Office Politics
First published 18/1/14
Chapter One: At the Office
Brian Masters had worked really hard to make his presentation the best it could be. He’d thought of nothing else all weekend, going over and over it making small improvements until he’d finally decided there were no more to be made and collapsed into bed late Sunday night. His future at the agency was important to him and he was determined to make a good impression on his boss and colleagues.
There were three trainees at the agency, Brian, Colin Ross, and Tim Buckley. Brian and Colin got along well and enjoyed a friendly rivalry but Tim was another story. The product of a minor Public School [in England this means an expensive private school, we like to make things confusing], he was intensely competitive and thought the way to make himself look good was to make others look bad. This trait didn’t endear him to the others but they had to make the best of it and get along with him as they all worked close together in the open plan office.
As part of their training they had been asked to prepare a presentation of what the agency could do for a potential new client, a chain of car dealerships. The presentation was a dummy but the client was real and after each had given his own on Monday they would watch the real sales pitch on Tuesday afternoon. The hope was that they would learn from each other and then from seeing the real thing.
After each gave his presentation to the other two, the boss, and a couple of experienced account executives the boss asked for comments. They drew lots and Colin was up first, then Tim, then Brian. The first two received mild constructive criticism. Even Tim was polite about Colin’s effort, probably for fear of revenge. Then Brian did his, making a couple of minor errors due to nerves. Once again the boss asked for comments.
“Pathetic. Risible.” Tim was back to normal. “He can’t even get the brand name [Seat] right. It’s pronounced ‘say-at’ not ‘seet’ for God’s sake! The only way this loser could help our clients sell more is by working as a salesman for their competitors!”
Brian burned with shame and rage. He knew how to pronounce the word, of course he did; he’d just made a nervy error reading it off the slide. He realised that error might not impress the client but he resented the way Tim had dismissed his work and insulted him personally for it and he yearned to find a way to take this arrogant prick down a peg or two.
“All right Tim, you’ve made your point. Let’s try and keep it constructive shall we?” suggested the boss. “Any other comments?”
After some rather more constructive criticisms the session came to an end. Brian felt that apart from a couple of silly mistakes caused by nervousness he’d done quite well. He resolved to get a good night’s sleep before his next one and maybe drink a bit less coffee as well and he looked forward to seeing what the experienced professionals would come up with the next day.
Back in the office Ian, one of the account executives they’d presented to and also their immediate superior, congratulated them all on a job well done and suggested they all celebrate after work with a pint or two at the Railway Arms, a pub in the town.
“I’m pretty sure they have a stripper on Monday to get a bit of trade on a dead night” he added. “That might be worth seeing, but don’t tell the missus if you see her.”
“Yes, they do,” said Brian, “but I can’t make it tonight I’m afraid.”
“Not really your scene?” asked Tim in a tone that suggested some unspecified derogatory implication.
“No, it’s not that, the Railway’s my local and I’ve been there with my mates a few times when they’ve had strippers. It’s just that I have something I need to collect tonight and the place closes at seven and I can’t be in two places at once. Unless.....” He paused for thought, and then said: “Well, if I could finish an hour early and make up the time tomorrow that would give me from half four until six to do what I need to and then I could meet you at the pub. The show starts a bit after six; they like to get ‘em drinking early.”
“That’ll be fine Brian” replied Ian. “Don’t worry about making the time up. We don’t really work to the clock here, nine to five thirty is nominal, and you were here until gone eight last Thursday helping me with the Rawlinson account.”
They returned to their work looking forward to a lads’ night out.
Later in the day Brian took some paperwork down to the accounts department. Julie, normally a pleasant, cheerful young woman, snatched the papers out of his hand without saying a word and then turned away.
“You’re very welcome” said Brian sarcastically.
“Oh, I’m sorry love” she replied. “It’s not you it’s that fu.... It’s that Tim. I’m not allowed to swear in the office but sometimes it’s hard not to! Who does he think he is?”
“Why? What’s he done to upset you?”
“Oh, nothing much, just complained to my boss about how useless I am because I didn’t raise a credit note he never bloody well asked me to raise! Turns out he saved the e-mail as a draft instead of sending it. When he realised he sent it on but there’s no apology, no nothing, just ‘well you’ve got it now so make sure it’s done today.’ Bastard!”
Brian smiled: “I just might have something that’ll cheer you up” he said mysteriously.
“Oh yeah?” She looked him up and down.
“I didn’t mean that. It’s just an idea I’ve got. Maybe I’ll call you later.” He left her guessing as he returned to his own department. If Brian could put the idea that was beginning to take shape in his mind into practice it would indeed be an enjoyable evening, but not for everyone.
