad and go a little too far? Getting a fresh start, moving on with life… is it really that impossible? You saw how he stared at you, how happy his 'little man' is to have you around. Newsflash: he's not like that with just any girl.

Something strange caught in Eve's throat. Annoyed, she jerked his zipper down, following the line all the way to the base of his spine. The broad muscle of his back and shoulders was right there in her face, all perfectly sculpted and screaming for her attention. She felt her gut reflexively tighten, as though she was a rabbit that had only just realized how big the jaw of her pursuing wolf was. Something else a little deeper inside her stirred, too, and suddenly her shirt felt just a smidgeon too tight.

"If I…" Eve swallowed, her tongue annoyingly thick in her mouth. "If I let you teach me a lesson, would you call us even? I might… nmph… I might not want to kill you, either." Of course she couldn't bring herself to say that she didn't actually want to slander him into oblivion, but the reluctant implication was finally there. It was so very, very stupid to soften her threat, to give him even a sliver of a reason to doubt her resolve, but what could she say? His dumb, brazen sense of honesty was probably starting to rub off a bit.

 

[BrentCheeks]

"...if I let you teach me a lesson, would you call us even?”

Wha-?

“…I might not want to kill you, either."

This was NOT happening right now.

She was NOT happening right now.

A break in the clouds afforded the sun a glimmer of…something…in a solitary ray of light that peeked through and penetrated the dark sky. Aleksei turned around to face Eve and peeled the perspiration-caked suit off his torso so that it folded forward and bunched around his waist. He stood in front of her, bare-chested, and felt the bile rising in his throat. Little Red made her last-stand in a doorway facing the maw of the Big Bad Wolf. Aleksei knew that face. He had seen it before. In humans, as with animals, when you have the perceived upper-hand you weaken your position with a compromise - even as an overture of peace. Did she think she was in control? Was she bargaining? She had one play. Only one. And in a moment of weakness her wall showed a crack. Was she afraid of his anger? Afraid of his hatred? Or just afraid of his rejection? Maybe she was attracted to his power. So she was human after-all.

And she didn’t want to kill him.

Good.

Aleksei bent at the waist and extracted his athlete’s Adonis from Santa’s pant-legs. The veneer of skin was a patina of protection between the musculature of a fighter’s physique and the red glow of emergency lighting. He nimbly stepped out of the balance of his yuletide costume and discarded it in a nearby hamper. Nooks and crags traced the topography of violence and perfection with a sculptor’s hand on chiseled marble. He flashed her a smile and basked in the revelation of revealing glory. His broad shoulders topped a tapered torso down to a slim vee and then flared again into a wide stance. From the conjunction of that vee, at the apex of the falls, protuberant flesh spilled like a pendulous Sword of Damocles. Aleksei felt girthy and swollen and…ready. Every inch of his body rippled with the slightest movement - from a breath of fresh-air to an eye-rolling sigh. He had honed his physical form into a weapon that promised the perfect conclusion of brutality and pleasure. Aleksei was at the apex. And Eve was his lungs’ desire for oxygen in the atmosphere-thin air as he ascended to heaven.

“...LET me teach you a lesson?” the tall Russian man echoed with a smirk. “Let’s get one thing straight: We will never be ‘even’.” He said the word with sneer. “You don’t LET me do anything. I LET your blackmail continue because I am afraid for my family…for myself.” Aleksei’s messy blond hair fell in haphazard spikes like a caricature of an anime protagonist. “And don’t fool yourself. You are too soft - too weak - to handle a lesson from me.” His eyes glinted in the red glow as fiery-hot emotion brimmed beneath the surface. “You know that power you feel when you threaten to expose me and slander my family. I have given you that power because I am afraid of the pain you will cause.” The blond man towered over her and grabbed Eve’s wrist with his right hand. His grip was tight and firm, like a vice, but careful not to inflict harm. “Do you even know what power is?” The unsuspecting rabbit had stumbled into a bear-trap. The wolf does not bargain with the sheep.

Aleksei yanked her through the doorway, toward him, and slammed his left hand into the door next to her head as it shut behind her. The loud thud reported just shy of her right ear as his open-palm crunched the metal and dented it next to her head. He felt her breasts crash into his torso as her personal space was suddenly shared between them. The blonde’s back was pressed up against the door as he crowded her and looked down into her eyes. Aleksei felt her breath, panting, and her chest heaved against him. He liked being this close to her. He liked watching her sweat.

“Eve, this…” His right hand on her wrist guided it to Damocles’ blade. “...is power.” Aleksei held her hand there with a grip of steel. “Are you afraid? Do you feel it?” The man’s voice went down a decibel and hushed. He leaned forward toward the side of her neck. “That is power. And power comes from fear.” He felt her purchase but he didn’t remove his hold on her wrist. “Fear comes from pain.” His voice was softer now and his lips grazed her ear. “Pain comes from violence.” The smell of sweat and peppermint and the musk of cologne permeated their exchange. Aleksei breathed in her piquant perfume of trepidation and pheromones. His body responded. “Violence,” he whispered, “can be physical, emotional, financial, psychological, spiritual…or sexual.” Arousal flared his senses into ignition and incensed the burning desire in his breast. “You think you have power over me because of your blackmail but what happens when I revoke your power?” Aleksei felt himself swell. “How powerful is your blackmail here, in this locker room, right now? What power do you TRULY have when I stop being afraid…and start getting angry?”

