Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

... the fuck? That's where we are. The private car is idling, and it's a clear upgrade from the last one. I'm on the sidewalk. Jack isn't here, and I am so scared. I feel like I'm about to take a ride to my own funeral. It's another interview -- nothing final -- but this four-wheeled ferry in front of me is very long and very black. It can't end like this with Jack. It can't.

I swallow hard and take a step forward. The rear door opens for me. I step inside and take a seat. The door closes, and the windows melt from tinted to jet fucking black. Ms. Ultra Serious is there, on the other side of a generous rear compartment -- a far cry from the usual ride share cabs. She's wearing a formal blouse, a navy-blue knee-length skirt, and matching one-inch heels, and betraying absolutely nothing of what transpired between us a week ago.

"Lovely to see you again, Ms. Caroway," she says flatly. "Recovering well?"

That riles me up a little bit. "Been recovered for days," I reply. "How about you? Hot dogs still falling out of the hallway?"

Her lip twitches upward. "Oh, he's going to like you."

That... well, I don't really know what to do with that.

"So why are you here?" I ask.

"To keep you company," she says, completely deadpan.

I stare her down. She doesn't give anything else away. It only occurs to me then that I don't feel like we're moving. We must be, though. I break eye contact and glance at the near-total blackness all around us.

"Mmm," she says. "Most cars ...

... are deliberately engineered to give something away. We prefer this, usually."

"'We?'" I echo. "Cult, or hive mind?"

"Cult, of course," she replies easily. "I imagine most hive minds don't prioritize frequency or variety in mating. Fair enough, though: by 'we,' I primarily mean 'he.' Sex while traveling isde rigueur. The noises and vibrations are a novelty, but most of the time, he prefers to be able to focus entirely upon the act itself."

"Don't cults usually use weird titles or nicknames, at least?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh dear. I suppose you'll have to stick that into the suggestion box."

"Oh? And is that your mouth, or your pussy?"

"Well it's certainly not my ass. Perhaps it's yours?"

Fuck. Score one for the frozen cunt... whose actual cunt was volcanic irony around my cock last week. Fuck. This is some confusing shit.

"Privacy is beyond valuable," she says. "I know that's something that individuals of your particular stature don't appreciate. If he decides to hire you, there may come a day when you do. Then again, maybe not. You might live out your days passively enjoying ade facto form of social invisibility."

"Living on the compound forever," I say.

She cocks her head. "Not bad. Your transcript doesn't quite do you justice."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, so... I'm supposed to figure out on my own why you're such a bitch. Okay. Cool. Give me a minute."

"You have about twenty remaining."

"Oh? Aren't you worried I'll do some basic math ...