Office Politics by Britguy
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Britguy
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Office Politics by Britguy Chapter Two
Chapter Two – At the Pub
A little after six o’clock Brian walked into the Railway Arms having finished what he needed to do. The others had got a good table, near the raised area that functioned as a stage but not right at the front, and saved him a chair. Definitely a chair not a seat; he’d had enough of seats for one day. His colleagues had relaxed, loosened their ties and hung their jackets on the backs of their chairs. He waved and went to get a drink from the bar. On his way over he said hello to Julie who was sat at the next table with five of her colleagues from accounts; three girls and two guys, he wasn’t too sure what their names were.
As he joined his colleagues at their table Brian waved to someone he knew. “Hi, Debbie” he called out.
“It’s surprising how many women there are here, considering there’s a stripper on in a minute” said Colin, puzzled. He seemed worried the show might have been cancelled.
“Most of them live around here” explained Brian. “Anyway, they’ll get their share of ‘eye candy’, don’t worry about that.”
“Not all lesbians are they? They don’t look it.”
“No, you idiot, of course not.” Brian laughed at him in a good-natured, friendly way. “Audience participation, mate. The stripper’ll get some guy up on stage with his shirt off as part of the act. They seem to have an instinct for picking the extroverts, not some mummy’s boy who’ll cry and complain about it. The guy’ll love the attention and the women get something to see. If she thinks he’s a really good sport she might take his jeans off and parade him around in his boxers but that’s as far as it goes; the landlord’s got his licence to think of.”
“Well, who wants another drink before it starts then?” asked Ian. “My shout.” He took their orders and returned shortly with a tray of drinks.
After they had been talking shop for a while the sound of a drum roll played over the loudspeakers and a large-breasted hard faced blonde woman in a police uniform appeared on stage. She slowly unbuttoned her jacket and then removed it and hung it on the back of a chair that had been placed in the centre of the stage, next to a table with a couple of wire baskets and some pens and paper on it and a blue light above, intended to represent a police station. She walked to the front of the stage and surveyed the audience.
“I’m looking for a bad, bad boy” she announced, a discrete radio mike transmitting her voice through the loudspeakers as she turned her head from side to side: “A very, very bad naughty boy indeed.”
She climbed down from the stage and walked back and forth a few times looking at the front row of tables, letting the tension build. Then she stopped, walked between two front row tables and reached out and tugged Tim to his feet by pulling gently on his tie.
“You’re under arrest” she announced to cheers from the audience. “I think you may have a dangerous weapon concealed in your clothing.”
The stripper led Tim up onto the stage and over to the table by pulling gently on his tie. He felt a strange mixture of nervousness, excitement, pride and gratification. He liked being the centre of attention and was flattered that the woman had instinctively recognised his extrovert nature and sportsmanship. He certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to look like a wimpy mummy’s boy, even though the large audience was a bit scary. In fact, despite his nerves, he half hoped that she would go all the way; he was wearing a pair of very stylish midnight blue boxer shorts and he knew he looked good in them. Plus, of course, he was going to be close by as this woman disrobed and he would get the best view in the house.
“I’m PC Knott and you’re under arrest” she said. “What’s your name, boy?” He told her.
“Tiny Tim, eh? Let’s hope not. Well, you know the score; I need your tie, belt, shoe laces and watch. We can’t have you hanging yourself or starting fires with a watch glass.”
Grinning sheepishly Tim removed his watch, tie, and belt and handed them over to the woman, who put them in one of the wire baskets on the table. He sat down on the chair and untied his left shoe. She dropped to her knees, held his leg with one hand and pulled his shoe and sock off with the other. Then she turned her attention to his right shoe and soon he was barefoot. Still kneeling in front of him she tucked his socks into his shoes and tossed them expertly into the basket on the table.
“Stand up” she commanded and, as he did so, rose to her own feet, keeping her hands on his body and sliding them up his legs, stomach and chest to his shoulders. As the Pet Shop Boys’ ‘It’s a sin’ started playing she started slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, from the top down. She pulled the shirt off and put it in the basket. Then she ignored him and left him standing alone and bare chested as she turned to face the audience.
The men watching cheered and whistled as Ms Knott moved her hands sensuously over her upper body and started massaging her breasts. Tim didn’t interest them; tits did. Eventually she unfastened the top button of her blouse and looked coyly out at the crowd. The noise level became almost painful. “Get ‘em out!” someone shouted. She slowly, teasingly, undid the rest of her buttons and let the blouse hang open a couple of inches as she walked about the stage. Finally she removed it completely and faced the audience smiling, her breasts safely enclosed in a lacy black bra.
The stripper returned her attention to Tim, who swallowed nervously. He knew what was coming now. Be careful what you wish for he thought ruefully, but he couldn’t back out now without looking utterly pathetic. Sure enough she unfastened his trousers and let them drop to his ankles, then knelt in front of him again to lift his feet out of them and toss them into the basket. Suddenly she leant forward and gave a quick peck of a kiss to the front of his boxers, then stood up again, brushing his thigh with the back of her hand as she did so, narrowly missing his genitals. The contact left him feeling weak.