His left hand moved down from the door to rest on her shoulder and it gently applied pressure forcing her to slowly sink. He moved his head back to its position in front of her face and placed a single, solitary kiss on her forehead. “You are brilliant. And beautiful. And I respect you.” The Russian man stepped into her and felt their bodies collide. “No, Eve, I am not angry. I am just disappointed.”

 

[Fairess]

Eve was confident she could poke at least a hundred holes in Aleksei's logic. If they were, say, not right up against each other with his naked sex in her hand, she could have come back at him with the many myriad ways in which he was incorrect. He wasn't an animal that acted only on instinct — he had enough sense to control his anger so he didn't end up hurting himself or others. Hell, it had only been a moment ago when he'd asserted he wasn't foolish enough to try to outsmart her!

But he did have one thing dead right: in this particular scenario, he was the one with all the power. There was a reason she preferred to deal with conflicts on the other side of a screen. A big part of it was simply being able to do so much by manipulating the smallest details. There was no reason to resort to doing everything herself in person when the press of a button could get her everything she needed and more. The other part was indeed her greatest weakness — no, it wasn't the fact that she was physically weaker than someone like Aleksei. That sort of thing could be overcome with a gun easily enough. What she lacked was a poker face, the ability to remain calm and immovable when an unbearable prick was bearing down on top of her.

If she wanted to hurt him, she could. He was breaking about a thousand company policies right at that moment, and screwing him over wouldn't even require the use of all that blackmail she loved to hold over him. The problem was that she didn't want to hurt him, not like that. All her childish trolling, the threats and jabs had been directed at him because she wanted him to ache at least a little. The way he'd dismissed her earnest feelings, the personal humiliation she felt at being deemed not good enough… that'd eaten away at her until she'd found a way to get back at him.

And now, just as she'd feared, his disappointment hit her with a potency his slam against the door couldn't hope to match. What had she done to make him say that? Was he referring to all that blackmailing and nonsense? Did it go all the way back to when she'd confessed to him? Was it her misstep in admitting just that sliver of her real feelings?

It was hard to think through his motivations, to follow the ups and downs of his King of the Jungle logic. Her body knew what it liked, though. He mocked her for her weakness, but she enjoyed feeling so small in the shadow of his imposing frame. The way her supple breasts molded against the hardness of his chest, how soft and dexterous her fingers felt when they curled around his unforgiving shaft, the instinct to fall to her knees and smother his cock with kisses until he was satisfied – she wasn't ashamed of any of it. He was infallibly wrong about the strength she possessed, and the only thing that mattered to her in that moment was proving it.

"You can tell yourself whatever you want about who holds all the cards, Aleksei. I don't care what Icarus-level shit you ascribe to so you can wake up feeling like a man." Eve's eyes burned with a rebelliousness not at all unlike his own. Despite the fact that every womanly instinct inside of her was screaming to be taken and shattered by him, her pride was still a force of nature to be reckoned with.

"Here's the thing, Boss: all those court reports, the photos, the testimonies, the spreadsheets and emails — it's all just a bunch of dirty trash out there for anyone to find. The person who made it so valuable it could control the life of CEO? That was me. And who is the person you've gone to all this trouble for just to be alone so you can rub your cock in her face? Me." Eve used her free hand to hitch up her skirt. All it took was a thrust of her hips and some guidance from her captured hand to glide that proud blade of his up against her happy little slit.

Her cocky lecture was interrupted by a gasped moan as the hot friction of him rubbed up against her sex. She was impossibly soft down there, all pink, eager satin made slick with arousal. He fit almost too perfectly, sandwiched between the plush of her thighs while the hardness of his cock caught against the string of beads that pretended to be a proper pair of panties.

"Maybe… nnngh… you should make the executive decision to stop being disappointed?" With her back stuck against the unforgiving metal of the door behind her, there wasn't a great deal of room to maneuver, but she could still smile defiantly up at him. "Maybe, instead of making assumptions about how strong or weak I am, you'll actually have the gumption to let me not disappoint you?"

 

[BrentCheeks]

“...don’t care what Icarus-level shit you ascribe to…”

Icarus was a boy - the son of Daedalus, master architect - who wanted so badly to follow in his father’s footsteps that he became inured to the risks. Icarus was the embodiment of smugness and the personification of complacency. Thinking he knew better than his father and that he could enact his will with impunity and without consequence he flew close to the sun and fell. Icarus was a victim of hubris.

Pride goeth before the fall.

The analogy hit him like a slap to the face.

