The White Overall - Sex Stories

The White Overall

Rachel was a furtive mouse. Her desk was faux wood and only large enough for her computer and keyboard. An entire row of such desks lined the wall but were empty. The wall was bare concrete and three feet thick. She had been shoved into the fourth-floor basement next to the nuclear science lab. The blue and gold university seal above the school spoke of royalty, prestige, and world leadership. The dim lighting worn carpet spoke of forgotten, ancillary, and servitude.

Another keystroke, labor-fully pulled out of her, to copy-and-past data into her spreadsheet, and she sighed deeply - not like anyone would hear her down here. Her advisor Professor Schweinebacke had assigned her studies for which she should verify the experiment data. He had haphazardly checked a bunch of studies, paying no mind to the likelihood of catching a mistake. He simply wanted to be able to brag to his colleagues that he had caused a paper to be withdrawn from a prestigious magazine. Researchers were cheap and useless anyway.

She pulled herself off her chair. She let her Vans sneakers drag on the floor. At least nobody cared about what she did down here. Not having to put on a face, she let a scowl of frustration on her face hang out. Shanice was in the kitchen - white veneer on the tables and metal chairs. The ever-low lighting to save electricity painted the place drab. Shanice was a large Black African-American woman. She was jolly not minding the place at all.

"It's cupcake Thursday!" ...

... Shanice sang with joy and melody, holding a golden one with colorful dots to Rachel.

"Oh, they are so gorgeous!" Rachel bit into one. "It's unbelievably moist. You have to give me the recipe!"

Rachel knew how to play her part in the role assigned to her. Yet as she broke a piece off and got lost in the snap of it and the jagged edge of yellow bubbles in the spongey cupcake, she couldn't help but ponder. "Do you want to drown yourself in cupcakes like Shanice?" Shanice's obsession with cupcake Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and every day was a clear coping strategy of forgetting about how they were in a dead-end job in a basement for minimal pay. Every day of work was an agony of boredom and pointlessness. Shanice got fatter every month, slowly destroying her liver and wreaking her body with diabetes.

Every morning walking into the lobby of the university, she received a sting that kept her awake that kept her from giving up that injected her with bitter anger. Soft cashmere sweater, fabric so soft that it sculpted the body of the wearer, and a color tone so exquisitely chose that you had to marvel at the spark, depth, and uniqueness of it, the woman in passing the security gate in front of her held her head high and her heels higher. The body was sinewy, sculpted, and refined from pilates, yoga, and kickboxing. Her bone structure was so slender and tall like a much-praised sculpture at the Met. Her face was covered in freckles, the skin so clear it glowed, and the blue eyes ...