Now the woman turned her attention to her skirt, once again teasing the audience for a while before finally removing it. She paraded around the stage for a while in her shoes, black stockings held up by garters at the thigh, black bra and knickers. She faced the audience, put her hands under her breasts and pushed them up and out a bit: “You wanna see some puppies?” she asked. Once again the noise level bordered on painful.
She turned back to Tim. “How about you then, big boy?” she enquired. “You wanna see ‘em?” He nodded speechlessly. “O.K. put your hands behind your back” she instructed and he did so. He noticed that every time she spoke the music faded almost to silence so she could be heard.
Tim was horrified to see her produce a pair of handcuffs from the table and approach him. “What the....?” he blurted out in a panic.
The stripper flicked a tiny switch on her mike, turning it off. “Relax, mate, it’s just part of the act, nothing to worry about” she said quietly. Switching the mike back on she gestured at her breasts and added “When you see these babies you won’t be able to keep your hands off unless you’re restrained and I can’t have you assaulting me. We’re running out of room on the charge sheet.” She cuffed his hands behind him.
She reached behind her and unfastened her bra, then threw it away and stood facing him, giving him a good long look at a very nice firm pair of breasts from a distance of about three feet. Then she stepped forwards until her nipples were touching his chest and once again knelt in front of him, dragging her nipples down his chest as she did so. Then she shuffled back a foot or so and looked up at his face as he looked down at her body. “Well, are you enjoying yourself?” she asked rhetorically.
She looked over her shoulder at the audience and winked: “Shall we see if he’s enjoying it?” she asked. There was coarse laughter from the male members of the crowd, squeals of delight from the women.
Tim might have understood what she meant if he hadn’t heard and believed Brian’s comment to Colin that it never happened. As it was confusion turned to doubt, then fear, then panic, then an awful certainty as she yanked his boxers down to his ankles and then lifted his feet out of them. Her body was the only thing shielding him from the crowd as she inspected his private parts from close range.
“It doesn’t look like he fancies me that much after all” she said sadly as she stood up. Realising what was about to happen he tried to turn his back but found his arms being gripped by the bouncer, who was never far from the stripper for obvious reasons, and was forced to face the front as she moved off to the side and tossed his boxers into the basket with the rest of his clothes.
Tim stood there in stunned disbelief, trying to force his mind to accept reality. He was naked. Absolutely stark bollock naked. On a makeshift stage in a backstreet pub. Totally naked. With his hands cuffed behind his back. Completely naked. In front of a raucous mixed sex audience. An audience that included several of his work colleagues, even that stroppy mare from accounts. Staring at him. At his body. At his naked body. At his genitals. At his somewhat underdeveloped genitals, well below average size for a man in his early twenties. With no prospect of release until the stripper finished her act.
The stripper poked his flaccid little penis with a finger. “Nope, not a sausage, maybe I’m not his type.”
The audience exploded. They pointed at him; they made comments to each other; a few whistled sardonically; some of the women made that gesture they make with their finger. But mostly they just laughed and laughed and laughed.
A little after six o’clock Brian walked into the Railway Arms having finished what he needed to do. The others had got a good table, near the raised area that functioned as a stage but not right at the front, and saved him a chair. Definitely a chair not a seat; he’d had enough of seats for one day. His colleagues had relaxed, loosened their ties and hung their jackets on the backs of their chairs. He waved and went to get a drink from the bar. On his way over he said hello to Julie who was sat at the next table with five of her colleagues from accounts; three girls and two guys, he wasn’t too sure what their names were.
As he joined his colleagues at their table Brian waved to someone he knew. “Hi, Debbie” he called out.
“It’s surprising how many women there are here, considering there’s a stripper on in a minute” said Colin, puzzled. He seemed worried the show might have been cancelled.
“Most of them live around here” explained Brian. “Anyway, they’ll get their share of ‘eye candy’, don’t worry about that.”
“Not all lesbians are they? They don’t look it.”
“No, you idiot, of course not.” Brian laughed at him in a good-natured, friendly way. “Audience participation, mate. The stripper’ll get some guy up on stage with his shirt off as part of the act. They seem to have an instinct for picking the extroverts, not some mummy’s boy who’ll cry and complain about it. The guy’ll love the attention and the women get something to see. If she thinks he’s a really good sport she might take his jeans off and parade him around in his boxers but that’s as far as it goes; the landlord’s got his licence to think of.”
“Well, who wants another drink before it starts then?” asked Ian. “My shout.” He took their orders and returned shortly with a tray of drinks.
After they had been talking shop for a while the sound of a drum roll played over the loudspeakers and a large-breasted hard faced blonde woman in a police uniform appeared on stage. She slowly unbuttoned her jacket and then removed it and hung it on the back of a chair that had been placed in the centre of the stage, next to a table with a couple of wire baskets and some pens and paper on it and a blue light above, intended to represent a police station. She walked to the front of the stage and surveyed the audience.