Eve stood before him defiantly. She held his cock in her hand and melted the ice around his heart with just a few words. For the first time in their turbulent professional relationship Aleksei considered her. The animalistic instinct telling him to spin her around, pin her against the door, and take what he wanted from her body was tempered by her temerity. Her insightful little comeback stung him and reminded him who he was, where he had come from, and just what…the fuck…he was doing. It reminded him that what Eve deserved more than anything - more than contempt or anger or even disappointment - was respect. She was fucking brilliant. And she could be a fucking cunt. And she could act like a bratty little child. And she was terrible with people and bedside manner. But, in matters of insight and intuition and sheer intellect, she was his better. Of that, there could be no question.

Aleksei wanted to kiss her.

He had lured her into the bathroom to give her three gifts. And then he acted like an animal. He was menacing her and towering over her and speaking in a low voice and making eye-contact. Sometimes she made him so angry! The Russian man knew that his words and actions were naturally dominant. He took the lead. He commanded. He demanded obedience and obeisance. And she was standing up to him. She dared to defy him in the face of potential violence. And she defied him with the truth.

His heart ached.

“...here’s the thing…”

She was right. Nothing was safe from public purview. No matter how classified or confidential everyone’s life - everyone’s dirty little secrets - are available for a price. Eve hadn’t exposed his past or burned down his family’s legacy. She hadn’t asked for anything. She hadn’t manipulated him and coerced him. Her blackmail was, in its own way, a reminder that his shit was out there and someone else might not be so kind. In a twisted way she was trying to get his attention like a little girl teasing a little boy on the playground screaming, “LOOK WHAT I DID! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” And secretly wanting that boy to hold her hand and kiss her. She liked him.

“...person you’ve gone to all this trouble for…so you can rub your cock in her face…”

He had dismissed her with so much casual disregard. Rejection. He had hurt her feelings. And he had just tormented her on the dance floor. All she wanted was a little attention. Was that so hard? His hackles had been permanently raised around her. He was like a chained dog - constantly on edge - backbiting and nipping at his own fleas. He had proven that he wasn’t as evolved and transcendent as he pretended to be. Aleksei still had a long way to go. And it wasn’t an easy road. But now, maybe, he didn’t have to go it alone. He liked her.

And then she took control. Eve hiked up her skirt and guided his cock, growing in her grip, to her groin. She rose to the bait. And he rose to the occasion. Aleksei felt the inflation in his blood sausage balloon twisting into animal shapes at a child’s birthday party. The Russian man heard his heart pounding in his chest. He smelled her classy perfume tickle his olfactories. Her piquant pussy, picture-framed in picturesque pearlescent panties, purred with open-mouthed pleas for pleasure. Mother of Pearl. Aleksei’s shaft lengthened like a joystick in the cockpit as the bulbous mushroom peeled the beaded curtains back and peered into the fortune-teller’s den. The oracle’s temple was dark, couched in shadows, and alluring with the promise of profit-seeing prophet-seer prophecy. It was warm and moist and Downy Snuggle bear soft. He peeked his head in. Hngh! Hello? Hello! Echo. C’mon in! Came the answer. The water’s fine! The invitation sent liquid hot lava down his spine like coiled spring steel in his cock. The blonde man’s breathing quickened, like his pulse, and he felt himself panting in heat. He relaxed his grip on her hand.

He removed his hand from her shoulder to grasp her opposite hand, the one without the family jewels, and intertwined their fingers. Resistance. Aleksei felt her smaller hand in his grip and he squeezed with care…with reassurance…with affection. His meaty mitt swallowed her dainty, delicate digits in its paw but it fit perfectly. Just like when they were on the dance floor. The tall man raised their combined hand up, over her head, and pressed it back into the door. He felt the motion rotate her shoulder and her breasts jutted out. Aleksei pinned her hand there for a moment to admire the blonde woman and felt her hand redouble its efforts below and between them. His other hand relaxed its grip on her wrist and then he leaned back to drink her in.

What was this?

He had never felt this…this…

Eve gasped.

"...maybe you should…stop being disappointed…"

Caught off-guard, Aleksei smiled with genuine warmth and bit his lower lip thoughtfully.

“...instead of making assumptions…have the gumption to let me not disappoint you…”

First Icarus and now this.

“Eve,” Aleksei breathed, as she teased herself like a Hogwarts masseur holding a Hitachi wand. “You’re right.” He leaned in and let his lips graze hers. They were impossibly soft and supple. As above, so below. Aleksei let his guard down for the first time in years and let himself feel. Fully. He breathed her in and found her lips like a tentative exploration with Cunegonde in El Dorado. The blonde man pressed harder and her lips parted with a sharp inhalation. They shared mutuality in heat as their tongues' soft muscles traced lascivious lines to stencil urgency and desire inside the cavern. Erotic sensations tingled his spine. The pressure built inside his mind. Give in. Capitulate. Come. Aleksei found her upper lip and prised it between his lips, sucking and suckling and pulling slightly. He kissed into her waiting, wanton mouth with an eagerness that he had forgotten. Fervent. Excited. She was a great kisser! He felt Eve’s hand playing between her pelvis and his. The space between them had minimized in an instant. She was teasing him. She was teasing herself. But two could play in that game. She was right.

