A two weasel tale
You have to love that versatile bat, instantly changing to match the threat, and, indeed, what is more threatening than a salivating weasel? It reminds me of a little something Ant mentioned about Erika, she is not in the pub today, look at Ant sitting quietly reading his book.
There are a number of weasels in this tale, though, to be fair, most stories have their fair share of weasels. The first weasel in this tale seeking to take advantage of Erika is, predictably, a middle manager. Erika’s line manager, to be precise. I have not spoken to Erika so I can not say anything about her line manager’s people skills, but what we all know is the percentage of managers who actually have managerial quality people skills diminishes with each level of promotion. Now, this story starts after the interaction with the first weasel left Erika despondent and Ant able to swoop in like the metaphorical hero he is in his own mind, and in his own stories if you listen to him. This time he would have called himself the CareGuy. He was his most caring, a gentle touch on the shoulder, a deeply concerned look in the eyes: you okay? Cue the long pause, the when-you-are-ready pause, the fill-this-pause-with-your-story pause. Cue Erika’s.
I will start this story at its origin because I know those are the details that will entertain and give me your attention. It starts with a key in a lock, the front door at the end of an evening, a fumbled key in a hand jostled by the groping, wandering hand from behind and a kiss on the back of the neck. This was indeed the end of a hedonistic alcohol-fuelled chance encounter in a public establishment much like this we are sitting in, but one more suited to leaning close to people flirtatiously and less like this which suits conversation and storytelling. As for the persons kissing lustily leaning against the door, well, they barely knew each other’s name, names don't matter much when there is only one person who can hear your voice.
The key turns and the couple stumble in, oh hi. The kiss disengaged, the faces turn towards a naked woman, well, nearly naked. A silken robe hanging off her shoulders, untied and gaping at the front, small tits, tidy bush. A glass of water in one hand, cheese crackers in the other, cracker anyone?
Oh darling, don't be so cheesy. A quick kiss on the cheek, and a tweak on the nipple eliciting a squeal, and a tiny spillage on the floor, I will leave the wet patch joke for you to fill at your leisure, while to couple slip into one bedroom and the naked flatmate into another.
The bedroom was small, a soft single bed with a metal frame, a desk filled with drawings and drawing equipment, and a wardrobe, a tidy room that does not quite match the scatty personality of a person who is easily distracted by new, exciting things, like the penis of the nearly naked man laying on the bed. A closer look at the room would show a methodical and clear minded approach to the work of a freelance artist, various commissions and projects carefully noted in the black book, how traditional, and cross-referenced with the wall calendar displaying this month and next, but these details are skipped over as the penis is engulfed, licked, slurped and deep throated as if this were a highlights clip from a porno slipping quickly from one action to the next.
Swiftly the beautiful penis is on the move again, guided, move, position behind ready for a thrust but wait. Out comes the butt plug, wrapped in a tissue from the box next to the lube. Lube on the finger, lube in the arse. Now we are ready, thrust, beautiful penis, thrust. Thrust fast, faster. Do not take your guidance from that porno, stay in this one position and come on, beautiful penis, come on beautiful orgasm.
And breath. Collapse slowly penis still in the arse, softening slowly, slipping out like a two days later turn hard and large at the beginning, soft and slipping at the end. But why spend so much effort preparing an arsehole when a wet vagina is available? Well, she said, a woman can fantasize when there is a dick in her bum, but she did not say what the fantasy was, as they drift off to sleep.
I hope you are ready for the next weasel in the story, for in the light of the morning the beautiful penis turned out to be a massive bellend. Waking up first, the first to rise, so to speak, and in it went. Not in the carefully prepared arsehole of the night before but into that pussy lubricated with spit transferred by fingers to pussy. The bellend did not ask are you on the pill, do I need a condom, no, the bellend just woke her by grunting. Fuck him, fuck you, fuck off, the right way to deal with a bellend weasel.
Well, it is a little over a month later and we are back to the beginning of the story, the evening after the middle manager weasel left Erika despondent. She was being fired, would soon be fired, the process was evidently underway and the reason was Erika’s distraction, too many sick days, poor work of late. She is right, Erika said, the stupid bitch is right but I am not going to tell her the reason. I am not going to tell her about the abortion. The abortion from a sexual encounter in which I do not even know the dick’s name.
Well, Erika is away from the weasels, and having had a little insight into her room I think you will agree that Erika is going to fly, she is organised and talented enough to take on more commissions and without needing the safety net of a part time job. I hope we see her again soon. It would be nice to know how she is doing.
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