“I’m looking for a bad, bad boy” she announced, a discrete radio mike transmitting her voice through the loudspeakers as she turned her head from side to side: “A very, very bad naughty boy indeed.”
She climbed down from the stage and walked back and forth a few times looking at the front row of tables, letting the tension build. Then she stopped, walked between two front row tables and reached out and tugged Tim to his feet by pulling gently on his tie.
“You’re under arrest” she announced to cheers from the audience. “I think you may have a dangerous weapon concealed in your clothing.”
The stripper led Tim up onto the stage and over to the table by pulling gently on his tie. He felt a strange mixture of nervousness, excitement, pride and gratification. He liked being the centre of attention and was flattered that the woman had instinctively recognised his extrovert nature and sportsmanship. He certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to look like a wimpy mummy’s boy, even though the large audience was a bit scary. In fact, despite his nerves, he half hoped that she would go all the way; he was wearing a pair of very stylish midnight blue boxer shorts and he knew he looked good in them. Plus, of course, he was going to be close by as this woman disrobed and he would get the best view in the house.
“I’m PC Knott and you’re under arrest” she said. “What’s your name, boy?” He told her.
“Tiny Tim, eh? Let’s hope not. Well, you know the score; I need your tie, belt, shoe laces and watch. We can’t have you hanging yourself or starting fires with a watch glass.”
Grinning sheepishly Tim removed his watch, tie, and belt and handed them over to the woman, who put them in one of the wire baskets on the table. He sat down on the chair and untied his left shoe. She dropped to her knees, held his leg with one hand and pulled his shoe and sock off with the other. Then she turned her attention to his right shoe and soon he was barefoot. Still kneeling in front of him she tucked his socks into his shoes and tossed them expertly into the basket on the table.
“Stand up” she commanded and, as he did so, rose to her own feet, keeping her hands on his body and sliding them up his legs, stomach and chest to his shoulders. As the Pet Shop Boys’ ‘It’s a sin’ started playing she started slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, from the top down. She pulled the shirt off and put it in the basket. Then she ignored him and left him standing alone and bare chested as she turned to face the audience.
The men watching cheered and whistled as Ms Knott moved her hands sensuously over her upper body and started massaging her breasts. Tim didn’t interest them; tits did. Eventually she unfastened the top button of her blouse and looked coyly out at the crowd. The noise level became almost painful. “Get ‘em out!” someone shouted. She slowly, teasingly, undid the rest of her buttons and let the blouse hang open a couple of inches as she walked about the stage. Finally she removed it completely and faced the audience smiling, her breasts safely enclosed in a lacy black bra.
The stripper returned her attention to Tim, who swallowed nervously. He knew what was coming now. Be careful what you wish for he thought ruefully, but he couldn’t back out now without looking utterly pathetic. Sure enough she unfastened his trousers and let them drop to his ankles, then knelt in front of him again to lift his feet out of them and toss them into the basket. Suddenly she leant forward and gave a quick peck of a kiss to the front of his boxers, then stood up again, brushing his thigh with the back of her hand as she did so, narrowly missing his genitals. The contact left him feeling weak.
Now the woman turned her attention to her skirt, once again teasing the audience for a while before finally removing it. She paraded around the stage for a while in her shoes, black stockings held up by garters at the thigh, black bra and knickers. She faced the audience, put her hands under her breasts and pushed them up and out a bit: “You wanna see some puppies?” she asked. Once again the noise level bordered on painful.
She turned back to Tim. “How about you then, big boy?” she enquired. “You wanna see ‘em?” He nodded speechlessly. “O.K. put your hands behind your back” she instructed and he did so. He noticed that every time she spoke the music faded almost to silence so she could be heard.
Tim was horrified to see her produce a pair of handcuffs from the table and approach him. “What the....?” he blurted out in a panic.
The stripper flicked a tiny switch on her mike, turning it off. “Relax, mate, it’s just part of the act, nothing to worry about” she said quietly. Switching the mike back on she gestured at her breasts and added “When you see these babies you won’t be able to keep your hands off unless you’re restrained and I can’t have you assaulting me. We’re running out of room on the charge sheet.” She cuffed his hands behind him.
She reached behind her and unfastened her bra, then threw it away and stood facing him, giving him a good long look at a very nice firm pair of breasts from a distance of about three feet. Then she stepped forwards until her nipples were touching his chest and once again knelt in front of him, dragging her nipples down his chest as she did so. Then she shuffled back a foot or so and looked up at his face as he looked down at her body. “Well, are you enjoying yourself?” she asked rhetorically.
She looked over her shoulder at the audience and winked: “Shall we see if he’s enjoying it?” she asked. There was coarse laughter from the male members of the crowd, squeals of delight from the women.
Tim might have understood what she meant if he hadn’t heard and believed Brian’s comment to Colin that it never happened. As it was confusion turned to doubt, then fear, then panic, then an awful certainty as she yanked his boxers down to his ankles and then lifted his feet out of them. Her body was the only thing shielding him from the crowd as she inspected his private parts from close range.