He felt her hips adjusting their angle. She wanted what he wanted. His hips bucked forward like a dog humping a thigh. Warmth. Like a cloak’s protection against the cold he felt it envelope the bulging, swollen tip and part the stormy seas like bulrushes and reeds. Recede. The tide pulled back and left a trail of flotsam and foam in a frothy frappuccino fribble wake the way surf leaves memories on the sand. The lunar pull magnetized his body as Newton’s perpetual motion balls rocked and reciprocated in a scissor-saw teeter-totter. The tall Russian man threaded her intercrural needle and spread her thighs to accommodate the camel’s tow tunneling passage. His hips moved with long, slow strokes - in and out - like a masseuse palpating deep-tissues and osteopathic manipulative medicine. Aleksei’s hand pinned her above. His other hand insisted hers below. His grip ushered her hand urgently and forcefully. This is where it goes. This is where we meet. God! He wanted to fuck her! But more than that he wanted to lov-

<BUMP!>

The BUMPbeep broke the silence like a sparrow’s songbird chirruping in church.

<BEEP!>

<CALIBRATING!>

What? The moment was one of confusion that gave way to frustration. “Well, I guess you got your ‘ugly Santa BUMP!' For Christmas.” Aleksei blinked away the disorientation as he pulled back and looked down. Their wrists were touching. His cock was practically inside her pussy. At the gates…

<BEEP!...BEEP!...BEEP!>

<...4.0…5.5…6.8…>

What was happening?

The numbers on their BUMP!bands were climbing like Bingo Powerballs before his eyes.

“Wha-” he sputtered.

<BEEP!...BEEP!...BEEP!>

<...7.7…8.4…8.9…>

“Eve? What-”

<BEEP!...BEEP!...BEEP!>

<...9.0…9.1…9.2…>

Impossible. It couldn’t be. He had never heard of anything above a seven-point-five. Maybe an eight? Weren’t those the subject of jokes and memes and social-media mythology? Was it broken? Was Eve…PERFECT…for him? No. There was no such thing as perfection. Was he going to…? Had he finally met his match? Was she the ONE? What the fuck was-

Eve.

No. No way. NO FUCKING WAY! She was a hacker. She had found his dirt. She could hack Smirnoff servers. She could probably hack the goddamned IRS! She could hack into traffic lights and hack into his phone and hack into…

She could definitely hack into BUMP!

He swallowed past a lump in his throat.

None of this was real.

“Did you-” his pulse quickened. “But why would you? Did you do this? Did you hack BUMP! To get me to like you or to get me to fuck you or-” his voice cracked. “Are you fucking with me? Eve! What the fuck!” he growled and slammed her hand above their heads into the door and let go of her grip. In an instant his blood ran hot and his heart ran cold. “How dare you!” The tall blond man looked down into her eyes with white hot betrayal. The crystalline reflection of a tear puddled in the lower corner of his orbs. Was he going to? NO! Keep it together Aleksei. Show no weakness. “I…I…can’t,” he panted, “I can’t belie…” Aleksei knew it was too good to be true. He had played right into her hands. He had JUST let his guard down. “I thought,” he started with a sniff and then stepped back again and composed himself. “I thought it was real. I thought you and I might-” He swallowed past the lump and steeled himself as he turned away. He couldn’t trust her. Why…?

Cold. Shoulder.

“You win.”

 

[Fairess]

Eve had been wrong in all her fantasies. Smirnoff was so… he was entirely overwhelming. She'd always imagined him being an out-of-control force of nature, a bolder tumbling down a mountain or a tornado swallowing up a valley. He'd go hard and fast, take everything with a greedy, mindless passion that consumed him and left his lover in pieces. He was frightening like that, even when he was playing nice and shaking hands. People liked that tension, all that promise of power kept barely in check by a friendly smile.

But this? This wasn't that. He was strong, to be sure — Eve all but melted against his grasp, a helpless doll strung up by her captured arm. Her delicate fingers curled between his, trembling with desire as he ignited all the pleasure she'd been craving. She liked being helpless, the little bounce of her breasts on display as he arched her back and accepted the invitation to explore her. He was demanding, yes, but also controlled, just as he'd been on the dance floor. He knew exactly how to kiss her, how to spread her lips and leave them moaning around the firm shape of his.

You're right. Of course she was right! Every drag of his fuckpole against her couldn't have been more right. She loved the slick drag of him against her, the heady girth and warmth he pierced her thighs with. It felt like she'd been made for exactly this moment, to squelch and squeeze and writhe so she could press every inch of herself up against the hard glide of his shaft. There was no denying the heady rhythm of his hips, the demand of his touch as he slowly opened her back up again. She knew what he wanted. Eve wanted him to drag her up further still, to align the collisions of their white-hot universe and take the plunge. Her fingers stroked at him even as they trembled, guiding him upward, her lips gurgling some unintelligible invitation through a moan without breath.

