Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

Special thanks to kenjisato, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

Unfortunately, the author did make a bunch of edits to this story parallel to the editing process, so errors are more likely -- and, again, not the responsibility of the editor.

******

I wake up, and I'm basically okay. I think I may have mentioned that science is awesome, but it bears repeating. As long as I can down a few pills or slide a giant suppository up my butt before I go to sleep, I don't have to worry about being hung over.

When you're in your mando years at the university, it's expected you'll have one or two hangovers, and that everybody will razz the shit out of you for it -- we're talking early-morning air horns, fight songs, random cheers on campus, books slamming on desks, the works. If you have more than one per year after that, that's a red flag.

That's society, though, right? Fuck society. Fuckin' feudalist, capitalist fuckin' bullshit. Hangovers still suck, though, so... no, I'm not going to protest society by voluntarily feeling like butt-fermented cumshits all the time.

"Hey," comes the voice from my doorway. It hurts for an entirely different reason. "You're gonna be late for work in like ten minutes."

I shoot out of bed and scurry towards the closet. "Thanks," I grumble.

"Breakfast on the counter."

I'm ...

... hardly expecting bacon and eggs, but we've got these morning-after shakes that taste pretty good. She really is trying to guilt-trip me to death, and with maximum plausible deniability. I stop what I'm doing and look over at her, but she's already walking away. She's got a great ass. I still wish I wanted to fuck it. That's not something I can confess to my new tribe, though -- well, not again. That's loser talk. I'm supposed to be moving forward.

******

I go to work and do my time with my head held high. I don't act any different; I was always kind of a bitch. The difference is that now I don't feel guilty about it. I've got people who understand me. I don't need water-cooler chit-chat or phony work friends to go to sterilized, fake-booze-peddling bars with in the afternoon. I go to real bars when it's actually dark out, drink real booze, and talk about real things with real people.

Unfortunately, there's only so many times I can go out wandering aimlessly through the city after my shift. Sometimes I just want to go home. Sometimes Jack is there. She's the chink in my new armor. She's just too cool. I like her too much.

She's naked, and she's waiting for me. She lets me use the bathroom, have some water, and generally get settled. She even lets me dawdle. It's judo. She has to know that every minute of delay makes me weaker.

I walk into our tiny living room with my clothes still on. She gets up from the couch and walks over to me. She goes for the hug, and I just ...