“It doesn’t look like he fancies me that much after all” she said sadly as she stood up. Realising what was about to happen he tried to turn his back but found his arms being gripped by the bouncer, who was never far from the stripper for obvious reasons, and was forced to face the front as she moved off to the side and tossed his boxers into the basket with the rest of his clothes.
Tim stood there in stunned disbelief, trying to force his mind to accept reality. He was naked. Absolutely stark bollock naked. On a makeshift stage in a backstreet pub. Totally naked. With his hands cuffed behind his back. Completely naked. In front of a raucous mixed sex audience. An audience that included several of his work colleagues, even that stroppy mare from accounts. Staring at him. At his body. At his naked body. At his genitals. At his somewhat underdeveloped genitals, well below average size for a man in his early twenties. With no prospect of release until the stripper finished her act.
The stripper poked his flaccid little penis with a finger. “Nope, not a sausage, maybe I’m not his type.”
The audience exploded. They pointed at him; they made comments to each other; a few whistled sardonically; some of the women made that gesture they make with their finger. But mostly they just laughed and laughed and laughed.
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Britguy
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Office Politics by Britguy Chapter Three
Chapter Three – A Lesson Learned
Mostly they just laughed and laughed and laughed. The music faded briefly as the Pet Shop Boys gave way to the Communards. “DON’T leave me this way” pleaded Jimmy Somerville, leading to even more hysterical laughter.
Brian sat in his chair feeling immensely smug and self satisfied. A couple of weeks before he’d had the misfortune of sharing the urinal at work with Tim. Brian hated that urinal and avoided it whenever possible. It was barely big enough for two and offered no privacy so it was impossible to see what you were doing without unwillingly seeing the guy next to you out of the corner of your eye. Brian found this intensely embarrassing but he couldn’t help noticing that Tim seemed to have trouble stretching himself far enough to clear his fly and pee without wetting his trousers. When Tim had had the nerve to imply that Brian was sexually inadequate in some way he’d remembered the incident and begun to hatch his plan for vengeance.
After collecting his order from the shop (he’d been telling the truth about that) he had stopped at a joke shop to purchase a pair of handcuffs. Cheaply made from poor quality steel, the police would laugh at them but they’d do the job. He’d reached the pub about ten past five and had a chat with the landlord, who he knew well.
After bribing the stripper he had suggested the necessary changes to her act, told her how to recognise Tim and given her the handcuffs. This left just enough time before the office closed at 5:30 to call Julie and tell her to come to the Railway at six for a drink with her friends if she wanted a nice surprise. He hadn’t told her what the surprise was though, and now she was grinning broadly and giving him a thumbs up.
Brian was grateful to Colin for asking the question about women that had allowed him to give Tim the false assurance about keeping his underwear on. Tim guessing what would happen and refusing to participate was the one contingency he hadn’t been able to plan for; he’d just had to hope that Tim would either be ignorant or too weak to resist. In reality some guy usually ended up naked on stage when there was a stripper. There was a tacit understanding that she’d choose a victim from the front row of tables and only show-offs and idiots sat there. In a pub like this one there was no shortage of either.
Meanwhile, on the stage, the stripper was strutting about stroking her body and fondling her breasts. “Baby, my heart is full of love and desire for you” sang Jimmy Somerville. The stripper mimed to the music. Those in the audience who could lip read a bit realised that she’d substituted an obscene four letter word for ‘heart.’ She moved her hand between her legs and pasted a look of rapture on her face.
Standing almost in front of Tim but a little to his right, with her back to the audience, she slowly peeled her knickers down and off and stood facing him wearing nothing but her shoes and stockings. She reached out, cupped his privates in her right hand and squeezed gently. “Nope, still nothing” she reported. “You do like women don’t you?” she asked.
Tim nodded mutely. Women in general he liked. His sister’s friend Melissa in particular he liked a lot. Bitches who stripped him in public and mocked his equipment, not so much, but he had enough sense not to antagonise her.
She turned her back on Tim and faced the audience, giving them the view they’d been waiting for and enjoying the cheers. Then she backed up against Tim and leaned forward slightly. He could feel her most private part against his. He could feel her rubbing it against him.
‘Oh no’, he thought, ‘Oh no, Oh no, Oh please don’t,’ but his body had a mind of its own and responded strongly and rapidly to the stimulus. A short time later he was hard between her legs, straining against her body, his penis anxious to be inside that body, his mind thinking ‘Please don’t move now.’
She stepped forwards and then off to the side, turning around to share the audience’s view of his stubby little erection jutting forward fiercely and proudly for a very short distance. She leaned in and held her middle finger up against it. “Oh, it is bigger than my finger. I wasn’t sure it would be” she commented. She put her hand between her legs for a few seconds while staring at his erection. “I think the finger feels better. It knows what to do.” She pushed the finger into his mouth and then pulled it back out. Then she turned her back and his erection died rapidly as he looked out at the crowd.