And then… and then for the first time in her life, she cursed the existence of technology without any sense of irony.

The beeping of her smartwatch was a distant, unimportant thing, the blip of a satellite far off in the periphery of her starry sky. When he pulled away, removing his warmth from her, she whimpered and shook her head. It didn't matter. It didn't matter even for a second what some stupid BUMP! said. She had him, she'd finally tasted his passion, felt him open up against her. What the hell did some relationship app have to do with that?

"'S n-nothing. Don't… n-no…" Eve could scarcely croak the words out as he grew further and further away from her. Her head was still foggy as he rained down accusations on her. Hacking an app. Manipulating his feelings. Those were certainly things she could do, but why did it matter now?

Bereft of his strength, she found herself sinking against the door, not quite able to find her legs until her ass was on the floor. Her hand throbbed from the impact of his slam, but it was nothing she couldn't soothe with a little rubbing. Glaring at the back he'd turned toward her, she took a moment to consider his obvious hurt, the almost-tears and shame that had so quickly overtaken their mutual pleasure. This also was a side of Aleksei she was surprised to actually see.

And her first instinct was to insult him, of course. For once, just this once, however, she tamped down the desire. They had been so close to something wonderful, and leaping on him like an angry panther was only going to drive this new wedge between them deeper. He'd gone and let his pride take a hit… maybe, just maybe, it was only fair she do the same.

"Aleksei." Eve spoke his name with surprising gentleness. Rather than standing and approaching him, she crawled closer, one arm draping around his thigh while she bent just enough to kiss at his knee. He seemed prone to kick her away at any moment, but he'd promised not to hurt her and she trusted the reasonable man who had made that promise.

"Would I hack a stupid matching app just to mess with you? Yes, I would." Eve could think of several reasons to explain how she hadn't done exactly that — it would be foolish to think he'd take a 9 seriously, for starters. She knew a great deal about the app's algorithms that she wasn't supposed to know, and the realization that it had actually given a score she hadn't altered made her a touch queasy. What did that mean, exactly, if he had exactly the same proclivities, fantasies, and desires that she did?

That wasn't important right at that moment. He was emotional, irrational, and hurt. She knew exactly what that sort of vulnerability felt like. Begging and kissing at him wouldn't solve that, but it did feel good. She hoped that'd be enough to help calm him back down.

"I just don't understand what that would change between us, Aleksei. I fuck with you, you fuck with me, that's what we do. But what happened just now? That wasn't because of some arbitrary number. No one made you kiss me. No one made me kiss you back. You don't have to believe me, but I am not going to let whatever this is be ruined by some stupid number from the world's most corrupt corporation. If you want honesty from me, I'll give it to you. If you want proof or whatever shit, I'll let you do what you need to do. Just don't… don't torture both of us over it. Please."

 

[BrentCheeks]

“...hack a stupid matching app…Yes, I would…”


Honesty. It went a long way with Aleksei Smirnoff. The voice was soft and coming from below and behind him. With his attention facing away he could only envision the slow, sinking smear of her defeated and depleted body dripping down the locker room door. He heard the unceremonious landing cushioned by two cheeky pillows and a crestfallen ego. Down a peg.


“...don’t understand what that would change between us…”


She wasn’t acting like he expected. What had he expected? More arrogance? More teasing? Derision? Condescension? Certainly not candor. And definitely not vulnerability.


“...some arbitrary number…”


His silence spoke louder than words. Aleksei’s trepidation twisted like a braided pretzel with a sneering spiral of salty indignation curling his lips. But he couldn’t stay angry for very long. He couldn’t even be fully present with his fear. Aleksei wanted to trust her. He wanted to-


“...don’t have to believe me…”


His back was still turned to her but the tall man sensed her presence approaching. She was on her hands and knees. Like a dog. Crawling, clawing, and begging her way back. The corners of his mouth creased into a small smile. So powerful was the urge to look back and watch her slink of shame that he barely suppressed it. Stand tall, Aleksei. Stay strong. Love it. Set it free. And await the return.


“...let whatever this is be ruined by some stupid number…”


Her hand came up and wrapped around his thigh. Her cheek pressed against him as she kissed his knee. His pendulum twitched like a grandfather clock with the metronomic pulse of tempus fugit. When he looked down at her, down from the mountain on high, Aleksei’s gaze sought Eve’s and he waited until their eyes met. His neck craned down as hers craned upward. Like Lady and the Tramp, the look in her eyes murmured to him in the hushed tones of a lover’s last words. His eyes sang back to her with affirmation and desire. They bellowed and roared a torrent of emotion: You’re mine. And I’m patient. I want you. And I’m willing to wait. Aleksei’s arm reached out and his hand found her head. His palm cradled her crown and caressed long, blonde tresses with petting affection. Aleksei stroked her hair and his sneer softened into weariness.


