DiscreetOfficeServices.Com Chapters 7--8 - Sex Stories

DiscreetOfficeServices.Com Chapters 7--8

... He wouldn't be needing her. He was going to answer any questions'Fräulein Fälschungmight have,' before going to lunch himself. No threesome after all...

Once the door had closed behind Ms. Phillips, Tim collapsed onto the couch on which we'd had our first fuck. Agitated, he got up almost as soon as he was seated. Going to his desk he brought out a bottle of scotch and a glass out of the top drawer. Knocking back a shot, he slumped heavily onto his chair behind the desk. This was not the Tim I was used to meeting.

"Tim, what the hell is wrong with you? What's going on?" I asked.

"I'm fucked, Viv," Tim replied in a sad voice and shrugged. "I'm so fucking fucked. I really thought I could do it. I thought I'd be long gone before anyone found out."

"Do what? Go where? Why am I here? Signing papers?" If anyone looked less likely to want a Nooner it was Tim as he knocked back more scotch.

Tim's voice was slow but not slurred by alcohol. "I needed someone I could trust. God help me, between my family and my co-workers, I can't think of a single, fucking one I can trust." Tim looked at me with sad eyes. "Does that tell you what a complete fuck up my life is? I trust a Call Girl more than my own wife..."

Tim put his hands over his eyes and, Fuck Me!he started crying! I've never had any experience of seeing a grown man cry. Tim wasn't sobbing, but when his hands fell to his desk, his cheeks were wet and tears ran down his face into his salt-and-pepper mustache. I went ...

... to his side, put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a good shake, "Tim... Timmy! What's wrong? Tell me! What the fuck is going on?"

"Call me Timmy again, Viv. I loved it when you did that." Tim closed his eyes and smiled sadly. "I haven't been called Timmy by anyone after my Mother died..."

God help me, he's breaking down again, I thought as I watched fresh tears well up in his eyes. Forgetting the glass, Tim took a pull straight from the bottle.

"Timmy,pleasetell me what's wrong," I begged, shaking his shoulder harder.

"I just wanted out, Viv," Tim said in a voice that pleaded with me to understand. "Out of this job. Out of my marriage. Out of my fucked-up life! I was going to take the money and run to somewhere far away. Live the rest of my life in peace. Now it's all gone... They know, Viv. They don't say anything, of course, but I know they know. Yesterday my briefcase was searched when I left it in my office to attend a meeting. I'm sure my office was searched last night. But they couldn't get into my safe," Tim said with a note of triumph in his tone. "I screwed those assholes by changing the combination. But it's only a matter of time before they make me open it! Probably today! Fucking bastards!" Tim picked up the bottle again.

"I'm dead, Viv," Tim repeated again and slumped back in his chair, defeated. He muttered while more scotch went past his lips, "I'm a real walking dead man. The people I stole from... They don't forgive. Even if I gave back the ...