The stripper moved to the front left of the stage. Bending at the knee she leaned backwards until she was almost horizontal, supporting her weight more or less equally on her hands and feet. Then she moved sideways across the stage to the right, opening and closing her legs as she did so to give the male part of the audience a view that would guarantee her good tips. Reaching the right of the stage she stood up and grabbed a robe that had been left there for her.
“That’s it boys; show’s over” she said. Looking at Tim, who was staring expectantly at her, she added “No pockets in this, darling, where would I keep a key? Go back to your friends and someone will bring you your clothes and the key.” She walked out through a door at the back of the stage, slamming it behind her.
Tim was left with no choice but to walk over to the side of the stage, walk carefully down the steps and past several tables occupied by strangers to get back to his own. When he did he found his seat had been taken by one of Brian’s friends so he was forced to stand between the tables. His workmates now had a close up view of him. Proximity didn’t make his body any more impressive.
“You set this up didn’t you?” He glared at Brian.
“Who, me? But I’m pathetic and risible. The only way I could get her to pick on you is by asking her to pick on someone else, isn’t that right? Anyway, I got here after you; did you see me talk to anyone?” Everyone recognised the parody of Tim’s insults earlier in the day and realised this ‘denial’ meant ‘yes but you asked for it and you can’t prove it.’
The pot boy, actually an elderly widower supplementing his pension with an undemanding and sociable job, approached carrying the wire basket containing Tim’s clothes and the handcuff key: “Delivery for Tiny Tim!” he called out.
“Give it to Julie” said Brian, pointing to her. The man did so and she smiled nastily, realising what was to come. He turned to Tim and said: “You can ask Julie to unlock you but I think you might have something to say to her first. Something about an e-mail maybe? Or a false complaint? You should be nice to her; it’d be easy to lose something as small as that key.”
Tim faced Julie. “I’m sorry I made a mistake with the e-mail and I’m sorry I complained about you when it wasn’t your fault. Please can you unlock these handcuffs for me?”
“O.K. then.” Julie grinned. “Come over here and stand next to me then.” He did so. Julie and her friends stared at him for a few seconds, burning the image into memory, and then she said: “Well, turn around then, the lock’s behind you, silly.”
Tim turned his back to her and found himself facing a table of middle aged women he’d never seen before. The one nearest to him reached out took his penis between her thumb and two fingers. “Go on, Audrey, give us a show!” encouraged one of her friends as she started tugging his foreskin back and forth. Realising what was happening; Julie deliberately took her time fumbling with the lock and by the time she got it off Tim was once again fully erect.
As soon as the cuffs were off Tim turned rapidly round to get his clothes. As he did so his erection was so close to Julie it almost smacked her in the face and was within four or five feet of all his colleagues. He grabbed the basket and used it to shield his private parts as he rushed out of the room to get dressed in the relative privacy of the toilets.
Ian retrieved Tim’s jacket, got up to follow him and gestured to the others to stay where they were. He found Tim in the ‘gents’ [men’s room] pulling his clothes on, sobbing, and delivering an expletive laden description of what he intended to do to Brian. If Tim kept his word the last hour of Brian’s short life would feel like a year of unbearable agony. Ian hoped that Tim was paraphrasing a book or something; it would be a little disturbing to work with a mind that could invent those ideas. He told Tim to shut up and come for a drink in the other bar.
“If Brian really did set that performance up” he began, after buying Tim a large scotch and leading him to a quiet table.
“What do you mean ‘if’?” interrupted Tim. “You bloody well know he did!”
“No, I don’t, and neither do you. He obviously wants you to think so. I think he probably did but I don’t *know* it. You thought you knew that Julie had ignored your e-mail didn’t you? I was planning to talk to you about that but I suppose it’s superfluous now.
“Anyway, *if* he did it then he went too far and I’ll be talking to him about it. But something like this was coming sooner or later. You’ve antagonised the whole office with your attitude. I probably should have had this conversation with you before but I hoped you’d learn. Then there was that business with Accounts this afternoon and the way you slagged off Brian’s work did you no favours with the boss I can tell you. Well, after that I knew I’d have to say something but it seems someone beat me to it.”
“So it’s all my fault?” asked Tim incredulously.
“I didn’t say that, did I? But how would you feel if someone called your best work pathetic and risible, as you did with Brian? Or told your boss you were a useless waste of space, as you did with Julie? Not all that much better than you feel now probably. Go home and think it over and don’t come to work until 9:30 tomorrow. I’ll have talked to the others by then and no-one will mention tonight ever again.
“Don’t you mention it either and don’t even think about revenge, just chalk it up to experience and learn from it. I mean it. I’ll deal with Brian but I won’t tolerate a feud in my department, understand?”
“Yes, I suppose so” muttered Tim. After a second he bolted the rest of his drink and said resentfully “Do you think I can go back to work there after this?”