“Eve, I won’t let anything ruin this…this…whatever this is.” His mind grasped at straws and left his tongue hanging without teleprompter lines. Aleksei’s hand curled down from her hair to her chin and it found purchase at the base of her jaw up against her neck. Her beautiful visage and lineament fit in the palm of his hand. “I’m so,” he followed with the silence of a pregnant pause. A moment. “Torn.” The truth shall set you free, Icarus. He had uttered those words to her on the dance floor and now he was swallowing his pride and eating his own words. “Sometimes you make me so angry,” he rumbled with an air of frustration. “Sometimes I look at you with unbridled lust that I can barely contain and it’s all I can do to restrain myself from ripping your clothes off and…” The Russian man left it there. “Sometimes all I feel is frustration and exasperation like I just want to rid myself of you forever! To terminate your employment and throw money at you to make you go away!” Aleksei took a deep breath. “Sometimes I can’t help myself from grinning like a little boy rubbing your nose in something good and watching you squirm.” Aleksei felt the lopsided grin creeping up on him and he pursed his lips with an eye-creasing, knowing smile. “Sometimes I just want to put you in your place and teach you a fucking lesson.” The blonde man winked at her. “And sometimes I fantasize that you want the exact…same…things.”


“...want proof or whatever…just don't torture both of us…please…"


“No, I’m not going to ruin this or torture us,” he sighed with resignation. “I’ve never felt a 9.2 before and I want it in my life.” His lopsided grin widened into a rictus that bordered on insanity and his eyes brightened with excitement. “I want you in my life.” Aleksei winked. “There’s an opening at Smirnoff Enterprises - for a talented young woman with a very specific skill set - that I think you’d be perfect for. With your aptitude, work-ethic, and…assets…I’m confident you’re exactly who I’ve been waiting for: I want to fill the position of my Strategic Mergers and Acquisitions Advisor. This position answers directly to me and exists outside the standard corporate inter-silo hierarchy.” Aleksei stroked her with a loving, parental authority. “I’m very selective and the requirements are…demanding…but the job will be very rewarding for the right candidate. I value the same qualities in a dog as I do in a girlfriend…or a pet - loyalty, obedience, and affection. And I’m confident that you’re up to the challenge.” His lopsided grin was mischievous and quirked the corner of his smirk into a devilish purse. “Your interview has just begun."


A moment.



"I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.”



This moment.


There was something about it that was perfect. Nine-point-two perfect to be exact. There was something about their unique matchmaking compatibility, proclivities, and attraction that transcended erotic alchemy. Aleksei had felt it before their wrists touched. He had felt it before their dance-floor shenanigans. He had felt it before seeing the clamagram. He had felt it before being blackmailed a few months ago. And he had felt it before rejecting her many months before that. There had always been something there, between them, lurking just beneath the surface. It was an unspoken electrical potential that crackled and arced and waited. It had been waiting for a moment…for this moment.


What would they do with this moment?


Eve had played her cards. She had responded to his vulnerability with reciprocity. She had opened herself up to the power of potential and thrown herself on the mercy of the bolt. She had disarmed and discharged him with insightful veracity. Aleksei struck from the sky and grounded himself in her earth. Eve appealed to him in a way that no one ever had before; she held up a mirror and showed him the truth. She stood behind the mirror and told him that he wasn’t alone anymore. She had captured his lightning in a buxom blonde bottle of begging and begetting. And she was here, with him, sharing their moment.


“Take out your phone,” he commanded, “unlock it, switch to the camera, and hand it to me.” Aleksei held his hand out for the electronic device. After a bit of fumbling it was deposited in his hand and he held it up and over her so that the lens focused on her upturned face. Then he half-spun around her arm, draped over his thigh, and grabbed his cock with the hand that was under her chin. The blood-Russian half-flaccid cock draped like a sausage spiral pinwheel over her face - from her lips up beyond her hairline. Aleksei positioned his balls like a milk-mustache so that the stalk sat perfectly over her nose and squeezed between her eyebrows and up her forehead. She looked like a dog with a Milkbone on its snout, obediently awaiting the command. He felt her hot breath and soft lips on the underside of the shaft. His eyes never left hers as he waggled his brows and said, “Say cheese.”


<FLASH>


<CLICK>


With the flash, in the red LED light, Eve looked like she was wearing a Groucho Marx nose-and-glasses disguise. The image was unmistakable. And it was beautiful. “This is your new wallpaper,” Aleksei announced. “If I ever find out you changed it or I catch you fucking with it I will punish you.” The steel in his voice promised that punishment would not be entirely pleasant. And then he pulled back and dragged his cock back down her face until the limp tip dropped off her chin.