Ian sighed and fetched Tim another large scotch from the bar. “Yes, I think you can” he said. “The embarrassment you feel isn’t pleasant but it won’t kill you and it fades. You’ve got talent Tim, just adjust your attitude and you’ve got a good future with us.
“I think you’ll feel a lot better in the morning but if you can’t face it phone me and I’ll try to arrange a transfer to an office in another town. I hope I’ll see you in the morning.
“Oh, one thing: I’d get well clear of this pub well before closing time if I were you in case anyone wants an encore in the street, and I’d stay out of it for a long time.”
Ian left to rejoin his party in the next room, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts.
The End
Mostly they just laughed and laughed and laughed. The music faded briefly as the Pet Shop Boys gave way to the Communards. “DON’T leave me this way” pleaded Jimmy Somerville, leading to even more hysterical laughter.
Brian sat in his chair feeling immensely smug and self satisfied. A couple of weeks before he’d had the misfortune of sharing the urinal at work with Tim. Brian hated that urinal and avoided it whenever possible. It was barely big enough for two and offered no privacy so it was impossible to see what you were doing without unwillingly seeing the guy next to you out of the corner of your eye. Brian found this intensely embarrassing but he couldn’t help noticing that Tim seemed to have trouble stretching himself far enough to clear his fly and pee without wetting his trousers. When Tim had had the nerve to imply that Brian was sexually inadequate in some way he’d remembered the incident and begun to hatch his plan for vengeance.
After collecting his order from the shop (he’d been telling the truth about that) he had stopped at a joke shop to purchase a pair of handcuffs. Cheaply made from poor quality steel, the police would laugh at them but they’d do the job. He’d reached the pub about ten past five and had a chat with the landlord, who he knew well.
After bribing the stripper he had suggested the necessary changes to her act, told her how to recognise Tim and given her the handcuffs. This left just enough time before the office closed at 5:30 to call Julie and tell her to come to the Railway at six for a drink with her friends if she wanted a nice surprise. He hadn’t told her what the surprise was though, and now she was grinning broadly and giving him a thumbs up.
Brian was grateful to Colin for asking the question about women that had allowed him to give Tim the false assurance about keeping his underwear on. Tim guessing what would happen and refusing to participate was the one contingency he hadn’t been able to plan for; he’d just had to hope that Tim would either be ignorant or too weak to resist. In reality some guy usually ended up naked on stage when there was a stripper. There was a tacit understanding that she’d choose a victim from the front row of tables and only show-offs and idiots sat there. In a pub like this one there was no shortage of either.
Meanwhile, on the stage, the stripper was strutting about stroking her body and fondling her breasts. “Baby, my heart is full of love and desire for you” sang Jimmy Somerville. The stripper mimed to the music. Those in the audience who could lip read a bit realised that she’d substituted an obscene four letter word for ‘heart.’ She moved her hand between her legs and pasted a look of rapture on her face.
Standing almost in front of Tim but a little to his right, with her back to the audience, she slowly peeled her knickers down and off and stood facing him wearing nothing but her shoes and stockings. She reached out, cupped his privates in her right hand and squeezed gently. “Nope, still nothing” she reported. “You do like women don’t you?” she asked.
Tim nodded mutely. Women in general he liked. His sister’s friend Melissa in particular he liked a lot. Bitches who stripped him in public and mocked his equipment, not so much, but he had enough sense not to antagonise her.
She turned her back on Tim and faced the audience, giving them the view they’d been waiting for and enjoying the cheers. Then she backed up against Tim and leaned forward slightly. He could feel her most private part against his. He could feel her rubbing it against him.
‘Oh no’, he thought, ‘Oh no, Oh no, Oh please don’t,’ but his body had a mind of its own and responded strongly and rapidly to the stimulus. A short time later he was hard between her legs, straining against her body, his penis anxious to be inside that body, his mind thinking ‘Please don’t move now.’
She stepped forwards and then off to the side, turning around to share the audience’s view of his stubby little erection jutting forward fiercely and proudly for a very short distance. She leaned in and held her middle finger up against it. “Oh, it is bigger than my finger. I wasn’t sure it would be” she commented. She put her hand between her legs for a few seconds while staring at his erection. “I think the finger feels better. It knows what to do.” She pushed the finger into his mouth and then pulled it back out. Then she turned her back and his erection died rapidly as he looked out at the crowd.
The stripper moved to the front left of the stage. Bending at the knee she leaned backwards until she was almost horizontal, supporting her weight more or less equally on her hands and feet. Then she moved sideways across the stage to the right, opening and closing her legs as she did so to give the male part of the audience a view that would guarantee her good tips. Reaching the right of the stage she stood up and grabbed a robe that had been left there for her.
“That’s it boys; show’s over” she said. Looking at Tim, who was staring expectantly at her, she added “No pockets in this, darling, where would I keep a key? Go back to your friends and someone will bring you your clothes and the key.” She walked out through a door at the back of the stage, slamming it behind her.
Tim was left with no choice but to walk over to the side of the stage, walk carefully down the steps and past several tables occupied by strangers to get back to his own. When he did he found his seat had been taken by one of Brian’s friends so he was forced to stand between the tables. His workmates now had a close up view of him. Proximity didn’t make his body any more impressive.
“You set this up didn’t you?” He glared at Brian.
“Who, me? But I’m pathetic and risible. The only way I could get her to pick on you is by asking her to pick on someone else, isn’t that right? Anyway, I got here after you; did you see me talk to anyone?” Everyone recognised the parody of Tim’s insults earlier in the day and realised this ‘denial’ meant ‘yes but you asked for it and you can’t prove it.’
The pot boy, actually an elderly widower supplementing his pension with an undemanding and sociable job, approached carrying the wire basket containing Tim’s clothes and the handcuff key: “Delivery for Tiny Tim!” he called out.
“Give it to Julie” said Brian, pointing to her. The man did so and she smiled nastily, realising what was to come. He turned to Tim and said: “You can ask Julie to unlock you but I think you might have something to say to her first. Something about an e-mail maybe? Or a false complaint? You should be nice to her; it’d be easy to lose something as small as that key.”
Tim faced Julie. “I’m sorry I made a mistake with the e-mail and I’m sorry I complained about you when it wasn’t your fault. Please can you unlock these handcuffs for me?”
“O.K. then.” Julie grinned. “Come over here and stand next to me then.” He did so. Julie and her friends stared at him for a few seconds, burning the image into memory, and then she said: “Well, turn around then, the lock’s behind you, silly.”
Tim turned his back to her and found himself facing a table of middle aged women he’d never seen before. The one nearest to him reached out took his penis between her thumb and two fingers. “Go on, Audrey, give us a show!” encouraged one of her friends as she started tugging his foreskin back and forth. Realising what was happening; Julie deliberately took her time fumbling with the lock and by the time she got it off Tim was once again fully erect.
As soon as the cuffs were off Tim turned rapidly round to get his clothes. As he did so his erection was so close to Julie it almost smacked her in the face and was within four or five feet of all his colleagues. He grabbed the basket and used it to shield his private parts as he rushed out of the room to get dressed in the relative privacy of the toilets.
Ian retrieved Tim’s jacket, got up to follow him and gestured to the others to stay where they were. He found Tim in the ‘gents’ [men’s room] pulling his clothes on, sobbing, and delivering an expletive laden description of what he intended to do to Brian. If Tim kept his word the last hour of Brian’s short life would feel like a year of unbearable agony. Ian hoped that Tim was paraphrasing a book or something; it would be a little disturbing to work with a mind that could invent those ideas. He told Tim to shut up and come for a drink in the other bar.
“If Brian really did set that performance up” he began, after buying Tim a large scotch and leading him to a quiet table.
“What do you mean ‘if’?” interrupted Tim. “You bloody well know he did!”
“No, I don’t, and neither do you. He obviously wants you to think so. I think he probably did but I don’t *know* it. You thought you knew that Julie had ignored your e-mail didn’t you? I was planning to talk to you about that but I suppose it’s superfluous now.
“Anyway, *if* he did it then he went too far and I’ll be talking to him about it. But something like this was coming sooner or later. You’ve antagonised the whole office with your attitude. I probably should have had this conversation with you before but I hoped you’d learn. Then there was that business with Accounts this afternoon and the way you slagged off Brian’s work did you no favours with the boss I can tell you. Well, after that I knew I’d have to say something but it seems someone beat me to it.”
“So it’s all my fault?” asked Tim incredulously.
“I didn’t say that, did I? But how would you feel if someone called your best work pathetic and risible, as you did with Brian? Or told your boss you were a useless waste of space, as you did with Julie? Not all that much better than you feel now probably. Go home and think it over and don’t come to work until 9:30 tomorrow. I’ll have talked to the others by then and no-one will mention tonight ever again.
“Don’t you mention it either and don’t even think about revenge, just chalk it up to experience and learn from it. I mean it. I’ll deal with Brian but I won’t tolerate a feud in my department, understand?”
“Yes, I suppose so” muttered Tim. After a second he bolted the rest of his drink and said resentfully “Do you think I can go back to work there after this?”
Ian sighed and fetched Tim another large scotch from the bar. “Yes, I think you can” he said. “The embarrassment you feel isn’t pleasant but it won’t kill you and it fades. You’ve got talent Tim, just adjust your attitude and you’ve got a good future with us.
“I think you’ll feel a lot better in the morning but if you can’t face it phone me and I’ll try to arrange a transfer to an office in another town. I hope I’ll see you in the morning.
“Oh, one thing: I’d get well clear of this pub well before closing time if I were you in case anyone wants an encore in the street, and I’d stay out of it for a long time.”
Ian left to rejoin his party in the next room, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts.
The End
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