Aleksei squatted on his haunches so his head was closer to hers and he smiled into her big eyes. “We look good together,” he smirked in admiration of his photography and handed her phone back. The blonde man cupped her face with both his hands and brought their lips to meet like the kiss of a cool fountain in a Roman plaza. The spark electrified their union as lips smashed and tongues lashed in a fencer’s dancing duel; Aleksei closed his eyes and gave himself to her. Eve’s lips were supple and pliable and tender. He embraced them with a voracious vortex of lust and longing. The soft pink muscles - languid lengua - parried and riposted like an epee versus a foil. In a moment the urgency of kisses breathed a sigh of tender relief. He felt a trembling pass between them. The Russian man found her lower lip and sucked it into his pursed lips like a needy, nursing infant. His hands moved from the cradle of her lineament to anchor her neck in the support of precious cargo. Rough, calloused fingers traced collar lines on her clavicle and left fingerprints on her heart with monochromatic stains. “Impress me,” he rumbled, “and my gumption.”

 

[Fairess]

Something about being at Aleksei's feet felt a little too right. It was safe down there, where she could mewl and rub at him like a kitten apologizing for tearing up the sofa. He wouldn't kick a kitten. No, she was rewarded with the wonderful stroke of his hand, a gesture of care she hadn't actually been able to imagine receiving from him. This firm gentleness, how perfectly her chin fit into the curve of his hand as he made her look up — it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was a touch worrying, though, just how quickly he caught on to her. Despite her desperation, she would have liked a little more doubt, a touch more vagueness regarding how her fantasies matched his. But he actually believed her. Aleksei Smirnoff and Eve Clarke were a nine-fucking-point-two together.

She wasn't even sure if she believed it. There had to be a mistake somewhere. And who cared if it was accurate or not, anyway? It was just a stupid formula, an exceptionally advanced, extensive matching system with a ridiculously high accuracy. Her hands nervously squeezed against the muscle of his leg, a tingling little rush of anticipation blooming up from her spine.

He actually had the audacity to make all her nervous fluttering worse, dangling a new job in front of her with all sorts of rich implications. A Strategic Mergers and Acquisitions Advisor. What the hell was that? Did it matter? She had ass-ets, she craved the rewards he was willing to give. If he wanted a sexy, loyal little pet who'd lick him up with the eager horniness of a dog in heat, well. Weren't they already off to quite the start?

That was what she'd thought before he demanded her phone, anyway. She blinked, stuck in utter disbelief. Already, he wanted that sort of trust? She should have been upset, offended, humiliated! But the thought of having naughty pictures of herself on her phone, each one taken by Aleksei, no less, made her heart do a little flip. Just as he wanted, she reached into her purse and handed him his prize.

And then he subverted her expectations again with the most ridiculous background ever put on a phone. She only got a glimpse of her wide-eyed, pleading expression before his lips were on hers. Her hand, now with her treasured phone back, numbly sank into her purse before the latter was dropped inside and promptly forgotten about. He really knew how to kiss, all greedy tongue and supple, suckling lips. She gasped to feel him steal and toy with her bottom lip, always having his way while she was left to mewl and tremble against the brazen force of his affection.

Impress me, he said, like she could kiss him back the same way! She wasn't the avalanche, the proverbial Agamemnon sieging Troy with reckless abandon.

A deep growl settled in her throat, rumbling out with all the force of a kitten. Her hands might as well have been its paws, too, but she pushed him back with the intent to get him sitting on the locker room bench anyway. "I already impressed you. I already have the job and you know it. I'm your pet, your girlfriend, your cocksleeve, whatever you want me to be."

She canted her head to one side, eagerly unbuttoning her blouse until her bra was back on full display. "Tell me to continue our little dance, and I'll convince Santa that I've been a good girl this year."

 

[BrentCheeks]

"...I already impressed you…”

She had. Aleksei pursed his lips with a wry grin. He couldn’t deny the indelible impression Eve made on him. Hearing her speak poured honeyed nectar - the attar of the gods - into his ears and stoked the flames of inferno.

“...I’m your pet…whatever you want me to be…”

Aleksei felt his breath hold in his breast and his heart swelled. The words were an erotic lullaby that soothed his ego into a sense of security that bolstered and galvanized and felt like coming home. Every fiber of his being shouted at him to bend her over the locker room bench and have her here…have her now. Take it! It’s yours! She’d just given herself to him. But…

A moment.

“...I’ll convince Santa that I’ve been a good girl…”

Her actions in this moment overshadowed the past few months of anguish and irritation. Eve, in his arms, was the balm to a wound that had only opened under her duress. And now she salved and soothed that selfsame wound.

“Bad girls get checks made out to coal; good girls get to write their own checks.” The Russian man grinned as he went with the inertia of her insistent push and plopped down on the locker bench. The polished wood shivered with the tall man’s descent and the reverberation jiggled his half-bloated blimp. His heart was sending blood to all the right places for muscle contractions and inflation. Aleksei swelled with anticipation as he leaned forward and cradled Eve’s head in both his hands. His knees spread to reveal the smooth skin of his taut adductors and inner thighs. The tall man kissed the top of her forehead and his hands supported both sides of her jaw and raised her face to his.

“Let the convincing commence,” he announced imperiously and winked at her from above. Aleksei sat with his sack hanging at the edge of the bench so as not to crush his balls beneath his body’s weight. He shifted forward and his penis drooped with semi-erect buoyancy like baited breath bobbing for apples. The stalk was girthy and turgid with a network of veins bulging and pulsing with desire. “Feel my heartbeat in your mouth.” Gently, but firmly, Aleksei cradled her head forward and into his lap with one hand brushing the hair back. Her head bent to worship at the altar.

Let us pray.

Welcoming warmth.

Divine juxtaposition of masculine and feminine energy.

Inviting dampness.

His monument and her cathedral.

Moist heat treatment supplication.

Together they sung the psalm of rapture.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. The sensations tingled and tickled his loins like pin and needle foreplay pinpricks pockmarked on horny gooseflesh. “You are a good girl, Eve,” he murmured tenderly and stroked her. His lips had, only moments ago, spoken his intentions directly into her mouth. And now they were far-removed with fatherly adoration and reservation. “And I want you,” he began, “but I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Aleksei felt the urge to stand up, grab her head roughly, and cram his cock into her mouth, ramming it repenisly into the back of her throat. The raging torrent burgeoned and burbled beneath the surface urging him to take her - to fuck her face with abandon - and to use her. Cocksleeve. She had submitted to him; she had given herself to him and she was his - to mark and to use and to exact and extract his pleasure from. In his mind he imagined her eyes tearing, makeup running, snot dripping, drool dribbling as she gagged on the deepthroat penetration of his meat cocksicle. He wanted to use her selfishly and disregard her and discard her. His pleasure came first. He felt it burn like the heat of the noonday sun. Aleksei wanted to feel her throat constrict around the pulsing shotgun blast of viscous baby batter grapeshot. But there was something else.

A moment.

This was their moment.

Something else. Somewhere inside him he felt it germinating like a seed. A kernel of truth was revealed to him at that moment: I want to make her feel good. I want her to feel this nine-point-two. And I want her to know who made her feel that way. I want her to feel the pleasure of being treasured and adored. I want her to know that my cocksleeve is not a meaningless thing to be discarded and cast aside with casual interchangeability. I…need Eve to know she is special.

“Trust is a curious thing,” he murmured, rocking back and forth and feeling the stiffness of his rigor mortis in la petite mort. “Ahhhhh…sometimes trust is assumed. Sometimes it is earned. And when trust is lost it is very difficult to rebuild.” Aleksei hunched over so the top of her blonde pate nestled into the nook of his chiseled washboard abdomen. The Russian man let his mind wander and his tongue struggled to keep up. Was he waxing poetic? Eve’s mouth was a religious experience. His prick slalomed like a slipping sliding penguin down the debaucherous luge.

In this position control was contested. It was shared between Master and Pet; they were partners in a dance of dominance and submission. Aleksei felt his control tighten like his fingers around her face - gently guiding, gliding, and ushering the advent. And the tall man felt his control slip as he relinquished to her. He felt Eve surge like a swirling yang tongue to his saliva-hardened yin. The tall man was above her but he had given-in to her. He could share. They could take turns. It was unfamiliar to him but he didn’t question it. There was something about this configuration that struck him as inherently “correct” and their rightness fit as perfectly as the conjunction of their bodies.

The tall man felt the urge buck his hips and his cradling hands around her face loitered and lingered lower. They found purchase on her neck and gripped with the strength of a vice on a lascivious leather collar. Aleksei applied a little pressure with his fingertips and the warmth of his palms pressed firmly into her nape. His tactile engagement was kneading and massaging and powerful. Instinctively he wanted Eve to feel his command; he wanted her to feel his control. And he wanted her to feel safe. He would protect her and keep her safe. She was his. “You are my little kitten, lapping at a saucer of cream,” his grip tightened slightly. Involuntarily, a sigh escaped his lips. “But I know my kitten has claws. I know she has fangs.” Aleksei leaned backwards a bit and with his thumbs he pressed under her jawline and made her look up at him. “And I know that she is not a kitten at all.” His dick pulsed and the bulbous head mushroomed into a blossom of blood and swollen flesh. The wide cylinder stretched her yawning portal and indented her cheeks in a vacuumed suck me slurpee. “No, Eve, you’re not a mewling pussy cat but a fucking feline huntress. Remind me how dangerous the lioness is and I will tame her. Remind me what she feels like prowling in heat and I will fuck her. Remind me how she serves the Alpha and I will show her how the Queen, in-turn, is served by the King.”

Pressure began to build with the rumble of earth preempting a geyser. Aleksei’s long-winded wagging lips curled into a rictus of pleasure. The Russian man moaned and spread his knees wider. “I’m as vulnerable now as I will ever be. I want to feel your claws and fangs. Remind me. Show me how trust is earned.” The tall blond man leaned back on the bench and felt a row of locker-cubbies behind his head. He interlaced his hands and intertwined his fingers in a makeshift headrest in reclining repose. He had the best seat in the house.